"Good." The fire surges higher. "Croesus made you soft. Comfortable. I'll burn that out of you. Make you sharp again. Strong enough to face what's coming."
"What is coming?"
But the fire dies, and he's gone. Through the bond, I feel his satisfaction. Like he's looking forward to the challenge I represent.
Lysander is less subtle.
He simply appears in my room the next morning while I'm getting dressed. One moment I'm alone, the next he's lounging on my bed like he owns it, purple eyes bright.
"Most people knock," I say, pulling my shirt on quickly.
"Most people aren't fallen angels." He grins, unrepentant. "Besides, we're bonded now. Privacy seems a bit redundant, don't you think?"
"The bond doesn't give you permission to materialize in my bedroom."
"Doesn't it?" He sits up, and even that simple movement is liquid grace. "Darling, I have to say, I'm looking forward tohaving you in my house. Croesus has been so possessive. It will be refreshing to show you what desire can really be."
"I'm not interested in that."
"Yes, you are." His smile is knowing. "I can feel it through the bond. Not for me specifically. Not yet. But you're capable of such passion. Such need. You've only barely scratched the surface with Croesus." He stands, moves toward me. "When you come to me, I'll teach you what it means to really want something. To need it so badly you'd burn the world for it."
"That sounds healthy." Yep, sarcasm to the rescue.
"Who said anything about healthy?" He winks. "See you in a few years, little sin eater. Try not to let the others break you too badly. I prefer my toys intact."
He vanishes in a swirl of wine-dark smoke, and I'm left staring at the empty space where he stood.
Dorian comes that evening, bringing wine and genuine sympathy. He settles into the chair by my window, pours two glasses with the ease of long practice.
"Leaving early," he says, handing me a glass. "That's either very brave or very foolish. Possibly both."
"That seems to be the consensus."
"Seraph is going to be brutal." He sips his wine. "He'll find every flaw, every imperfection, every moment of weakness and exploit it. Not because he's cruel, well, not only because he's cruel, but because that's what he does. Perfection through destruction. Breaking things until they can't be broken anymore."
"Thanks for the pep talk."
"I'm not trying to discourage you." His warm brown eyes are serious. "I'm trying to prepare you. Because when you get to my house, if you get to my house, I want you still capable of feeling something. Anything. Even if it's just hunger."
"What will your year be like?"
"Overwhelming." He swirls his wine. "Everything, all at once, until you can't tell satisfaction from starvation. But we'll worry about that when the time comes." He raises his glass. "For now, survive Seraph. That's enough."
We drink in comfortable silence, and when he leaves, he squeezes my shoulder. "You're stronger than you think. Remember that."
Caspian never comes in person. But I feel him through the bond, a thread of acknowledgment and something that might be approval. The angel of sloth respects survival, it seems. Even if he's too tired to say so aloud.
Through the bond, faint words drift: Don't fight the exhaustion. Sometimes surrender is survival.
Cryptic.
The final night arrives too quickly.
Croesus comes to my room after dark, and we don't talk about tomorrow. Don't acknowledge that this is goodbye, at least for now.
We just lie together on my bed, holding each other, trying to memorize the feeling of this closeness before it's interrupted by time and distance and six other houses.
"I'll wait for you," he says into the darkness. "However long it takes."
