Naia buried into Finnian’s side, her tears dampening the material of his shirt and sticking to his chest.
Finnian held her tightly with one arm, the ashes sprinkling from the crevices of his enclosed fingers in his other hand.
“I love you, Father.” Releasing one finger at a time, he slowly let go.
Nestledin a forest off the outskirts of Augustus, their stone cottage sat isolated from the world.
A faint trail of smoke curled from the chimney. Frost coated the branches of nearby evergreens, each tendril of grass, and the glittering stalks of rosemary, sage, and mint in the garden.
The morning had never appealed to Finnian. He preferred nighttime, when the world and the mortals silenced. Though, in his new life, he was beginning to prefer the dawn—a scratch at their front door from their puppy whimpering, a sound he could not hear without his hearing aid, but knew when it occurred from Cassian jumping out of bed in nothing but a flattering pair of velvety boxers to scoop up Juniper and rush her out onto the front lawn.
Finnian loved leaning on the doorframe and watching Cassian cheer the pup on as they both drew shapes in the icy grass.
A bird house rested underneath the nearby lemon tree, a resident inside, its cobalt feathers marked with dripping caramel. Alke never strayed far, and it had become too vexing for Mavros to try and contain him in the Land—an entertaining struggle that Finnian couldn’t resist smirking at.
The aroma of espresso, paprika, and freshly baked sourdough wafted throughout the house. The dance of a string quartet sang from a spinning vinyl record. All worries were forgotten as Finnian snuck up behind Cassian at the stove and whispered kisses down his neck. Clothes were shucked, and theyfound themselves under the satin sheets of their bed, lost in each other’s skin.
Soft and tender top-lip kisses, dragging and hazy. Slow hands, grazing, exploring, as if it was the first time they’d touched. He loved the way Cassian trembled beneath him, the way his eyes glowed with pleasure.
Once was never enough to sate Finnian. He was greedy and his thirst was unquenchable. He wanted to lose himself in Cassian’s breath, sink deeply beneath his skin, and burn there forever.
Life with Cassian was chilled nights snuggled up by the fireplace, with Juniper burrowed in the mountain of blankets strewn over their sofa; 2AM baking extravaganzas after Cassian foundanothernew recipe; Finnian casting a spell on the pastries in the oven when Cassian wasn’t looking to correct their flattening posture; long strolls through Augustus’s countryside during the summer, the stream trickling in the background alongside the crickets and frog calls, fireflies glowing like stars between the trees, dandelions and other herbs stuffed in Finnian’s pockets; Naia pulling up in their driveway, and Ash spilling out of the backseat and up the front porch steps, excited to spend the weekend with his uncles; days hunched over a workbench, the spiced aroma of cinnamon, and a bubbling cauldron with an eagerness in Finnian’s fingertips as he scribbled notes in his grimoire; Cassian plucking mint leaves and squeezing lemons by hand for a delicious, summer ambrosia; sunset lounges on the patio, a book in Cassian’s hand as he stole peeks over the top of the page at Finnian, drawing sigils on the boards and growing sagebrush from the runes.
“What would you like to do today?” Cassian lowered his book to his chest and pet soft strokes over Juniper’s head, snuggled in his lap.
Finnian sipped on his iced cold brew, peering out at the blush and ginger strokes across the sapphire horizon. They had no summons, no one waiting for their orders or guidance. They had each other and all the time in the world.
Finnian turned his head and met Cassian’s content gaze, eyes like small galaxies, and smiled softly. “Whatever you wish.”
EPILOGUE
The first timeAcacius saw her, the need to destroy everything in his path ceased.
He’d never longed for stillness—the kind mortals sought from overlooking a lake at dawn, or the hush at dusk when the world softened. Not until Ruelle. The engrained need constantly stirring within him to leave chaos in his path had quieted. If only for a second.
Ruelle glittered like frost, turning everything she touched to beauty.
As he stared at her now, absent of her divine complexion, her auburn waves no longer glistening like velour, he still thought the same of her.
She stood across the room from him in a gust of moths, their wings fluttering over the soft skin of her rosy-shaded cheeks. Clutched in the grip of her small fingers dangled a gold thread. She held a dagger in her other hand, an ancient relic only the High Goddess of Fate could use. Its silver blade was double pronged with a citrine gemstone pommel. The dagger’s aura pulsed with rich, divine power.
Acacius’s insides twisted.
He started towards her, but she shook her head. “Stay where you are.”
“Put away the dagger,” he commanded, the muscles in his shoulders tensing. “And I will.”
“You know that is not how this works.” As she spoke the words, Acacius’s moths crystalized and fell like hail. Their frozen bodies shattered across the floor of his home.
When she is gone, these remnants are all I will have left of her.
The thought burned his throat. Panic welled up in his chest, and he stormed across the room for her.
She inclined her head and threads clawed from her forearms and tangled around his limbs. They bound tightly and his knees buckled. He shouted as he strained his arms against their grip.
“Ruelle!” he snarled, his heart tattering at the sight of her calmness. Peace was already softening her features, and she held a look of knowing in her gaze, almost as if she pitied him.
A sickness turned in his stomach as his eyes flashed from her face to the gold thread hanging in between her fingers. It was unlike the others that he’d glimpsed throughout the years. A part of him knew whose it was, but the other part of him wasn’t willing to accept it.
