Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 72

**OZ**

I wake up alone. And honestly… I’m grateful for it. Not because I don’t want Kacia here, obviously, I love having her around, I always want her here. But I need a moment. A pause. Time to sort through the mess of thoughts I shoved to the side in order to sleep. Because now that I’ve rested, at least a little, I have to face it. We can’t keep doing this. Being this close, and this uncertain. As much as I want something more permanent with Kaica, hell, I ache for it, I’ve come to a decision. Once all this is over, once Kacia’s safe and the fae has been dealt with, I’m going to have to go home. Back to my siblings. Back to the life I left behind. I don’t want to. That’s the part that stings most. But after what happened last night… After seeing what my magic did to her, how badly I scared her just by existing wrong, I can’t pretend there’s a future here. Not one that doesn’t end in more harm. More risk. More nights like that. And believe me, I spent most of the night trying to find a loophole. Glasses, maybe? I could wear enchanted ones, sure, but what if they fall off in the wrong moment? Contacts? Doubtful. My magic doesn’t exactly work like a light you can dim. It's not just in the look, it's in the connection, in the moment someone sees my eyes. I ran through a hundred ideas, desperate to find something foolproof. I even briefly considered gouging out my eyes. Not seriously. Probably. But the fact that it even crossed my mind speaks to how desperate I am. Then I flipped the equation. What if I made her immune somehow? Only three paths presented for that. One, be the same species as me. Not happening. Two, be blind. Absolutely not. Three, be in such a state of panic that my magic can’t make it worse. Which is horrifying. I would never let that happen. So yeah. No solutions. No safe options. Just… Me, being a walking hazard to the one person I don’t want to hurt. Which leaves me with the part I’ve been avoiding, how the hell am I supposed to act around her now? We need to talk. That much is obvious. I can’t just ghost her or drift away without explanation, not unless I want to give her a lifetime’s worth of abandonment issues to add to her collection. And if I don’t tell her my reasoning? She’ll figure it out. Worse, she might assume it’s her fault. That I’m pulling away because she did something wrong. That’s the last thing I want. But explaining the truth means admitting that I’ve… Thought about us. Really thought about it. About what we could be long-term. I’ve imagined what it would be like to stay. To build something with her. A life, maybe. One where I’m not hiding behind glamours or keeping distance like I’m toxic. But that’s not where we are. We’ve kissed. Teased. Shared moments. But we’ve never talked about any of that. No promises. No declarations. Just… Tension and timing and that frustrating ‘maybe’ hovering between us. So if I start talking about why a relationship can’t happen, when we’ve never actually acknowledged that one might, I risk making this even more awkward. She might think I assumed too much. Or worse… She might not have thought about it at all. That would hurt. Still. I think the best way to soften it is to focus on my family. That’s something she’ll understand. I’ll tell her I miss them. That I need to get back to my siblings. That I owe them my return. It’s true. And it frames the whole thing in a way that isn’t about her pushing me away. It’s not her. It’s me. Literally. I’ll still tell her about the magic. About the risk. But I’ll downplay it a little. No need to throw every ounce of my heartbreak on the table at once. That should work… Right?

I wander down the hall to the bathroom and shut the door behind me with a quiet click. Then I lock it. And then I check it again, just to be safe. Once I’m absolutely, unquestionably alone, I finally let go of the glamour. The shift is immediate. My skin settles into its true form, stone-grey and rough, but familiar. Comfortable. My eyes stop straining. My shoulders drop half an inch as the constant pressure of suppressing everything melts away. I exhale slowly, the breath sounding deeper, heavier in this form. Man, it’s such a relief. I lean against the tile and run a hand over my face. Water begins to heat up behind me, but I don’t move just yet. I just stand there, letting the truth of myself settle in. Why the hell was I cursed with this? I get it. It's powerful. Fear magic, the nightmare effect, the whole walking weapon package. People would kill for this kind of power. But not me. I'm not one of them. I don’t want to be someone others flinch away from. I don’t want to be the thing they see in their sleep and pray isn’t real. I mean, sure, I use it. I’ve weaponised it before. Sometimes you need the intimidation card. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. It doesn’t mean it feels good. It’s the tool I have, it would be stupid to ignore that. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just… Exist. No glamour, no mask, no constant mental checklist to make sure I’m not scaring the people I care about. To be able to wake up next to someone and not worry that a moment of honesty might send them into a spiral of terror. The water’s steaming now, so I step under it. Let it wash over me. Try to wash the thoughts away too. Once I’m clean and slightly less brooding, I dry off and wrap a towel around my waist. I pull my glamour back into place with a flicker of energy, it settles over my skin like a second shadow, humanising my form again. And then I realise a problem. Ah. Shit. All my clothes are still in the living room. Stacked. Neatly. Precisely. Not just folded, Angelo-level folded. Which means two things, one, I’m going to be judged if I walk in and disrupt the sacred laundry arrangement, and two, Kacia definitely didn’t do it alone. That fae little neat-freak assistant of hers has weaponised tidiness and I am now terrified of leaving so much as a sock out of place. Okay, yes, I did throw popcorn everywhere yesterday. But that was different. That was an emergency. Kacia was sad! I took action. It was tactical chaos, thank you very much. It was worth risking his wrath. Voices drift in from the living room, Kacia and Mikey chatting about something. Laughing. Great. Just what I need. Walk in shirtless with one of them being Mister Smug Cop Dad Friend? Or shout for help like a complete idiot? Neither option is great. Personally, I don’t care that much, but I know Kacia will. She has opinions about propriety. And the last thing I need right now is to make her angry when I’m trying to not be emotionally confusing. Fine. I’ll play it safe.

“Kaci darling, could you come here for a minute?” I call, voice casual, the endearment slipping out before I even realise I’m saying it. I hear footsteps, then her head pops around the corner.

“Hey, you’re up! Did you need somethi-” She stops. Her eyes drop. They land on my chest. And stay there. Oh damn it. This is exactly the kind of situation I was trying to avoid. And now I’m standing here, damp, towel-clad, glamoured-human-looking, but still very much shirtless, and… She is not looking away. Which would be thrilling, but I’m trying to AVOID thrilling. Do something, idiot. Say something funny. Make a joke. Break the tension. Do literally anything before this spirals into a stupid rom-com cliche. But my brain? Useless. Completely fried. The gears are spinning, smoke is billowing, but nothing’s coming out. And Kacia’s just staring. My mouth opens. Nothing. Fantastic. Truly masterful. I have the power to shatter minds with eye contact and pretty decent battle skills on top of that, but I’ve been defeated by my own abs.