Vox never imagined the night would end like this: with Alastor tied to his bed, shirt torn open, breathing unevenly, ears pinned back against his hair-looking at him with a kind of intimate hatred that burned. "You two should just fuck already!" Valentino taunted, savouring the spectacle. And Vox could do it. He had the Radio Demon right there, bound and defiant, trembling with fury under his hands. Exactly where he had wanted him so many times. Exactly how he had fantasised about him, night after night-wanting him, hating him, craving him. But not like this. Never like this. Because for the first time, Vox realised that what he'd imagined for years wasn't dominating him... it was touching him without destroying him. And that terrified him more than any demon in Hell.

Vox jamás imaginó que la noche terminaría así: con Alastor atado a su cama, camisa rota, respiración irregular y las orejas tensas contra el cabello, mirándolo con un odio tan íntimo que quemaba. "¡Ustedes dos deberían follar de una vez!", se burló Valentino, disfrutando cada segundo del desastre. Y Vox podría hacerlo. Tenía al Radio Demon ahí, sometido y desafiante, temblando de rabia bajo sus manos. Justo donde lo había querido tantas veces. Justo como tantas noches lo fantaseó, deseándolo, odiándolo, buscándolo. Pero no así. Nunca así. Porque por primera vez, Vox descubrió que lo que había imaginado durante años no era dominarlo... sino tocarlo sin destruirlo. Y eso lo aterraba más que cualquier demonio del infierno.