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He looked away, scraping a hand down his face and letting out a very irritated groan. “Fine. Take whatever you want, but please, after that you have to go.”
Wilder padded to his closet and selected a pair of thick boots as dark as midnight. She was saying something under her breath, and he crept closer to catch her faint murmur.
Her eyes shone with true excitement as, ever so softly, she said, “I’ve always wanted a pair of boots like these.”
“Fuck me.” He covered his face with his hands. “They’re just boots.”
Only, he remembered the slippers she’d worn while collecting ingredients in the snow recently. They’d been acceptable, sure. Likely she’d covered them in charms to keep her feet dry and warm. But even still, magic could only do so much. With a begrudging sigh, he muttered, “Consider them a gift.”
“What? Truly?”
He wrinkled his nose. “They look much too precious now… on your feet.”
“Brightmore…” She gave one long, disappointed sigh. “Why must you always ruin the nicest moments?”
Her sigh wrapped around him, moving like fingers uncorking the last held secrets bottled up in his heart. He was in real danger of every carefully contained truth spilling out now. Never before had he so struggled to keep his mind controlled.
Wilder was dangerous. Gods below, he’d underestimated her. That much was certain.
His only defence was to fumble desperately for the stopper, trying to jam it back into the bottle before all of his carefully guarded feelings came pouring out.
He frantically redirected her attention; forcing a smug arching of his brow. “You’re right. I like the boots too much. You can’t have them anymore.”
“You absolute prat.” She jammed her feet into each boot, and like the good little boots they were, they immediately shrunk to fit her. “You’ll have to pry them off my cold, dead body if you want them back now.”
“Fine.” Oleander sighed, watching her with a mixture of annoyance and something that felt disgustingly close to fondness.
“Fine?” she said, her arms crossed and eyes blazing with challenge. “You think you could murder me? Go ahead and try, I’ll—”
He rolled his eyes. “You’ll what? Smother me with our overly researched paper?”
“Oh, shove it,” she said, almost warmly. “I might just do that. You would deserve it. Anyway, thanks for the boots and all, but I’ll be going now.”
With that, she slipped out in the same chaotic manner that she’d stumbled in; leaving a cool hollow feeling to settle over him.
Oleander ran a hand down his face and groaned. She still had no idea how inhaling purification smoke was affecting her. He’d spent years learning to control the compulsion to blurt out every truth that came to his mind. Nevertheless, if the last half hour had proven anything, even he still struggled to keep his thoughts to himself.
Purification Smoke had a way of convincing you to do and say things you’d never want to express otherwise. That was why his Circle trained relentlessly, preparing for the ceremonies where abject honesty was required.
It would be a sight to see—Wilder, forced by magic to say all the things she usually kept locked away, her lips forced open by the smoke. She’d finally spill everything she kept buried under that cool exterior of hers. It would do her good.
Except... there was also the possibility that it would blow up in her face, causing her more trauma than she’d ever recover from.
And well, he didn’t want that.
With a long, dramatic groan, Oleander made his decision—he would help her.
He fished around in Hemlock’s cupboard of magical potions, pocketing their last vial of elixir that could counteract the effects of the smoke.
Then he was weaving his way through the maze of gremlin passageways, heading toward the ballrooms where the Holy Circle normally congregated during the ceremony. Each Circle of Hell preferred to have their own ballroom to gather before the ceremony, and the Holy Circle was the most stringent at keeping outsiders out of their space.
He froze at the sound of Wilder’s voice cutting through the crowd, clear and unmistakable.
It took some time, but eventually, he found the peephole into their ballroom. His heart skipped as he spotted her immediately, surrounded by hulking warrior demons. Her face was flushed, and damn, if she didn’t look radiant.
She was a storm of emotion, a dam of unspoken words breaking loose.
As much as Oleander longed to rush in and pull her out of whatever mess she was about to dive into, he knew it would be worse for her if he did. He had no choice but to press his face closer to the peephole, heart racing as Wilder turned towards Valus and finally said what she really thought.
