Page 18 of Demons of Eden

Not to mention…what was that weird tingling sensation I felt just beforehand too?

“Eden.” Daion clears his throat and gives me a somewhat contemplative look as he reaches the couches, stopping to stand beside them. “I think we need to talk about what happened.”

I try not to bristle, to be patient and wait for him to continue, but it’s impossible to keep it all in. Not when both curiosity and anxiety are working in tandem against me. “What the hell was all of that?”

He sighs. The contemplation vanishes from his expression and is replaced with something else as he then asks, “You don’t have any idea what you just did, do you?”

I’d be more irritated by the suggestion I’ve done something wrong if it wasn’t for the empathetic lilt he gives to the question. It feels like there’s no judgement in it. No pity, either, despite the strange conviction I feel that from another there certainly would have been.

“Look, I didn’t do anything. Not on purpose, anyway,” I reply, maybe still a tiny little bit defensive, despite his fair attempt at approaching this conversation with tact. It’s probably because I managed to mess up somehow.Ugh.Everything was going great until I stupidly cried, then apparently did something so grievously wrong it pissed Rio off again without me even trying.

Just how every girl wants to spend her evening: making a total fucking embarrassment of herself.

“It’s…well, you already know how you’re low on vitav thanks to the pregnancy? That your body needs you to replenish it at a rate your witch biology can’t keep up with?” Daion replies. He almost makes it sound like a question, despite both of us being well aware he already knows the answer.

I nod anyway, not trusting my voice. His stalling of the explanation is only making me more nervous. How bad could it possibly be?

“The witches who survived this process in the past did so thanks to taking on some demonic traits, specifically their innate ability to syphon energy from outside sources. Since the child’s father is an incubus, it would follow that the method for regaining your lost energy would be…” Daion trails off, seemingly turning shy. Embarrassed, maybe, as his dark eyes are suddenly unable to meet mine. I think there’s even a tiny hint of redness visible in his warm-toned complexion. He clears his throat again, forcing himself to continue. “Sex. Lust. Feeding from the energy pool of their sexual partners and the vitav generated by the act itself. It’s also logical you’d instinctivelyseek out potential sources, luring them similarly to how actual incubi and succubi do.”

“Oh.” I frown at his explanation, but as the words and the full meaning behind them fully click into place in my mind a second later, I gasp. “Are you trying to say I was unknowingly sending out come-fuck-me vibes!?”

“I wouldn’t have phrased it like that, but pretty much,” Daion answers seriously, at complete odds with the insanity of what he’s said.

This has to be a mistake, right? I would have noticed doing something like that, wouldn’t I? I can’t have used some weird demonic ability without knowing. I glance over at Torrin, hoping he’ll contradict the other hunter and say it’s nothing close to what actually happened, but he stares back at me with wide eyes. The surprised expression holds for a moment before amusement abruptly replaces it, and he chuckles. He’s laughing, head shaking a little as if he can’t quite wrap his head around it, but it definitely isn’t the flat denial I’d hoped for.

“And here I thought I was gettingexcitedbecause of the way you eat tacos or something,” he says, apparently deciding to let us in on the joke.

Sadly for him, I don’t find it particularly funny.

“Not helpful.” The words come out much snappier than I’d intended, but fuck, this is just so embarrassing. I’m subconsciously manipulating men into wanting to fuck me. Just fucking great. A real cherry on top of the shit-sundae my life has turned into since the night I met Ash.

“Uh…who’s still hungry?” Torrin asks quickly, slightly manic and not at all waiting for an answer before he continues, “I think I’ll go and grab the pie now.” He practically leaps out of his seat and dashes from the room like he’s on fire and the only extinguisher is on the other side of the damn building.

And now I’ve managed to scare off the friendly one too…

There’s a resigned sigh from Daion as he watches his friend—coworker?—leave; it matches the feeling weighing heavy in my chest. “I still need to do some more research, but I believe as the pregnancy progresses, you’ll need to refuel your vitav increasingly more frequently. I’m actually surprised you haven’t had to do it yet.”

“I had a healer friend give me some of her energy when I first found out,” I admit, carefully omitting Suvi’s name considering she recommended this place and therefore they might know her, and that strictly speaking, she’s not supposed to perform energy transference in the first place. The technique is reserved for master healers, which is a qualification she doesn't have yet, even if I’m sure she one day will.

“Your healer friend?” he asks, a strange frown twitching at his lips and furrowing his brow.

“Yes, my friend is a wonderful healer,” I say, almost as quickly as Torrin had fled, attempting to move on before he thinks to ask any questions about her. “I know it’s not ideal, but maybe she could?—”

“Unless you happen to have a very long list of healer friends, who you also trust to keep a secret like this quiet, it won’t work. Your energy needs are too high for transference like that to be sustainable,” Daion explains, cutting me off firmly but not unkindly. “All it’ll do is cause your friend severe vitav strain. Maybe even affect her ability to use her powers long-term. There’s also the general risks to her wellbeing from performing the task.”

“Well, shit,” I mutter.There goes that idea.Suvi did say she didn’t know how long it would last. Does the fact I’m already subconsciously seeking out sources to lure in mean it’s running low again already? Goddess, I’m so screwed. She’d made it sound like it wasn’t a huge deal for her to skirt the rules like that, but I should have known better. It’s not like I’m going todo anything that’ll hurt Suvi, especially not when it’s something that affects her ability to do her job.

Unlike me, Suvi’s always known exactly what she wanted career-wise. She once told me, with the strictest instructions to never repeat what she said, that at only six years old she would already pretend to be one. She would go around‘curing’her family and coven members of whatever insane shit she’d diagnose them with that day. Apparently she’d once diagnosed her aunt Ava with‘frog cheeks.’She had then informed the poor woman that if she wanted to avoid turning into a frog, she would need to copy her bizarre made-up dance, all while eating a sour lollipop. I bite back a grin at the memory of her retelling. Apparently her aunt had been a real team player about it, despite Suvi’s parents' insistence she didn’t have to go along with it.

Embarrassing childhood stories notwithstanding, I can’t help but envy her passion. Nothing ever truly called out to me the way healing did with her. I ended up selling potions and basic charms mostly out of not knowing what else I could do, simply falling back on something I was good at. Living in the middle of nowhere growing up doesn’t leave you with much to do when you’re not an outdoorsy person. I ended up with plenty of time to practice my skills at crafting them.

“We’ll step up the search,” Daion says, interrupting my thoughts. “It seems like we’re going to need to find the baby's father pretty soon. I’m not sure how much longer you can go without him being able to transfer energy to you, not without attempting to feed your levels the succubus way. It could be risky to try it, though. You have none of the control they would have trained for, and for you the ability is manifesting much faster than it would for them during their version of puberty.”

“No kidding,” I grumble dejectedly, barely resisting the urge to flinch away as Daion moves to take the new vacated spot onthe sofa beside me. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea and thinkI’mafraid ofhim.

“Don’t worry yourself too much just yet. We still have time, and stress isn’t good for the baby, or so I’ve heard,” he teases gently with a smirk, a few black strands of hair falling into his face when he glances at me, his dark eyes lingering. The longest of the strands curls in the slightest bit at the end, kissing the outer corner of his lips. It’s a challenge to resist the urge to push it out of the way.

Are his lips as soft as they look?

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