“Get us moving,” Brice barks out. “What the fuck happened to your godsdamn arm, Alaric?!”
Nothing else matters in this moment. Not the Fallen, not his missing arm—none of it. All that exists is right here.Her. I lean back into my girls, pulling them tighter to me and burying my face into Xera’s neck.
“Oh, Phiny—oh my Gods.” Sydni’s wailing is so raw it makes her choke, followed by violent coughing. She trembles so hard I’m surprised the boat doesn’t shake in response to her grief.
Xera takes a shaky breath, and my hand moves instinctively to her neck, gripping tightly enough to make her look at me. Slowly, her lips part, and I catch the stark contrast of her bright white teeth against the darkness consuming her. Her eyes—those eyes, once so vivid—are now completely void of color, yet they hold more emotion than I’ve ever seen in her.
After a moment, I lean in and brush my lips against hers, feeling them quiver as I do. “Shh, you’re here. I’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry…” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”
Pushing my forehead against hers, I shake my head. “Never apologize for something that you had no control over, Xera.”
When she swallows, I know she won’t protest any further. We’ll both apologize for far too long, each blaming ourselves. I’ve failed her too many times, and she’ll carry the weight of it, believing this is somehow her fault. But none of this is on her. She deserves nothing less than a life full of love—the kind I want to give her, in every way she needs.
She slowly leans back, and as Sydni lifts her gaze, I’m reminded that we have another battle about to start.
Xera releases me and grabs hold of her princess, her voice thick and almost demonic as she hisses, “What the fuck happened to your eyes?!”
Terror flashes in Sydni’s gaze, and when she glances at me from the corners of her eyes, my little demon shoots daggers straight at me. But as much as that look is directed my way, it’s not anger towards me. It’s something else—a subtle ripple of thought that brushes against the back of my mind, like I can almost hear her words without her speaking them.
“I won’t actually kill you, Kai. You know that, right?”
Still doesn’t mean that look of hers isn’t terrifying.
When she turns her head back to Sydni,she demands, “Who did this to you?”
“I did.” Niyla’s voice is steady, almost defiant. She’s barely recovered from swimming back onto the boat, yet she stands tall as if she could take on my girl. That Shifter had grabbed her like a toy, tossing her off the boat like she was nothing but an inconvenience. Xeraphine sent him running, tail tucked between his thighs and all.
It’s not defiance she has, it’s stupidity for attempting to be brave.
Just as Xera moves to stand, Sydni grabs her arm. “Wait.”
Her eyes stare straight up at Niyla. “You… turned… her?!” The anger in her voice isn’t the only thing that’s rising. It begins to pull that black aura from her skin again, swirling around her like a storm ready to break.
Do I stop her?
“Phiny-bear, listen to me, I was dying. I wouldn’t have survived.”
It doesn’t matter that the boat is moving now. Time seems to stand still as we all watch Xeraphine. And in this moment, I remember my place.
I let her go, giving her space to be who she is.
It’s who I fell in love with—every psychotic, perfect inch of her.
Chapter 23
Xeraphine
Minutes before…
I’m violently dragged from my dream state, and there’s no doubt an external force is pulling me out of it. I’ve never seen the light before—and I don’t mean that in some cliché way. Every time I’ve died, there’s never been that ‘holy glow’ the Gods are said to shit out of their asses to guide souls to the Vayl.
Why am I seeing it now? The last place I ever expected to end up is that piss-yellow place.
It’s possible I’m being yanked into a nightmare because, as my eyes flutter open, the only thing I can focus on is the pressure against my lips. It tastes like clean air and vanilla. Then there’s the distinct scent of myrrh, thick and heavy in the air.
A throaty groan escapes me, and my hands instinctively grip the arms holding me close. As I tighten my grasp, the man whose lips are assaulting mine, chuckles.
