My Demon Mate

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The library is too quiet. Too heavy. Every scrape of a chair, every muffled cough, every shuffle of pages seems to bounce off the stone walls and land on me like a weight. I try to focus on the screen in front of me, but the words swim. My outline isn’t making sense, and I’ve been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes.

I pull my backpack closer and adjust the folder tucked inside. The guardianship papers press against my side like they know I’ve been avoiding them. Tomorrow. I have to face them tomorrow.

A sigh escapes before I can stop it. My hands tremble slightly as I push my laptop back, open my notebook, and try again. But the numbers and words smear together. My stomach twists, and for the second time today, I swear someone’s eyes are on me.

The library’s second floor has a line of glass-walled conference rooms along the far wall. Most are filled with groups studying, arguing, laughing too loud until a librarian shoos them. But one, higher up on the mezzanine, catches my attention. A man in a dark suit leans forward in his chair, the light glinting off his profile. I can’t see his eyes, but the angle of his shoulders makes me feel like he’s looking straight at me.

I drop my gaze. My throat feels tight. Probably just stress.

My phone buzzes against the table. The sound echoes like a gunshot in the silence. I snatch it up quickly, cheeks flushing when a few heads turn my way.

It’s a text from Grams.

Be on time tomorrow. Bring the pay stubs. Don’t forget the lease.

I exhale, typing back a quick, I know. I’ll be ready.

My eyes sting as I stare at the words. Grams tried to take us in. She would have, if they had let her. But the state decided a grieving widow wasn’t “fit.” Too much loss, too much strain. So they put the choice on me. Twenty years old, half a student, half a parent, and somehow the “better option.”

I shove the phone aside and press my palms against my temples.

“Rough day?”

Arthur’s voice breaks through my spiral. I look up to find him standing across the table, holding two cups of coffee. His hair is damp, probably from the drizzle outside, and his smile is as crooked as always.

I blink, forcing my shoulders to unclench. “What are you doing here?”

“Studying.” He slides into the chair beside me, pushes one of the cups toward me. “And checking on you.”

I look at the coffee, then at him. He always does this—shows up when I least expect it, like he knows I’m about to crack.

“I don’t need checking on.”

“Sure you don’t.” His tone is easy, teasing. He doesn’t push.

We sit in silence for a minute, sipping coffee. My eyes drift to my backpack again, where the corner of the manila folder is peeking out. Arthur follows my gaze, then looks back at me.

“Tomorrow?” he asks softly.

I nod, jaw tight.

He sets his cup down and leans closer. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.

His hand brushes mine, tentative, warm. Then he leans in, presses his lips against mine. It’s soft. Gentle. Familiar.

But it doesn’t spark anything inside me. My chest feels hollow, my mind distant. I let him kiss me, let myself lean in just enough so he doesn’t see the truth, but the emptiness sits there like a stone.

When he pulls back, searching my face, I force a smile. “Thanks for the coffee.”

His brow furrows, like he wants to ask something, but he doesn’t.

A sharp thump interrupts us. A stack of books from the shelf behind me has tumbled to the floor. Three heavy hardbacks and a thin paperback sprawled across the carpet. The student at the next table jumps in surprise.

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “That's some poltergeist stuff. I swear this library is haunted.”

I swallow hard, because I know the truth. The books fell the second I started thinking about tomorrow—thinking about what happens if the judge says I’m not enough. My annoyance, my fear, it had bubbled up and… pushed.

I make myself laugh. “It's just gravity.” Right? There's no way I could have anything to do with it. That'd be absurd.

Arthur gives me a sideways look but doesn’t press. He bends down, scoops up the books, and stacks them neatly again.

When I glance back toward the mezzanine, the man in the dark suit is still there. Still angled in a way that makes me certain he sees me, even from across the library. His stillness is wrong—too cold, too controlled.

I drop my eyes again, my pulse racing.

Arthur doesn’t notice. He nudges my notebook toward me. “C’mon. Let’s get through at least a page before you give up for the night.”

I scribble half a sentence before shoving the pen aside. “I should get home. Big day tomorrow.”

He watches me, then nods slowly. “Want me to walk you?”

“No.” I pack quickly, sliding the guardianship folder to the top this time. I need to make sure it’s ready, visible, unavoidable.

Arthur touches my arm gently before I leave. “Text me if you need anything.”

I nod, though I won’t. I like Arthur well enough. He's a sweetheart and he's very present. He obviously wants something deeper with me, but I don't know if I can really do deeper anymore. Everything that's happened--my parents, becoming a complete and responsible adult overnight, Bella--has taken it's toll on me. I honestly don't know how I'll ever be normal again, how I can possibly focus on something as stupid as boy drama or mooning over boys in the face of everything I have to do now.

As I sling the backpack over my shoulder, I glance one last time toward the mezzanine. The room is empty now. The man in the suit is gone. But the watched feeling clings to me as I step out into the damp night.