Chapter 42
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The cure was the friends we made along the way.
Castor
Pink lips…blonde hair…pale skin…
My mate is an angel.
Fire dances in her waving locks as they cascade over her shoulders, against the pink of the dress I garbed her in before she took over the magic of my robes, made them hers, and began playing upon my flesh.
As though she can feel the weight of my attention on her, she fights to maintain calm.
Her plump lips part, panting for breath.
Lifting my free hand, I reach for her—comforted only in the knowledge that she has promised with her fae tongue not to open her eyes. She physically cannot break that oath. So. She is safe. Safe from me.
My skin—whiter than hers—settles against her cheek, and violent waves of desire pound into the shore of my mind.
I thought it was painful before, wanting her as badly as I have, but nothing I have felt compares to how much I want her now.
She was crafted for me. Every centimeter, every cell.
And it shows. I have never before longed for a woman in this way.
Making the agony so much worse, she also wants me.
This perfect, lovely creature wants me.
An ache more potent than poison begins in my heart.
If the chance of having her this evening does not motivate me, I do not know what will.
Her soul balms. Her fire entices. She is everything I have waited for, everything I have ever wanted.
I love her. The fortitude of her mind, the kindness she bestows, the heart she has offered to someone like me. I love all of it. She’s smart. Funny. Tender. Bold.
If there is nothing else I believe of myself, let it be that I love her. Whether I am worthy or not, I love her. Whether I deserve her or not, I love her.
And love is something that changes people. I can believe that. Even if I struggle to believe I can change, I do believe that love is stronger than my sins. I trust that she cares for me. I trust that what I believe of myself pales in comparison to her belief in me.
What I am does not matter.
How she sees me does.
First, I wake the spider.
Then, the others…
Whatever madness comes from them, so be it. It does not matter.
Screw goodness. Screw rightness. Screw forgivable or wicked.
The only thing that matters is my soulmate.
The only thing that matters is right now.
Being what she needs me to be. Being what she wants.
Pleasing her, keeping her comfortable, doing right and good by her.
This cherished being has never forsaken me, never betrayed me, never left me without coming promptly back, like a comet, into my arms.
She has called me love. She has named me hers. She has given me her trust.
She has promised herself to me.
She has asked for my future and my heart.
It is up to me now to make both suitable for her.
Though it is painful to stop looking at her, I fix my dangerous gaze on the stone limbs of the tiny spider in my palm. I focus my intention upon it and reach for a resolve befitting of a king—because that is also what I have been named, and I must choose to take on the helm of that humble title.
I do not want to be uncontrollable.
I do not want to be without discipline.
I do not want to be dangerous.
I do not want to be a monster.
If I must be one at all, I want to be hers.
Which means my chain must be in her hands, my will must bend its knee to her whim, my body must be of use…to her.
She has commanded me to undo this.
So, I shall.
The stone cracks; my heart lunges.
Tiny legs flinch, testing themselves as gravel crumbles off, unlocking each, then the arachnid flees off my hand.
“Castor?” Heather whispers, still breathless. Excitement meets me along the thread of our soul bond. “Castor, you did it?”
“Hold on,” I say, breathless, sweeping forward, toward the statues, as though my body is not prickling and I am not aloft on the possibility…
the chance…the hope. “It must work on people, too. Then. Then…” Then I will know the shade of my mate’s eyes, and she shall be the first to tell me what she thinks of the shade of mine, and…
I stop before a stone woman, her face marked with a tear. Holding her stone eyes, I will myself into the hands of my mate’s bidding.
The stone cracks, and that’s enough for me. It works. I can undo the magic. I have the power to control it, the power to fix my own mistakes, the power to see my Heather.
Twirling, I slam the door on the statues before the woman is fully free and meet Heather by my desk as she rises, stumbling blindly toward me. “I felt a shift in your magic. You did it, didn’t you?”
Her excitement hits mine, and my flesh tingles.
I whisper, “I did it. I can do it.”
The sensation of that knowledge arrests me, surreal and distant. An age of choices, an era of powerful powerlessness…unwoven. Unraveled.
“Can I see you now? Please?” Heather begs.
