You wake slowly, your eyelids sticking together as you stare up at the ceiling. The candelabra is unlit but somehow you can see fine. There's a brightness to the room you can't explain. Slowly, the night's events come back to you: your escape, finding his room, hiding under his bed, the seizure.

This isn't your bed. This isn't your room. He must be here somewhere. The thought makes your heart pound. You still feel sluggish but manage to grab at the sheet still tied around your body. You relax. He seemingly hasn't touched you and you feel normal, intact, though fatigued.

That headache, though! You wince, then sit up with a gasp as you clutch at your head.

'Here,' comes a voice. 'This will help with the pain.'

You look up with a start. You want to scream and scramble away but you fight the urge as you stare up into his yellow slitted eyes. They seem so bright now, so easy to see in the darkness. He's standing by the edge of the bed, holding out another one of his crystal vials. The liquid inside this one, however, is blue.

You look down at it, then back up at him. Where's your knife? You briefly look around but it's nowhere to be seen. It makes you doubly frightened to think that he has it somewhere, that he knows what your intentions were. But he doesn't look angry or vengeful; he doesn't show any emotion at all. His horns look as sharp and menacing as ever, though. Like they could tear you to pieces. He's naked again. Doesn't he ever wear clothes?

'Water,' you croak.

He turns and leaves, then returns again with a goblet. You sit up taller as he sits on the edge of the bed and holds it out to you. You try to take it but you're too shaky, so he helps you drink. You grab onto his wrist as he tilts the cup's rim against your lips. You gulp the water down, then cough and gag. Water spills down your neck and front as you rest back against the headboard.

'Thank you,' you say.

Putting the goblet on the floor, he takes up the end of one of your sheets and attempts to dry your face. You pull away.

He frowns. 'I won't hurt you. I've told you that already.'

'You make it hard to believe.'

He stares at you until he makes you uncomfortable and you're forced to drop your eyes. He dabs you dry.

'Take me home,' you say. 'I'm sick.'

'I told you, this is your home. And you won't be sick for long. Here—' he gets up and walks to the desk across the room before returning with the vial of blue liquid—'take this. It'll help with the pain. Like I said, the transformation is unpleasant.'

You look at the liquid, then gaze up at him. 'I don't trust you.'

He snorts through his nose. 'Think of it this way: You're no match for me. You're in my power. What do I need with a poison or a drug to take what I want, if I wanted?'

'But it's not what you want,' you say almost pleadingly.

He gazes back into your eyes. 'It's not what I want.'

He holds it out further and you take it.

'Drink it all,' he says.

You do. It's sticky and sweet. You smack your lips, then drop the vial into the sheets at another jab of pain in your head.

'Give it twenty minutes,' he says and sits on the edge of your bed.

You grit your teeth. 'If it's not my migraine, as you say, then what's going on?'

'What do you think?' He lowers his head, showing you his horns.

'No,' you whisper, touching your head. 'It's not possible. They won't ...'

He watches you.

You shake your head. 'No. I don't want them. I don't want them!' It can't be possible. It can't be! 'You're a liar!' You feel your temples and the areas above your ears—there are no lumps. There are no horns!

He watches you expressionlessly. 'How much more do you need to convince you?'

You glare at him, tears filling your eyes. 'How can you do this to me?'

'It's what you're meant for. You'll be a whole per—being now. Once this is over, you won't ever be sick. You will suffer few injuries. You will never have seizures or migraines again—which are simply symptoms of what your body and mind are trying to be in a form that doesn't suit you.' He smooths his hand down the length of his left horn. 'You'll be able to have children, to know what it's like to love someone, someone the same as you.'

'I do love people!'

'Not like me.'

'You!' you huff. 'I'll never love you.' You immediately remember the dream, how gentle he was, how he felt inside you like nobody else had.

No!

You scramble from the bed, but the moment you land on your feet, your knees bow, then collapse beneath you. You grab at your legs with a shriek.

Moments later, he's standing above you, his hands hanging by his sides. 'I won't apologise for awakening you. But there is no need to suffer. Stay with me and I can get you through this.' He holds out his hand.

Breathing hard, you stare up at him with tear-filled eyes.

'You might as well. Once begun, the transformation cannot be stopped.' He crouches, extending his hand further.

Closing your eyes, you take it. Carefully, he helps you to your feet. Your eyes are still closed as you lean into him, pressing your head against his chest. That smell. Such a nice smell. You suck it in as he holds you.

'You'll be safe with me,' he says.

Tears leak out of your eyes as he guides you back towards the bed. He helps in your aching legs, then joins you, lying close beside you. Your eyes are still closed, unwilling to look, unwilling to remind yourself what is to become of you. But you can feel his heat; you can hear his breathing.

He rests a big warm hand on your abdomen, and you rest yours on top. The drug is starting to take effect now. You feel woozy, slightly nauseated, but the pain is starting to settle, both in your head and in your legs.

For a long time you lie together. Finally, you speak. 'What am I?'