My eyes blurred with emotion, and my soul yearned to give everything to Diablos. To be his light, to be the person who is always beside him and loves him for an eternity.
“You’re already all of that for me,” I whispered. “You’ve always been my everything, my little starlight.”
“I love you,” he croaked.
“I love you, too.”
I kissed him deeply, trying to seal the promises we gave each other. Di was my whole world. He was my sky, the stars, and the moon. He was everything.
I held him for a long time after that. Long after the kiss ended. Long after his breathing slowed back into something steady against my chest.
Outside the window, somewhere in the field where I had fallen and Di had become something we didn't have a name for, the world was getting on with itself. Demons were still out there. The white-haired one was still out there. The wound in my back was still throbbing and still cold. Lucifer had Di's promise of anything in his pocket. And the black bow and arrow on Di's hand was real. Permanent. Part of him now.
None of it was solved.
But Di's heart was beating against my ribs and my heart was beating against his, we were both alive, both here and both still ourselves, and for one more morning, that was enough.
It had to be enough.
I would make it enough.
Chapter thirty-nine
Diablos
The intrusive thoughts from earlier finally eased when I saw that Dagon was awake and well.
I told him almost everything.
About the bathroom floor. About the scalpel image. About biting my fist so I wouldn't scream. About Bren's call breaking through. I left out two things. The first was the specific intrusive thought about the arrow killing him in his sleep — I couldn't say it out loud. The shame of having my brain find him as a target, even in fantasy, was still too sharp. The second was how long I had spent staring at the tattoo on my hand and thinking what if, what if, what if.
Dagon didn't push.
He let me give him what I could give him. Then he pulled my hand, the one with the arrow to his mouth, and kissed the ink. Slowly. Reverently. Like he was consecrating it. Like he was telling the markI'm not afraid of you, and I won't let him be afraid of you either. I sobbed once into his shoulder and he held me through it without saying a word.
Some things don't need words. Some things just need the right lips in the right place.
I spoke with him about the panic attack I had and the intrusive thoughts that it was all my fault. It was a difficult conversation, and Dagon seemed like he was in physical pain, but he reassured me that it wasn't my fault. Our conversation was long, and we bared our hearts to one another. It was exactly what I needed.
We spent the whole day catching up on sleep. Dagon no longer felt cold and the wound on his back healed, but left a scar.
A scar that shouldn't have been there. Demons healed cleanly unless the blade was enchanted, and an enchanted blade was the same kind that had given Dagon the original marks on his back fifteen years ago. The same kind. Maybe even the same make. He had felt the recognition in his body during the fight, he told me. The pain knew its own family.
But the demon who had wielded it wasn't the one who had killed his brother. Dagon was sure of that. He remembered the face from that night. He had been thirteen and his world had been ending, and he had still memorized the face. The white-haired Starborn wasn't him. I hated that it reminded him of the day his brother died and that maybe someone as powerful as this demon had killed his brother.
Which meant: someone else used the same kind of blade. Someone above the white-haired one. Or someone who taught him. Or someone who made the blades and distributed them.
We had a thread to pull. We just didn't know where it led. And when we would be able to find answers.
It was already nighttime when we finally got out of bed. I was feeling jittery, so after dinner, I suggested we go out for a walk.
The woods surrounding the house property calmed my anxiety. Thick, beautiful trees were all around us. Running my palm along their trunks, I smiled. The surface was rough, but the trees brimmed with life, grounding me in the present, steadying me instead of letting me drift.
Stars and the moon illuminated our path, bathing everything in breathtaking beauty. I felt free. It had been a long time since I'd felt like this.
We survived. Both of us were here. The bow and arrow were now engraved on my wrist like a tattoo. I felt their power pulsing through me, and I knew one thought was all it would take to summon them.
I probably should have freaked out, but I didn't. Not after the kiss Dagon had pressed against the ink that morning. Not after he had looked at the mark like it was beautiful instead of dangerous. The fear that had ridden me on the bathroom floor was still there, somewhere – OCD didn't leave, it just got quieter when there was room for other things – but tonight there was room for other things. Things felt exactly as they should be.
