The kitchen smells like copper pennies, menthol muscle rub, and caramelized sugar. It seems Hallowind House is worked up about a half-dozen wounded warriors decompressing after a full-scale demon attack on our property.
I can’t say I’m thrilled about it either, but where the house seems to be pitying Asher, I can’t seem to find it in me.
I slam a bag of frozen peas onto the counter harder than necessary, making everyone jump.
Asher shrinks back, giving me a wary glance. “Easy, baby girl. It’s really not that bad.”
I stare at Asher, open-mouthed. “Not that bad? You went into Tharuzel's pocket realm—into his demon purgatory—and almost got yourself killed. No one knew you were there. What if you were still in there when I healed the stones? You would’ve been trapped and we wouldn’t have known.”
"Yeah, P. I'm aware." Asher has his palms up and is staying very still. “But it worked out. I?—”
"—could'vedied!"
"But I didn't."
I grab the frozen peas again—because apparently my hands need something to do—and press them against my own forehead. The cold bites through my headache. "You'rehuman, Asher. You don't have magic to protect you, you don't heal like Orion, you can't?—"
"I can't what, Poppy?" His gaze locks with mine. "Can't contribute? Can't face danger? Can’t be useful?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then whatdidyou mean?" He presses his hands on the table and stands. "Because it sounds like you're saying I should’ve just stood back and let the grownups handle things.”
“That’s not what I was saying.”
“Are you sure? Because from the way I see it, that bastard was torturing your familiar. Someone who helps you. Someone you care about."
“And I’m incredibly thankful and relieved you got him back, but at what cost?”
S’Nark—currently curled in a miserable ball of scabs and welted shackle wounds—lets out a weak hiss.
"I care about S’Nark, yes, butyouare my soul. I couldn’t begin to do any of this without you here. What if Tharuzel discovered you there? You could've been killed retrieving ademonwho spends half his time insulting me."
"Oi," S’Nark rasps, one yellow eye cracking open. "I spendallmy time insulting you. Don’t go getting soft on me."
Wylder clears his throat. "Poppy?—"
"Don't." I whirl on him, my eyes stinging. "Don't defend this."
He holds up his scraped and bloody palms. "I'm not defending anything. I was simply going to say that Asher made a choice in the chaos of a moment, the same way you do every single time you throw yourself at danger."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because I'm?—"
Because I'm what? The spirit witch? The one bound to a demon lord? The one who's supposed to fix everything?
Orion shifts his weight, still in his jeans but shirtless. The faint tiger striping across his shoulders catches the kitchen light. "Hey, Pop-Tart, I get it. It liquifies my bowels that our boy went in there. But he’s back, he’s alive, and he’s right. You can't sideline him because you love him too much to let him risk his safety. That's not fair, and you know it."
He’s right, and Idoknow it.
That doesn’t mean I hate it any less. I look at Asher and see the singed patches of his silky blond hair and the char smudging his skin, and I want to throw up.
“I can’t lose you, Ash. You can’t do that to me.”
He opens his arms, and I’m wrapped around him in two quick strides. He’s warm, solid, and his heart is thrumming under my ear, telling me he’s really all right.
