Chapter 4

He stroked Justin’s hair some more. He made his own breathing steady. No pressure. No pushing against raw sensations. Only projecting good emotions: comfort, warmth, affirmation. Tenderness. Love.

Ylse handed him a blanket. It was the one from their bed, a color-clashing knitted enormity that Justin’s entirely human younger twin siblings had made during the year they’d decided to learn to knit. Kris did not bother to ask how she’d pulled it out of sheer nothing into their living room; full-blooded demons did not have many limits.

Justin had limits. And was lying very still, head pillowed on Kris’s thigh, breathing ragged but evening out somewhat. He might’ve been sleeping, though he wasn’t, quite; Kris knew how Justin felt when cuddling drowsily in the mornings. This was more frightening.