“You are? It’s not weird for you?”
I didn’t know how he’d take the news. I wasn’t sure how our brothers would take any of the news we had to share when we got back home. No part of me anticipated this easy understanding. I guess I should have expected it from Bren. He was a sunshine, who just wanted everyone happy.
“I mean, sure, maybe it’s supposed to be weird, but after hearing how you spoke about Dagon and everything aboutmates… for some reason, it doesn’t feel weird. It sounds right. You two are in love and happy. That’s what matters to me.”
“Thank you, Bren. I-” I wasn’t sure what to say. “I- I appreciate it.”
“No need for thanks. Besides, I have ammunition now to tease Dagon and make him blush,” he cackled like an evil mastermind.
“Good luck with that,” I replied, warmth filling my chest.
We continued talking lightly, gradually easing my tension. Bren updated me on our brothers. King still had everyone confined. Andras was restless, while Luc and Wild adjusted more easily.
Bren? He skillfully avoided discussing himself. I noted it but didn't push.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up, and I ended our call with promises to return soon, though I wasn't ready to face King just yet.
I needed time with my demon, time only for us, no other demons, angels, objects, just the two of us.
I only wanted Dagon to open his eyes, kiss me, and return the air I needed to breathe in order to live. Because right now? Right now, it felt like I was suffocating. I couldn’t die, but I couldn’t live either. I was hovering in between.
I returned to our room and curled around Dagon, focusing on his breathing and the beats of his heart. The rhythmic sound was enough for now to chase away the darkness that had latched onto me and refused to let go.
Chapter thirty-eight
Dagon
The lines between dreams and reality blurred. I was in this semiconscious space where I knew I was dreaming but wasn’t fully awake either.
Orbs of fire ignited around me. Di was on the other side, but I couldn’t reach him. I opened my mouth, screaming his name soundlessly. Hell was holding me away from the person I loved, and I was burning in these fires.
Mine, something in the fire whispered. Not Di's voice. Mine. Mine. Mine. And I understood, in the way you understand things in dreams, that the fire was not punishing me. The fire wasclaimingme. And Di was on the other side because he was being kept from me. Or I was being kept from him. I couldn't tell which.
Suddenly, I felt fingertips softly tracing over my chest, pulling me gently from the nightmare. There was a whisper in the distance.
“Love, it’s okay. You’re okay.” It was Di’s voice.
The fire from my dreams dispersed, and I tried to open my eyes. It happened slowly, much slower than I wanted it to. I needed to see if Diablos was safe. I needed to touch him and assure myself that Hell didn’t tear us apart.
I blinked and tried to focus. Everything seemed blurry and distorted. The harsh light streaming through the window blurred my vision even more.
The bed dipped, and I felt a heavy weight over my body. Contrary to the dream I had where it was scorching hot, I felt my skin prickling with cold shivers. Why was I so cold?
Starborns weren't cold. Starborns ran hot, that was the whole point of being one. Fire moved through us the way blood moved through humans. The fact that I was shivering – that I was registering Di's body as warm instead of cool against my heat – that wasn't grogginess. That was wrong. Something the white-haired Starborn had left in me was still in there. Still draining whatever made me like this.
I filed the fear under later. Di first.
“I was so afraid. I thought I lost you,” Di sobbed softly into my neck.
His words were like cold water poured over my mind. The fog rose, all the memories from yesterday came rushing, and so did the fear. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his forehead.
I pulled back to look at him properly, and the breath left my chest in a way that had nothing to do with the wound in my back.
Diablos.
His eyes were rimmed red. Not from fresh tears, from hours of them. The skin underneath was swollen and bruised-looking,the way it gets when you've been crying so long the tears stop being water and start being something that hurts you on the way out. His hair was a disaster. Not bed-mussed. Pulled at. The strands at his temples were stuck together where his fingers had been gripping them. His lips were chapped. His hands, when I caught one of them, were shaking. Not from cold. From whatever shaking comes after hours of shaking.
I knew this face. I had memorized this body for eight years and I knew what this version of him meant.
