I nod in understanding, and my throat burns as a lump forms, and her fingers sweep under my eyes, coming away wet.
“Elliot,” she whispers. “You’re crying.”
“Yeah, princess….”
“For me?” she asks.
Her question brings a smile to my face, but it only makes the tears flow harder.
I wonder how many times I would have cried for her, had I not been cursed. I imagine it must’ve been a lot for it to all come rushing out in an endless stream.
“Only for you,” I mutter, pressing my head to hers.
Her breath catches as the magic ignites, rushing back and forth between us.
She throws her arms around my neck, and I cradle her to my chest.
“Iris.”
Her name leaves my mouth choked and coated with tears, but it’s nothing compared to the swelling in my chest.
Every glance, every touch, every beat of my heart is now hers, and it culminates in three simple words.
“I love you.”
* * *
“That’s the third time this week,” I say as Dame comes to stand beside me.
“Yep,” Dame grumbles.
We watch the inquisitors retreating through the den until their scent no longer lingers in the air.
“What’d they want?”
“Not a damn thing,” Dame says, shaking his head. “Probably just hoping to find more pieces of Covington.”
“Good luck with that,” I say, laughing.
There was nothing they could do about Covington’s missing head.
When we told them Covington had issued a challenge, with five witnesses to corroborate our story, it became a Crescent council matter, open and shut. One the council would never look into. So long as the rules were laid, they took a rather hands-off approach. Otherwise, every sore loser would file for sanctions every time they got their ass handed to them.
But after listening to Covington’s confession live, the inquisition had no choice but to drop the case for Deacon. And with all his talk of “punishing” Grey, they assumed that he’d been responsible. We weren’t about to correct them. But that also leaves them with few excuses for harassing us.
I’m almost positive I’m the real reason they keep dropping by.
I haven’t worn my dampener since that night, and they’re either nervous I might go on a wild rampage or pissed that their bets fell through. Whatever the reason, I doubt we’ve seen the last of them.
I certainly haven’t. The appeal process for my dampener is a fucking nightmare. The paperwork alone could keep me busy for a year. But with enough money and two murders solved on their behalf, the inquisition doesn’t have a leg to stand on.
I rub my neck at the memory of the collar. I don’t miss it, but sometimes it feels strange not having the heavy leather weighing me down. I keep expecting to wake up and find it wrapped around my throat, choking me into submission. But so far, nothing.
“You need to handle that?” Dame asks, disrupting my musings.
He gestures with his cup in Iris’s direction.
She’s standing on her toes, jutting her finger in the face of a troll who’s still standing too close, with Kitty playing back up as she nods aggressively.
