The first grey light of dawn touches the high windows of the gallery, and with it comes a cold, terrifying dread. Julian’s skin begins to smoke. Thin, grey wisps of vapor rise from his shoulders as he hammers into me for the final time. The spell is breaking, the magic dissolving back into the air, but he refuses to let go.
"Look at me," he snarls, his voice cracking like dry parchment.
I turn my head, my cheek pressed against the cold floorboards. His face is a blur of motion and desperation. The handsome, solid man I’ve been with all night is turning back into the ghost of a libertine. His eyes, once dark and full of life, are starting to look like flat, painted ink. Yet, his body is still inside me, his movements more violent and brutal than ever before. He is trying to beat the sun,
