Dimitri’s high-pitched screams echo around us, then cut off abruptly when we land in his rooms. I throw him onto his bed and he screams again.
“Knock it off,” I snap as I pace around the room. I shake out my hands, leaving burn marks in my wake.
“You're flaming out, Omen.” Dimitri's voice holds a warning I'm desperately trying to heed.
He flings himself off the bed and crashes to the floor. His boots slip as he tries to scramble to his feet, and he hisses when a stray ember hits his shoulder. My vision dims as another wave of nausea hits me. I brace my hands on my knees and breathe through my nose. It doesn't help.
Movement from the corner of my eye has me turning my head, and I'm hit with a face full of water. Steam and sizzling fills the air, obscuring Dimitri. It doesn't help the burn in my veins, but at least I'm not in danger of burning down his quarters.
“I didn't touch her. Just a brush on her arm,” he whispers. “You shouldn't be…”
As the air clears, I can finally see the indecision in his eyes. “Spit it out.”
“You shouldn't be ready to kill me over that. You shouldn't be like…well, likethisat all. You know what this is, Omen.”
I shake my head, unable to give voice to my fears. Whatever he's about to say doesn't matter. Itcan'tmatter, because if it does, then my entire existence crumbles. Everything I've worked for will disappear, vanishing without a trace. I'll lose…her. She'll vanish and I'll end up in the void until I float away with no one to remember me. I'll fade from Dimitri's mind and be erased from every memory I've been in.
“Don't go near her,” I snarl and prowl toward the door.
Dimitri steps in front of me, blocking my way. He always was better at traveling through the void between dimensions. My hands curl into fists and I glare at him as if I can get him to move through sheer force of will. If he doesn't move, I'm liable to burst into flames again, and I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself from taking him out.
“Move.”
“No can do,” he says, shaking his head. “You need to deal with this now or?—”
“Or nothing. Move or I'll move you.”
He rolls his eyes, and my shadows whip around me. “You can't use the same threats against me as you do your?—”
My hand seizes his throat once more and he gags. “I'd advise you not to finish that sentence.”
He grabs my wrist, but doesn't try to remove me. His gaze meets mine, pity and understanding mingling together. The truth sits there, mocking me, challenging me, warning me. I'm not ready. I'll never be ready.
I wrap my shadows around my body and vanish into the space between worlds. He can't follow me there. A swooping sensation hits me along with the ever-present tug of the threadbetween Clara and me. She isn't summoning me. I should be grateful for that, but a wave of sadness hits me out of nowhere. I doubt she'll call for me again unless it's a mistake.
Still, I follow the strand through the nothingness, unable to help myself. I don't have to show myself. I can merely hide behind a mask of invisibility, make sure she's okay, then come home. It'll put my nerves at ease, and I'll be able to let her go.
Except as soon as her house appears, I realize how fucked I am. I don't know how much time has passed, but it's no longer five in the morning. Bright sunlight streams through the trees, highlighting Clara's dark hair. She lets out a frustrated cry as she bats at the vines crawling up the side of her home. She jumps and latches onto a particularly stubborn one and yanks hard. It doesn't move, and she lets out a string of curses that would make most demons blush. An unbidden smile creeps up my face, and I fight against it.
My gaze travels over her form, and I forget every single reason why I shouldn't be here. Every argument I had against being with her vanishes, and I stalk forward. My muscles relax the closer I get, giving me a false sense of calm. I don't trust my own emotions when it comes to Clara.
“Bullshit vines,” Clara mumbles under her breath. “Think you can come in here and just spread your tendrils around? Dig your way into my foundation? Damage my stucco? I don't fucking think so. You may have won the battle, but I'm definitely going to win the war. As soon as I get a ladder.”
I snap my fingers and the vines disappear. Clara jumps and stumbles around, a shriek on her lips. Her very plump red lips.
“Omen? What are—Where did you…” She clamps her mouth shut and swallows hard, avoiding my eyes. “Thank you. You didn't have to do that.”
Her tongue darts out and drags across her bottom lip, drawing my gaze down. I step closer and her spine snapsstraight. Another one and she sways as if her body and mind are at war. Her hesitancy gives me pause. For some reason, I assumed she'd be riding the edge of sanity with me.
“Well, I didn't want to have to save you from falling off a ladder,” I murmur with a smirk.
Her face hardens, and I realize I fucked up a second before her palms slam into my chest. “Fuck you, Omen. You think you can just pop in here after all this time with a snap of your fingers and a quippy joke? I don't think so.”
She hits me again, and once more for good measure. Heat sears through me where her skin touches mine, and I realize I'm still in the sweatpants I summoned when I landed in Hell. I open my mouth to say something,anything,yet no words come out. Her eyes narrow and she snatches gloves from her back pocket. She smacks me with them. I fight a smile and hold my hands up in surrender.
“Easy there, little witch. You'll take out an eye?—”
She shrieks, throwing her hands up and pivoting away. A second later, she marches back to me and lets out a frustrated growl. I swear she's about to shake her fist at me. She stomps away again. I saunter toward the now-vineless wall and lean against it, resigning myself to waiting her out. Eventually, she'll run out of steam and we can actually talk.
