Guilty Conscience
Then, as one hand tightened on me and his other ran gently over my hair, I noticed something. He didn't smell right.
I don't mean to imply that he smelled bad. He didn't. He just didn't smell like Gabriel. The sweat wasn't the same. There was no fleeting smell of apple, leather, and musk, no unique Gabriel scent. He smelled like Bastien.
He was Bastien, I reminded myself sternly, and with that, the illusion shattered, the spell broke. I wasn't with Gabriel, no matter how perfect the shape. I was with my friend the incubus.
"Change back," I whispered.
"What?"
"Change back to yourself."
He didn't ask why, and a moment later, I rested in Bastien's arms. It wasn't Gabriel, I realized with a dull and terrible emptiness, but it was the truth.
We said no more after that, staying in bed together for the rest of the night. Sleep never came for me, however. I lay awake the whole time, staring off into the shadows.