No choice left—I had to face Sasha myself.
- "Well?" She looked up, sour. "What now?"
"You know Yana Carter, right?" I asked.
A couple months back, they'd always whispered together when the rebel showed up—rare as that was. But something went down in December; I hadn't seen them paired since. Sasha latched onto Chloe, and Yana faded, vanishing entirely post-session.
- "Yeah, so?" Sasha said, grudgingly.
- "Know where I can find her?"
She laughed sharply.
- "What, wanna hook up with her?"
Ignoring the jab, I pressed on.
- "Heard you're friends."
- "What?" Sasha glared, offended. "You think I'd vibe with that slut? She banged my boyfriend's buddy, dumped him, then jumped another guy. That's her—bed-hopping! Think twice who you call my friend!"
- "Got her number or address at least?" I asked, regretting this already.
She smirked.
- "Horny already? Don't bother—wimps aren't her type!"
To outsiders, Sasha was a sunbeam: smart, top grades, monitor, activist, athlete—you name it. If first-years needed a speaker, she'd nail it, all poise and smiles so genuine you'd applaud. Anyone above her saw only that glow.
The rest of us—those she deemed lesser—weren't so lucky. Her mouth was the filthiest I knew, unfiltered with me. I avoided her solo for a reason.
- "Lila Grayson asked," I said, annoyed. "You couldn't handle it!"
- "I've got enough on my plate!" she snapped. "I don't do her paid gigs! Wanna be her errand boy? Fine—what's it to me?"
- "Can you at least give me her number?" I was simmering.
Sasha shook her head.
- "Deleted it. But I can name some dives she haunts. Though," her grin turned nasty, "you'd better steer clear. Mama's boys don't last there! Go home and jerk off…"
Her voice drilled into my skull, each word toxic. Pretty or not, I'd never fuck her! Even if her flag waved in my face, I wouldn't touch it!
- "If you do go," she added, more serious, "I wouldn't. Her current guy's a total creep—real trouble," she said, smirk gone. "Mess with her, and you're screwed."
- "What, worried about me?" I chuckled, catching a weird note in her tone.
- "As if!" she snorted. "Just a heads-up! Don't kid yourself!"
The teacher unlocked the door, and Sasha bolted inside. I watched, intrigued. Didn't peg her for even fake concern.
---
Back home after classes, I craved rest. No chance. If I'd known the demoness would squat in my room, I'd have passed on this deal. For an hour, Scarlett—fully dressed this time—lounged on my bed, showing no sign of vanishing. She traced her finger through the air, sketching a fiery penis with thin flame trails. Ignoring her, I tapped at an essay on my laptop, but in this vibe, nothing good came.
- "You living here now?" I finally snapped.
She'd claimed my bed like I was just furniture.
- "Hey," a flame stream flicked my way, "drop the formal crap! I'm thousands of years older—doesn't mean squat. And yeah, I like hanging with my familiars, inspiring them full-on. I'm damn good at it—you'll see…"
Scarlett smirked, savoring some fond memory. Her mood didn't rub off.
- "How long do your… familiars usually last?"
Something told me not long. She was already bugging me.
- "The ones who aren't rude and use their heads? Ages," she said. "Some even write memoirs."
- "Oh? Who's done that?"
Another flame streaked, outlining a man's profile.
- "Casanova, for one. Heard of him? Wrote worse than he fucked, though."
I glanced up from my laptop, skeptical.
- "Casanova was your familiar?"
- "Yep, babe," Scarlett grinned. "You could be just as big. Want your name to echo through time, a legend for centuries? This medallion'll get you there…"
Her usual mockery softened into a sticky, hypnotic purr—like she was lulling me into a trance, tempting me. It backfired: I remembered she was a demon and tuned her out.
- "But you've gotta *do* something, not just gape at that screen," she purred, hand sliding along her thigh. "Evening's prime for sex… Time to get busy, no?" She leaned on the last word, noticing my distraction.
Like I'd say no. Problem was, I had no one to do it with—the medallion hadn't warmed once all day.
- "You think," I shot back, matching her edge, "it's that easy to find a girl for sex? She'll just pop out of nowhere?"
A light, rhythmic knock sounded behind me. One. Two. One again. A childhood code.
Your mom. The universe was mocking me.
Another tap—the check. The loggia door rattled behind thick curtains.
- "Noah, can I come in?" Chloe called.
No, she couldn't materialize from thin air. Her apartment was next door, and a big square hatch linked our loggias—a weird quirk of the building. Most neighbors had sealed theirs, but ours stayed, a portal between our worlds since we were kids.
I yanked the curtain aside and opened the door.
- "Talking to someone?" Chloe asked, stepping in.
She didn't see Scarlett, who eyed her curiously. Maybe Scarlett was my private hallucination? Handy—I'd hate explaining a grown woman on my bed to Chloe.
"Just watching a movie," I said.
- "Got it…"
Chloe glanced around absently, like she was checking for changes. She'd spot them before me—she always did. Her eyes skimmed the medallion, then locked on my face—serious, searching, her confused look.
"I wanted to ask…" she started, hesitant. "Stella Brooks… That's Stella, right?"
- "Yeah, shocked me too," I joked. "Funny, huh?"
She didn't reply, sinking onto my bed's edge. Scarlett snickered, shifting closer, still watching her.
"I didn't think," Chloe said after a pause, "you liked her…"
I didn't think she did webcam.
"Ran into her at university," I shrugged. "Had to drop off a notebook…"
Why was I justifying myself? This was getting awkward, and Scarlett's presence made it surreal. She stared at Chloe like she was mentally stripping her for me.
- "But the video was… different," Chloe said softly. "You didn't seem to mind…"
I didn't want this chat with her—her questions were veering somewhere uncomfortable.
- "Shock factor," I dodged. "No time to process. Call me a victim of circumstance."
- "Victim!" Scarlett snorted.
Lucky Chloe couldn't hear her.
- "Nothing happened anyway."
- "Didn't…" Chloe echoed, thoughtful. "So, would you have gone all the way?"
She looked at me, waiting, and I fumbled for words.
I'd gone all the way yesterday—just not there. Couldn't tell her that. She shouldn't have seen it.
- "What's this?" Scarlett cut in. "Your childhood pal climbs into your room, practically your bed, asking about sex—and you haven't fucked her? Are you dense?"
I'd pay not to hear her now. Her jab stalled me, and I scrambled to recall Chloe's question.
- "Well, maybe," I said, aiming for honesty. "Just not with her. Girls like Stella aren't my type."
After a beat, Chloe smiled and leaned back on the pillow. The medallion flared hot against my chest.
- "Congrats," Scarlett purred, smug. "She wants you. Push it now!"