Each tile is no bigger than my thumbnail, cut from what looks like precious stones—lapis lazuli, mother-of-pearl, gold leaf, tiny fragments of what might be actual diamonds that catch the colored light and throw it back in brilliant sparks.
My breath catches in my throat.
Flaming angelic beings with wings like Remus’s—except pure white instead of black—gathered in an enormous hall. They’re arranged in perfect rows, all facing toward some kind of altar where there’s a burst of light so bright it’s depicted in pure white tiles.
“What is this?” I breathe.
“Watch,” Remus says.
I frown, confused, but before my eyes, the mosaic begins tomove. The tiny tiles start shifting like living things, millions of microscopic pieces sliding and rotating and changing color. It’s like watching the world’s most expensive LCD screen, except made of actual stone and metal and gems. I yelp and stumble backward, my feet nearly tangling as I crash into Remus’s solid chest.
He chuckles, a rich sound that vibrates through his ribcage against my back, and slips an arm around my waist to steady me. This time he doesn’t let go, and I can feel the heat of his body seeping through my clothes. There’s something incredibly comforting about his solid presence as I watch the impossible unfold before me.
The tiles ripple outward from the center like water disturbed by a stone, creating waves of movement that are almost hypnotic. The angelic beings begin filtering out of the great hall, their white-and-gold forms flowing like liquid light across the shifting surface. Then another figure enters—different from the angels, less bright, more human-looking but still winged. Unlike the others standing tall and proud, this figure lurks in shadows, head darting around nervously.
It’s like watching the world’s most beautiful security footage as the figure creeps toward the bright altar, dips his hand into the fire, and steals some of that divine light. Then he flees, racing down the aisle and into a darker corridor.
The scene follows him to a room with what looks like a rippling blue mirror. He glances back once, clutching the stolen fire to his chest, then leaps through the mirror.
The entire mosaic explodes in a rainbow of shifting colors, and when it settles, the thief has landed in a crouch on green grass, still holding that divine spark. He stands triumphantly, lifting the fire above his head as his wings flare wide.
The image freezes there, and I let out a shaky breath. “What did I just see?”
I’m suddenly very aware that Remus’s arm is still around my waist, that I’m pressed back against him, that I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. Part of me wants to stay right here, safe in his warmth, but the rational part of my brain is screaming warnings.
I spin away, careful not to step on the magical mosaic, and hurry around the perimeter of the room to the doorway.
Remus follows, and once we’re in the small landing at the top of the stairs, he gestures back toward the room. “That was my father’s monument to his proudest moment—when he stole the spark of life from the gods so he could become a god himself. When he came to Earth, he forged his children with that stolen fire, implanting the godspark in each of us.”
He thumps his fist against his chest with obvious pride.
My eyes widen. Well, that answers some questions while raising about a million others. “Oh,” I manage intelligently. “Wow.”
“Yes,” he nods, standing a little taller as I look at him. “Wow.”
I shake my head and swat at his chest without thinking. “You’re way too full of yourself.” The moment my palm makes contact with his bare skin, I freeze. He’s warm and solid and very, very real, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of every point of contact.
Before I can pull away, he catches my hand and holds it there against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm—strong and steady and definitely not human-slow.
“I feel very full when you are here at my side, Lo-Ren consort,” he says, voice rough with something that might be sincerity.
Swoon.
Wait—no. Not swoon. I’ve made this mistake before, falling for a guy who seemed too good to be true. The thing about men like this is there’s always a catch. Usually some gigantic red flag that’s been waving in my face the whole time.
Michael seemed perfect too, at first. Charming, attentive, full of grand plans and bigger promises. Right up until the moment he decided I didn’t fit into his “five-year plan” anymore.
Just then, I notice that Remus’s hood has come askew, revealing a glimpse of... something. On pure impulse—because apparently I have zero self-preservation instincts—I reach up and yank the hood off his head.
And immediately yelp in shock when he lunges forward to grab it back.
“Oh my god!”
There’s another face on the back of his head. An actual,differentface with closed eyes and slack features, like someone peacefully sleeping. The skin is the same bronze tone as Remus’s, the features just as sharply defined but somehow softer, more controlled even in sleep. Dark hair falls across the other face’s forehead, and I can see the rise and fall of breathing that seems separate from Remus’s own.
It’s not grotesque or disturbing like I might have expected—it’s just... another person. Literally another person sharing the same skull, as impossible as that should be.
Remus immediately releases my hand and backs into the corner, trying to hide what I’ve already seen. For the first time since I met him, he doesn’t look confident. He looks... vulnerable. Maybe even scared.
