His fingertips swirl across his wrist before he strikes his magic and a shimmering light settles around my breasts and pelvis. I can’t quite see what he gave me yet, but it feels soft and comfortable. And a perfect fit.
As he pulls off the second-to-last layer of the healing material, starting from my toes and working his way up to my neck, I can finally see that my wounds have healed.
I exhale my relief, unafraid of showing it.
Some of the tension seems to leave Roman’s shoulders too, his jaw relaxing and the crease in his forehead easing. “It worked,” he says, sounding a little surprised. I guess he was serious when he said that he wasn’t confident about his healing abilities.
As he continues to remove that layer, I quickly see that his idea of underwear isn’t exactly the same as mine. White lace briefs only barely cover my pelvis beneath the final gauzy layer, and a delicate white lace bra reveals every curve of my breasts.
I lie very still as he removes the final layer of healing material, his touch light against my skin. Now that it’s clear I’ve healed, he seems to relax even more, surprising me when he stretches out the moments of peeling back the final layer, tickling my toes and nearly making me laugh; rubbing the arches of my feet so I have to swallow my sighs; checking over my calves and thighs, his fingertips tracing my skin up across my hips. I’m sure he must have placed some sort of rune on his hands to have a touch that both soothes and tantalizes me this much.
By the time he reaches my shoulders, I feel warm and far too comfortable. I’m still lying on a thick blanket of the cocoon, but it’s come away completely at the sides so that I’m sure I can simply rise up off it.
As the final piece disintegrates in a shimmer of magic, his fingertips rest lightly on my shoulder.
“I’d like jeans and a T-shirt now,” I say.
“If you wish.”
I give him a firm nod. “I wish.”
He strikes a rune across his wrist, the script more complicated this time, rising up in the air before spreading across my body and settling onto my skin. I gasp when it tingles as surely as if he brushed his fingertips across every inch of my body.
I’ve worked very hard to put those moments in the Vegas hotel out of my mind, but they return to me like a bolt of lightning.
Before I can do anything rash—like taking his hand and pulling him closer—he turns away, casting a question back to me. “What would you like to eat? I can give you anything you want.”
I take a moment to settle into my new clothing: a soft, navy-blue shirt and stretchy jeans, before I think about food.
He sounds so confident about my food requests that I test him. “Cajun shrimp on brown rice.”
“Your favorite.” He flashes a smile at me. “I remember.”
He flicks a rune into the air, seemingly without a second thought. The script settles onto the only bare space on the table near the fireplace and a large bowl appears, steam rising from it. The scent of spices fills the air and my stomach growls like a starving beast. When I test my legs—grateful to find that it only takes me a few steps to get my balance back—I discover that there are even delicately steamed green beans at the side of the bowl.
Just as I’m sitting down to the meal, a glint of light catches my eye.
Unlike the other cluttered surfaces around me, the mantelpiece above the fireplace contains only three items—all of which I recognize. It’s the dismantled pieces of the weapon that brought us here: the horn, the clasp, and the stone.
They’re my way out of Pyra-Mortem.
CHAPTERTWENTY
I’m frozen, caught in a moment of indecision, of needing to take the pieces while they’re right in front of me.
Roman promised me that he would let me have this weapon the moment that the Elimination is over and the gates open. Having faith in his promise might be the greatest test of trust between us right now.
“You can’t use the weapon yet,” Roman says, closer behind me than he was a second ago, a renewed edge of tension in his voice.
I straighten and face him, my shoulders squared. “I understand, but you need to know how hard it is to trust you with my sisters’ lives.”
He is quiet. Remarkably so. “I don’t make promises very often. I need you to know that I always keep them. The angel’s weapon is yours. But until the gates open, this is the safest place to keep it.”
“Because this is your home.” Recalling what Reaper said about the Forbidden Lands, I continue. “Because you own these lands, don’t you? And… anyone who comes here doesn’t leave in one piece.”
It’s a statement more than a question, but he gives me a stern nod. “You will be the first demon to leave my home alive.”
I consider the separated weapon on the mantelpiece for another moment before I force myself to turn my mind away from it. “Then I trust you to give me the weapon when I need it.”
