Nat opened the door behind us, revealing a space that could charitably be called a studio apartment. Its most defining features were four walls and a mountain range of books. “Rest here,” he said. “I’ll come for you when it’s time.”
“Rest? What does a ghost do, count spectral sheep?”
“You’re not technically a ghost. But in this state, meditation is… advisable. It helps with the transition.”
Transition. He made it sound like changing trains, not ceasing to exist. Was there another stop? Or was this cluttered, quiet terminus the end of the line?
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime, just stare at the wall and think about my breathing?” I asked, crossing arms I could no longer feel.
“What would you do normally when feeling overwhelmed?”
“Recently I’d let my hot boyfriend fuck the nerves right out of me.” Angel had been divine at sensing when I needed a break, even if that meant a quick trip to the bathroom to make out.
“And prior to that?”
A sigh escaped me. “The patented Jude Holt method of coping—reading a romance novel, mainlining coffee, and petting my cat until my brain shut up or my hand went numb. Peanut Butter’s a great listener, but he’s crap at giving advice.” A faint, real smile touched my lips. “Having a six-foot-something shifterboyfriend to argue about takeout and kiss me stupid was a much better system.”
A wistful smile touched Nat’s lips. “That sounds like a good system. A real one.” He looked at the cluttered, silent room, then back at me, his poise softening at the edges. “The mechanics here are different, Jude. But the principle might hold. Find your center. Remember what tethered you. It won’t be coffee or… Peanut Butter.” He said the name with deliberate care, as if holding a small, fragile thing. “But the feeling behind them. That’s your fuel now.”
He stepped back into the sterile hallway, one hand on the doorframe. “Try to rest. Not sleep. Justbe. I will return as soon as I can.”
Before I could volley back another question—How? Why? —the door clicked shut.
Silence bloomed, thick and heavy as the dust on the bookshelves. The hum of the hallway was gone, replaced by a quiet so deep it seemed to swallow sound itself.
I looked around, finding the array of stacked books, all perfectly dusted, and organized, though too many to fit any shelves of a place this small. The furniture all appeared utilitarian, and sparse. Nat’s place perhaps?
For a chilling moment, I saw a possible future. A loneliness so profound it became a presence. After all, who loved a Reaper? Was it possible? Or were they only cursed to watch others move on while being stuck themselves? Could I ever choose to trade all the messy, painful connections for the safety of eternal, quiet solitude.
No. Never.
I sat in the stiff-backed armchair, the cold leather a stark contrast to the fire building inside. The hollow fury was there, but beneath it was something harder, an absolute, immovableno.
Erlik did not get to win. The shadow god had my body, but he’d mistaken a vessel for a victory. I clung to my anchors, Angel’s face, Ivan’s steadfastness, the simple comfort of a living creature trusting my lap. They were not weaknesses to be exploited. They were the reason.
And they were the blueprint for my return.
51
ANGEL
My dreams began with chaos,pain, and unrest. Fitful. The change came in a startling drop. I felt as though something had soothed the burning ache in my chest, and I could almost follow the severed thread of my bond with Jude back to him.
For half a heartbeat, I felt Jude tucked against me. The scent of his mandarin-orange soap cut through my dreams, and the clean warmth of his hair tickled my cheek. My arm curled instinctively around a weight that wasn’t there, our bond settled and calm, though distantly sad.
“Jude…,” I whispered, reaching for him.
Then, like a soap bubble popping, it vanished.
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding as I realized I was in an unfamiliar bed, alone. The room was dark but clean, almost sterile to my heightened senses, and it made my soul ache. I closed my eyes, trying to settle the racing beat. Before the grief could rise to drown me, a weight settled on my chest. Small, insistent, and purring like a tiny engine.
I blinked my eyes open. Gleaming, gold-flecked eyes stared back from a fuzzy, gray-muzzled face.
Nox.
He headbutted my chin, his purr shifting to a concerned, low whine.
“Hmm?” I mumbled, not exactly fluent in fae dragon.