Fear pricks my mind, suggesting that the world may yet be so cruel as to rob her from me. This taste of hope feels frail still. So I reach into my robes for the knife Pollux gave me long ago…as my parting gift. It used to be his. He’d made it himself out of pure nightmare fuel and steel.
When he gave it to me as a goodbye, I thought he intended I kill myself with it. I wondered for a long time if he knew how tormenting the essence of his magic on the blade was. I suspect he has no idea how I sobbed when the very last of it faded away, like a scent.
Now, I fit that precious blade in my soulmate’s hand.
“Wha—”
I cover her lips with a kiss and lift her grip into a position before my heart.
“Castor?”
“Precaution,” I say. “If this does not work…please let me die in your hands.”
Her emotions sink, and I hate myself for having destroyed her thrill, but healing does not happen in a moment, and I am still a long way from trusting that any good thing can be mine for long.
If the universe in its cruelty turns my angel to stone, I will follow, marrying my blood on her hands and hoping that either I find death or I join her in the same prison.
Perpetually immovable.
Perpetually together.
Her resolve returns, and she grips the weapon, letting the tip prick my chest. “Wherever we go from this moment, it will be together.”
“Yes,” I whisper, cupping her cheek. “Together.” I lay a gentle kiss on her pink lips. “Open your eyes now, my love.” My heart seizes, but I persist. “Look at me.”
Blue appears, fearless, sky-shaded, beautiful.
My mouth goes dry as my lips part, and I stare. I stare at a clear day painted in love. Unbearable amounts of love.
Awe consumes her, and she drops my blade, letting it clatter to the ground. Perfectly mobile, her arms lift, her hands reach, her fingers frame my cheeks, and her mouth falls open.
Hoarse, I say, “I’ve never been able to tell what color they are. I know they’re red when I’m a snake. But…whenever I’ve been able to bear looking at myself in the mirror…I can’t tell. And whenever I’ve cut them out one at a time…I can’t tell. I don’t know what to make of them.”
“They’re…everything,” she whispers.
“Everything?”
“They’re…beautiful. This one.” She touches the corner of my left eye.
“Is deep earth and forest rimmed in silver. It’s like a nightscape.
And this one.” She fixes her attention on my right eye.
“Brighter. Blues. Sky and sea and circled in gold. Like sunlight. You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen, Castor. They’re entire worlds. ”
Behind me, a woman screams, and my dear sweet soulmate jumps.
“Ah.” I wet my lips. Something crashes, and my jaw locks. “That’s…probably not good.”
“Probably not,” Heather concurs, dazed, hypnotized by my eyes, getting closer every moment. “Do you think we can cancel the rest of our plans for today?”
Heat swells, and I forget about the woman wreaking havoc in my room full of statues. “We can’t flake out on Andromeda’s quarter party. She is a child.”
Heather melts, blissful, adoring, and I don’t know how I’ve survived this long without seeing how deeply she cares about me on her face. I have felt it, of course, but the way it fills her…the way it sparks in everything she is…is beautiful.
“What about everything else?” she asks.
“Yes…” I touch my forehead to hers. “I believe that will be all right. What have you in mind we do instead?”
Her smile teases and taunts as her gaze settles behind me, on the door.
“Humans go mad in Faerie, because magic enters a blood stream unprepared to house it. That’s what I’ve learned from some of the books on magic that I’ve been reading.
These humans, however, have stewed in magic prisons for ages.
What if they’re more magic than human now?
What if they don’t have to be human anymore?
What if…we can give them a better home here, in our pandemonium, just like the one you’ve given me? ”
My heart lightens, finding a completeness in that idea.
It shakes me to my core. What if instead of nothingness, I provide rest to the broken before my love offers them a chance to be reborn?
What if I am not meant to be empty or cold or lifeless like stone?
What if I am instead the peace before the blazing dawn?
I say, “I suppose…it’s their choice. They can cling to the darkness they’ve known, or they can accept a future with your light. It’s all up to them. I am grateful that I finally know what I’d choose.”
“Me, too.” Heather smiles, kisses my cheek, and steps forward, my hand in hers.
As her tiny wings spread and grow and burn to consume the pain of ages gone, I experience—for the first time in my life—what it means to be whole.