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Her hands moved quicker, the pain blinding. Smoke filled his throat, choking him. She slammed her palms up his neck, his cheeks, into his hair. With a guttural scream she wrenched the parasitic shadow from him. Oleander gasped, his body slumping, a wave of emptiness crashing over him.

Perine held the rancid smoke between her outstretched hands as she turned towards the urn. The face of Hell’s most notable demon glared back at them. Finally able to name it, Oleander felt revulsion crawl over his exhausted body as he realised that she held the literal Devil in her hands— or more accurately his demented spirit. Her arms shook with the effort of holding the oily smoke in the air, the Devil’s mouth opened to let out a bone shattering scream. He screamed obscenities at them until it seemed like she might lose her grip. Oleander surged forward, placing his hands on top of hers for support.

The weight of the smoke between them was overwhelming. Even together, he doubted they could move it to the urn. He bit his lip until he tasted blood, forcing every ounce of energy and strength he had left into pushing the smoke into the Circumscription Urn.

With a final, desperate shove, the smoke was sucked inside. The urn shook once and then blinked from existence.

They collapsed together onto the floor, both breathing heavily.

She turned to him, horror etched across her face and he felt a freeness inside of him. He could put a name to what he had been carrying, finally. The edges of that name swirled in his mind, as he stared at the place where the urn had just been.

“Oleander, was that—did you have the Devil inside you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” His breathing was erratic. “I never could name it—him. I—I didn’t know for sure or—maybe sometimes I did? There was always this block when it came to thinking or speaking his name.”

Beneath them was biting cold tile, which could have been miserable except that Perine’s entire body was slumped against him, soft and overly warm. When she turned towards him, their faces were so close her long sigh grazed his skin, and that aching want bloomed in his chest once more.

Her voice was soft, melancholic as she asked, “Will there be trouble for you, now that—gods below—now that the literal Devil is no longer inside you? I knew your father was awful, but this?”

Oleander groaned. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

She leaned even further into him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her. She buried her head into his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him in return. Very slowly, he sat them up and moved her until she was nestled on his lap. Their breathing slowed, the soft hush of it filling the echoing expanse around them. He was almost relaxed until he felt the spot where her head laid on his shirt had grown wet.

He tipped her head to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes glistened beautifully and he reached up to brush a tear from her cheek.

“What could you possibly be sorry for?” he whispered. “You just saved my life.”

“No, I—” Her lashes fluttered shut and another tear slipped out. “You asked me to stop… and I didn’t.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her forefinger. “You’re right,” he said casually as he moved to kiss the next finger. “Next time, just let me die.”

“Wh–what?”

“Actually—” He moved to the next finger, his lips lingering a touch longer than the first two kisses. “You should have just let the Devil possess me completely—let him crush my soul and murder me like he was trying to in the library.” He kissed the next finger. “Why did you drag me to this dreadful place at all?” He grinned against her fingers. “There’ll be absolutely no saving the outfit I was wearing.”

At last, he heard her huff of wet laughter. “I’m still sorry, though. It was—” She sniffed, and another tear slipped down her cheek. “I just feel so terrible about it all.”

He kissed her pinky and then flicked his eyes up to hers. Their gazes lingered, soft and scorching all at once. “And if the roles were reversed and it was I who had to save you?”

Her hand moved slowly away from his mouth and she cupped his face. “There’s no one I’d trust more than you.”

There was a very good chance that, actually, he did die whilst having the Devil pulled from him, because there was no way a body could survive the eruption of heat that crashed over him at her words. He wanted to pull her to him, meld his body to hers until they were a wave moving together, until they were a knot of fingers and limbs and teeth and—

Perine moved slowly away from him and the heat of the moment froze into forced detachment. The temporary bond that they’d created had dulled significantly filling him with strange grief. He looked over at her then, to see if she was as affected as he. The hand he had so tenderly kissed was held outstretched at her side, before she squeezed it into a clenched fist. He watched with fascination as she shook her hand, brushed it on her trousers and then finally pulled it to her chest and laid it atop her heart. Their eyes met and triumph blazed across his own heart because he knew—he knew—these wretched feelings he had were reciprocated. It didn’t matter how ardently she wished it weren’t so.

Around them, the Arcane Vaults loomed, and one by one, the candles that had been lighting the room since their arrival began to snuff out. Their time here, alone in this quiet moment, was quickly coming to an end. He should be worried about what would happen now that the Devil was no longer inside him, but he found he didn’t care about anything save the fact that for a little while longer he had Perine here alone with him.

Oleander wanted to tell her how he felt then, only the words caught in his throat. He knew that if he ever had to choose between her and anything else, he’d choose her—always. That for him, there was only Perine and outside of her nothing else mattered.

Most of all, he thought ruefully, even if he couldn’t have her he needed her to be happy. She deserved to live the life she wanted.

He blew out a long, tired breath. “You know, Wilder…”

“Are we back to surnames now?” Her voice was carefully wry, but her gaze met his all the same. A deep sense of anguish lined her face, perhaps that same sketched sorrow that lined his as well.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to set yourself on fire to keep those around you warm.”