“Think of this as a sort of purgatory,” he said finally. “A place of… processing. An in-between.”
“In-between what?” I gestured down the empty corridor. “Where corporate dreams go to die and the void where my screams have vanished for the last thirty years?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, there and gone like a shadow. “Between states of being. Life and death are not binary switches, Jude. They are adjacent rooms. Do any of the doors stand out to you?”
I studied him. Nat’s aesthetic of polished academic with fitted trousers, a corset like vest, and a sweep of curly hair that brushed the top of his round glasses made him look like the model of a professor from any anime.
My gaze swept the endless row. None did. They were all just doors. The only thing that stood out was the raw, screaming need inside me. “And if I’d like to find my way home?” Because if I had the chance, I’d find a crack in reality and claw my way back through, dive headfirst into the smoking wreckage I’d left behind, and straight into Angel’s arms.
Into the solid, furious beat of his heart against mine. Into Ivan’s fierce, worried grip and the way he’d pretend he hadn’t been crying. Back to the scent of cat fur and coffee brewing at five a.m., and the frustrating beat of speaking for those whose voices had been stolen from them.
In a heartbeat, I’d return to him, to them, to all of it. No matter the consequences.
Maybe I could haunt Angel. I’d read romance books about a guy falling in love with a ghost. We could make it work, couldn’t we?
Nat sighed. “Not an option.” He studied me for a long minute. “None of the doors stand out?”
“Was there supposed to be one bathed in light or some mythical shit? Because no. They all have the same creepy-shit-inside vibe.”
A cold, unsettling thought crystallized. Victor once said that the truly dead rarely crossed the Veil.Was I not truly dead?Is that why I was stuck in this antiseptic hallway?
“But I’m dead,” I said, the word tasting strange and flat. “Aren’t I? I unraveled myself to protect Angel. No refunds, no returns.”
“Yes. And no.”
“Wow. Clear as mud. Is that an aftereffect of being dead? Riddles?”
He shot me a look that was pure ‘Reaper tired of your mortal sass.’ “Usually, a freed soul will choose a door.” He waved at the hall. “Be drawn to one, if you will. I suspect you aren’t because your body,” the words sounding pained, “remains viable. Usable, but in the shadow-demon’s grasp.”
Usable.
“Does that mean I can get it back?”
“Mortal flesh decays without its animating soul. And the shadow puppeteering it will corrode the vessel from within, accelerating the ruin.” He assessed the dark hall. “I think it will only be a few days before one of these doors will open to you.”
His description painted a nightmare picture. My empty shell, propped up in Erlik’s trophy room. A marionette with my face, dripping rotting flesh, and waiting for new strings. Angel’s worstnightmare. I could only imagine how horrible it might be for him to face a zombie of me, with a demon making it dance.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“What do I do?” I asked, trying to choke back the horror. “Angel shouldn’t have to fight some nightmare demon while it drags my corpse around like a fucking Halloween prop. I can’t just let it keep my body, right?” My words came out brittle. “How do I get it back?”
“You don’t,” he said. “The threads that bound you to it are cut. That chapter is closed. Your mate severed the last tie, Jude. He freed you from that nightmare. Take his gift for what it is.”
My mind went blank. Static roared between my ears.
“Angel?” The name came out in a weighted breath. “How?” I remembered landing in the tube of goo, and then a bright light with Nat appearing in front of me, blinding everything around me.
Nat cupped his hands before me. Between his palms, a light kindled. The light stretched, and coiled, turning into an orb with a glass-like surface, glowing with movement, chaos, and horror.
The scene unfolded with the grim clarity of a nightmare. Soldiers in tactical gear, their faces tight with terror, weapons trained on a swirling epicenter of madness. Creatures of shadow and teeth ripped through their ranks. And in the middle of it all, at the heart of the storm, stood Angel. Heartbreak and pain stark on his soot-covered face as he gazed at the shadowy marionette of my body. My face, slack and gray. My limbs being jerked around like a broken doll’s.
Angel leaned in to brush his lips to mine, tears running down his cheeks. And in that moment, he’d cut the last glittering strand of my mortal life.
“He used my power?” I wondered out loud.
“You wove your essence into his soul as a shield. Given time, your bond would have naturally shared such gifts.” Natsaid. “Your sacrifice accelerated the process. And his choice… it returned the favor. He used that borrowed strength to free you from the monster’s grip.” Nat watched me process, his gaze holding a depth of understanding. “Sometimes,” he said softly, “the most profound act of love is not holding on, but letting go. He gave you your freedom, Jude. Even when it meant taking the weight of that choice onto his own soul.”
A final gift, and a finishing wound, from the man who held my heart, even now, in a world where I no longer had one.
