Then reach out again.
This time my touch is gentle—finger finding his forehead with pressure that's more comfort than chastisement. I trace along his skin in a certain pattern, following lines that remind me of the mark I saw in the mirror. The bond mark. The crown of thorns that apparently connects us in ways neither of us fully understands.
His features are currently clear of any visible marking, the design hidden for whatever reasons Fae magic decides such things should be hidden. But I can feel it there—can sense the connection that pulses between us even when it's not visible, the bond that existed before I knew it was possible.
"We are not your enemy, Koishii," I tell him, voice carrying truth that I hope he can hear beneath whatever defenses he's built across centuries of isolation. "Taunt them, sure. Annoy them, fine. Even if you want to play rough, cool."
His eyes meet mine with intensity that makes my breath catch.
"But at the end of the day," I continue, "they care for me. They protect me. They love me in their own unique ways and at different stages, just like we're in our own stage."
The acknowledgment of our connection makes something shift in his expression.
"We can all go down our paths and respect that, yes?"
He stares into my transformed eyes for a long moment—pink meeting shifting features, gold meeting whatever colors his irises decide to be in any given heartbeat. The silence stretches with the weight of consideration, of evaluation, of someone deciding whether to trust the person in front of them with vulnerability they've been protecting for far too long.
Then he nods.
The motion is slight—barely perceptible, really—but it'sagreement. Acknowledgment that my request has been heard and accepted, even if implementation will probably require patience and repetition across the challenges ahead.
"Then please," I add, pressing while I have his attention, "don't try to actually kill them."
I pause, reconsidering my own words.
"Unless they betray me," I amend, the caveat emerging with the particular pragmatism of someone who has learned that trust should never be unconditional.
Speaking of trust and betrayal...
"Where's Damien?"
The question emerges as I realize one bond mate is conspicuously absent from the chaos surrounding us. The othersare accounted for—Atticus with his blood magic, Mortimer with his draconic frustration, Zeke with his inexplicable reading, Nikolai still floating against the ceiling, Cassius whose tendrils still hold me suspended near Koishii.
But Damien isn't here.
The vampire who spent years pretending to be my enemy, who revealed his true loyalties only after we'd both nearly died, who carries shadows in his past that we haven't fully explored...
Where is he?
None of them answer.
The silence carries weight that makes concern crystallize into something sharper in my chest.
I look at Koi.
His expression shifts into something that might be annoyance, might be reluctance, might be the particular look of someone who has information they don't especially want to share.
He huffs.
Looks away.
"He's on a run."
The statement lands with confusion that doesn't immediately resolve.
"Huh?" I frown, trying to parse meaning from words that don't quite make sense. "A run from what?"
Koi looks back at me, and his expression carries something that might be amusement, might be warning, might be both intertwined in the particular way that complicated news often presents.
