He’s alive. Oh, thank god, he’s alive.“Oh my god,” I whispered as I perched beside him. My shaking hands hovered over his knitted flesh. I was desperate to touch him, but also afraid to. “How?”
Damien was suddenly next to me, the warmth of his body radiating between us. He hadn’t crossed the room; he had simply appeared. “A god indeed,” he said, amused. “Thoughwhichgod is an interesting question,mi gatita.”
We both stared at the faint glow pulsing under Rowan’s skin. For the briefest moment, a word shimmered across his collarbone, written in gold light before vanishing like breath on glass:Lavernai.
A small gasp escaped Jules and me both.
“Was that word important?” My voice seemed to echo in the cavernous study as Rowan’s chest rose and fell steadily, a rhythm that made my heart stutter in disbelief. I couldn’t breathe fast enough, couldn’t think straight enough to process the miracle before me.
He’s healing. He’s actually healing. This is real. This is happening.
Damien’s gaze sharpened, all humor gone. “Well, it would appear that he does bear themarkof a god.”
Confusion laced my words. “What?”
“No,” he mused to himself, ignoring me. “This seems to bemorethan simple divine intervention at play here.”
I opened my mouth to ask Damien what he meant, but stopped when I saw Rowan’s pale blue eyes flutter open. They were unfocused, as though he were trying to remember where he orwhohe was.
Then they locked onto mine.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was raw, ragged, barely a whisper, but it was like a chorus in my ears.
My knees gave way as my vision blurred, and I fell forward, throwing my arms around him without thought. “Am I hurt?” My voice was thick. “I thought I’d lost you.” I choked on my tears as I buried my face against his neck, inhaling the scent of him—sweat, blood, pine, life. “I thought. . . I thought you—”
The words died. I couldn’t finish them. Couldn’t articulate the abyss that had opened beneath me when those twins latched onto his throat, couldn’t explain the way my world had narrowed to the wet sound of them feeding, couldn’t describe the same sense of helplessness I had only ever felt one other time before. A kaleidoscope of pain echoed through my entire being despite the relief I felt at the insistent beating of Rowan’s heart, which seemed to match my own fervent pace.
At the end of my first life, the fear, desperation, and hopelessness of Edward killing me? That amalgamation of feelings. . . watching Rowan die in front of me felt the same.
“I am here,” he murmured, voice hoarse yet resolute. He wrapped an arm around me, his hand trembling slightly as it pressed against my back. “I am here.”
I couldn’t stop crying. The tears flowed freely now, hot and unrelenting. My body shook against his, desperate to anchor him to me, to make sure he was truly, undeniably real. Every second I’d feared he was gone replayed through my mind, and as I processed that he was here—alive and safe—relief burned through me like a wildfire.
“You can’t do that to me again, Rowan,” I whispered, voice breaking as I pressed my mouth to his neck. I felt his heartbeat against my lips, steady and strong. “You don’t get to call me reckless ever again. Not when you nearly died brawling withvampyresin a back alley. Don’t ever do that. Not again. Not ever.”
I can’t watch you die. I cannot. I’ve buried too many pieces of myself already.
His free hand lifted slowly, brushing my hair back from my tear-streaked face, his touch gentle but grounding. “I will not make a promise I cannot keep, Violet.” He said with a lilt of humor, using the same phrase I had used against him from what seemed like ages ago.
“Hypocritical ass.” I half laughed, half sobbed, and hugged him tighter. My fingers dug into his skin as though holding him could make the last moments of fear vanish, could rewrite history so I never had to watch blood pour from his throat, never had to hear those wet, obscene feeding sounds, never had to taste that bitter flavor of helplessness again.
“I was so scared,” I admitted, shivering against him. The confession felt like peeling off my skin, exposing raw nerve endings to air. “I don’t even want to think about. . .” I trailed off, the words not needing to be said.
Don’t make me survive losing you. I can’t. Not after everything.
Rowan’s lips pressed briefly against the top of my head, a soft promise. “I am not going anywhere. You have my word.”
Liar.Everyone leaves eventually. Everyone dies or betrays or decides you’re not worth the trouble. That’s what I learned with Edward.
But I wanted to believe Rowan. I wanted to believeinRowan. Ineededto believe both in him,andin this life I’d learned to share with him.
“Well,” Damien said, “I am an avid and enthusiastic fan of happy endings, especially when those endings are between lovers. However, I have never been a fan ofdeus ex machinain my stories. I find the involvement of a god to be rather. . . offensive.” His voice cut through thewarmth of our moment, smooth and teasing. His tone was laced with an amusement that felt inappropriate given we’d just witnessed what seemed like a miracle.
Rowan stiffened beside me, muscles going rigid beneath my hands. I looked up to see his gaze sliding between Jules and Damien, sharpening into that hunter’s focus I’d seen a handful of times. The look that said he’d identified a threat and was calculating how to survive it.
“A demon?” Rowan’s voice was low and dangerous, stripped of the gentleness he’d just shown me. He pushed himself up to sit. “No, aHighDemon. Why is there a High Demon here?”
High Demon? What is a High Demon? How is that different from a regular demon? Are there rankings? Hierarchies?
