Not Lucifer's eventual demand. Not the white-haired Starborn. Not even the angel-father who was still sitting on the couch in the office behind me, beginning the long work of becoming someone we could fully let back in.
He might earn his way back. I hoped he would. I would even help him try.
But the unbreakable thing now was the six of us. The brothers and my mate. Not the family with King at the center. The family I had chosen. The family that had chosen me back.
Dagon pulled back to look at me.
"You okay?"
"No," I said honestly. "But I will be. Come on. Let's go find the others."
He took my hand. The arrow on my wrist caught the hallway light for a second and shimmered gold-red.
Neither of us flinched.
Chapter forty-five
Dagon
Two months later in May
Looking around at the enormous bookshelves in Di’s room, I laughed because there was no more room for books. Yes, I was counting this as a library. We would either need a bigger room or get rid of the bed and sleep on the floor if we wanted to continue to sleep here.
Two months had passed since we came back home. Initially, we all decided to stay at our father’s house due to the unknown threat from the demons we faced. However, time proved that we weren’t the most patient people.
Andras became increasingly restless. In his words, he was "crawling out of his skin," so he decided to go back to his place, much to King's displeasure. Bren also surprised us by finding an apartment and moving out. Luc and Wild decided to stay here. And Di and I talked it over and chose to move to my apartment. That way, we would be close to Andras, whose apartment was in the same building. If anything happened, we could be there in an instant.
We tried to persuade Bren to move into the same building, but he refused. Instead, Di and I decided we'd just visit him, and the coffee shop near his place, frequently. Purely out of concern, of course, and definitely not because we were nosy and overly protective of our brother.
Another advantage of moving was having our own place. And I thought May was a good month to move and build our own place. Don't get me wrong, living in my childhood home was nice, but we wanted privacy. We wouldn't have to hold back how much noise we made, which thrilled me, because I couldn't wait to hear Di scream my name again and again.
These past two months had been quite… loaded. King was adapting to the reality that we were demons. He loved us deeply, but he clearly focused more on the "sons" aspect rather than the "demons" one. I understood. Acceptance would take him time. Di, however, wasn't as patient and struggled to grasp the issue King had.
The animosity between demons and angels was profound. Even though I'd missed many lessons by leaving Hell so young, I knew this much. Honestly, the fact King was accepting at all was already a shock.
He had flinched twice since the office conversation. Di had left the room both times – once for the rest of the afternoon, once for two days. King had not flinched in the past three weeks.He was getting there. Slowly. Honestly. Exactly the way he had promised.
Things between King and me became more strained when I told him I wanted to dissolve my adoption legally. We fought, with him adamantly against it. However, legally, I couldn't be Di's brother and lover simultaneously. One day, I wanted to propose and become his husband. That couldn't happen if we remained brothers on paper.
After a lot of arguing, King reluctantly agreed. Ultimately, the legal details didn't matter. King would always be my father, and this family would always be mine.
The OCD hadn't gone anywhere. It still showed up most days, sometimes in small ways, sometimes in bigger ones. Last week he had spent a Tuesday afternoon counting the steps from the bedroom to the kitchen, walking the same hallway three times until it felt right. The week before, he had needed me to sit in the bathroom with him at three in the morning while a spiral about something he couldn't articulate burned itself out under our held hands. The disorder hadn't left him. It hadn't even gotten smaller yet, exactly. What had changed was that he didn't carry it alone anymore. He didn't hide. He didn't isolate. He didn't pretend he was fine when he wasn't.
When intrusive thoughts overwhelmed he, he shared with me openly, telling me what he needed – whether it was space, a distraction, or simply someone to talk to. He also began therapy. It was challenging for him, and after each session, he needed time alone. Though it hurt to watch him struggle, I was always nearby, ready to support him however he needed.
I talked with Andras about it, and the advice he gave me was something that I appreciated a lot.
“Therapy isn't something that heals everything overnight," he'd said. "It takes effort, trust, and time. It's a road with ups and downs. Sometimes you’ll feel better, sometimes worse.Some traumas take years to process, and a mental health disorder won't vanish just because someone attends therapy. Give him your unwavering support, but the most important thing is simply asking what he needs. Let him heal with you, but also without you. Seeking reassurance might become a compulsion for someone with OCD, so you both need to learn to recognize when that's the case and what to do."
This advice helped me so much.
Underneath all of it – underneath the apartment and the bookshelves and the therapy and the bond humming between us like a third heartbeat – I knew the rest was still out there.
Lucifer had not collected on Di's anything. The white-haired Starborn had promised to meet us again and had not yet. Somewhere there was a fifth angel who might be dead or might be missing. The objects are still unstable. Bren was hiding something he hadn't told us. Our peace was borrowed. Tomorrow was still coming.
I knew all of that.
And tonight I was still going to spend the afternoon pressing my mate against a bookshelf and not thinking about any of it for a little while.
