“You are my concern,” Diavolo says, as if the decision is made. “Not your brother.”
With that, he pulls me into his arms, gently supporting the back of my thighs as well as my shoulders while the rest of my body is cushioned by the mist.
Sapphire light glows at the edge of my vision as he says, “I can mask most of your pain until I’m able to heal you properly, but be warned—it’s an illusion.”
He once explained to me that the simplest use of his power is to create illusions. He can change my physical appearance, give me any clothing I like, even create food and objects. His illusions feel very real, but they aren’t. The illusion wears off and, in the case of food and objects, they would be without any actual substance.
It doesn’t bother me so much that he plans to use his magic to trick my body into believing I’m not in pain. Hell, any method is fine with me right now, but… “Why will you only maskmostof my pain?”
“Because pain is useful. It will remind you not to put weight on that leg or try to use your hands. Both of which would cause further damage.”
I exhale my disappointment that his reasoning is sound.
“I would remove the feather from your shoulder, but I don’t want you to suffer greater blood loss,” he continues.
His magic must have already begun working because my pain lessens significantly.
The relief of not having to fight through the agony is huge.
I try not to sob at the respite, but fuck it, I let the tears fall. They’re only trickling from one eye anyway.
With the easing of my pain comes a new determination. “Diavolo,” I say, firmly fixing my good eye on him. “Please save my brother.”
His jaw clenches and he doesn’t make a move toward Lucian. “You’re hurt badly. The pain I’m masking is unbearable. Let me take you where I can heal you properly. We can leave this place, and the supernaturals in it, far behind us.”
It isn’t lost on me that he described my pain as unbearable. My heart must be causing him to feel my physical injuries, too.
I want to shake my head, but it still hurts too much. “My brother has answers.” I remember the way Lucian looked at me when I revealed my wings. “Ineedanswers.”
Still, Diavolo hesitates.
“Please.” I’m struggling to keep the urgency out of my voice now. “If you don’t try… then I will.”
I attempt to wriggle out of his firm hold, even though the pain surges back at me.
He holds on tightly but exhales heavily, a mask of resignation falling across his face. “As you like.”
I slump with relief.
His arms slide out from under me, leaving me cradled within the fog.
As he turns away, his eyes become completely white, smoke churning within them. His form expands, growing taller within the space of seconds. His skin turns a deep, dark gray, and the acrid scent of smoke rises off his body.
The last time he took the form of an enenra—a demon of smoke and ash—he ripped his clothes to shreds because his body expanded so fast.
This time, his transition is smooth.
The control he has over his powers is growing exponentially.
The fog parts where he walks, and I can finally see the other side of the room.
My brother is still on his knees, although his head lolls now and his eyes are barely open. There’s new blood dripping from his mouth.
Bright light gleams over him from our father’s hands, seeming to lick like flames across the air, a light that’s hungry for death.
Diavolo pauses at the edge of the still-churning tornado.
As his presence clears a path in the fog, I can finally make out the shape of the animal that was racing toward me before.
