Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
By the time we step back through the portal and into the human world, my body feels like a history lesson in bruises.
The courtyard of Hell still trembles under the prints of our bodies in memory.
Here, in the apartment, reality settles on me like a second skin: heavier, colder, threaded with obligations I have been pretending not to hear.
I drop onto the couch and fumble for my phone where I left it. The screen blinks awake and immediately vibrates like a trapped animal in my palm. Calls, missed messages, voicemails stacked like small accusations. My mother’s name is first. Then my father’s. The words jumble as I thumb through them.
Mom
Lillien, where are you? Call me.
We’re worried sick. Are you safe? Are you hurt?
Please baby. Just let us know you’re okay.
Dad
If you don’t respond soon, we’re calling the police. This isn’t funny.
We WILL file a missing persons report if you don’t answer us.
A hot, tight knot coils in my gut. I have been avoiding this conversation because I do not know how to explain the truth.
How do I say I was in Hell, trussed up in a heap of blood and sunburn and laughter, that I learned how much of me was weapon and how much of me was hunger?
How do I say I was reborn, and that rebirth came with teeth?
If I answer honestly, I imagine the words sliding across the room like acid. Sorry, Mom, Dad. I was busy being reborn as a demon and having the best sex of my life with three men who are not human. That will not land well. Not with them, not with anyone.
The couch dips beside me and I do not have to turn to know who it is. Deimos is there, quiet as a shadow taking shape. He watches the phone for a long moment, his face folding into concern when he sees the sheer volume of messages. He does not reach for it. He does not reach for me either. Not yet.
“What do you want to do?” he asks finally, voice low as if the question itself might trigger a siren.
I set the phone down and tilt my head back, letting the ceiling be something neutral. “I have to go see them,” I say. Saying it makes my throat catch.
Deimos’s violet eyes flick up to me, unreadable. He does not like the idea. I can feel the close, hot tension that lives in him like a held blade. Still, after a long moment, he asks only, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I tell him. “I’ve been avoiding it long enough.”
He studies me, that predator’s calculation moving behind his eyes. Then he nods. “Alright. We’ll go together.”
Bastion’s voice rolls in from the kitchen as he and Cassiel appear at the doorway. “Go together where?” he rumbles. He leans against the doorframe, still shirtless, still dangerous in the very casual way of a man who can break a city with a shrug.
I stand and meet all three of their gazes. My words come steady. “I need to go see my parents.”
Bastion smiles easily, like this is the kind of errand he would love to make theatrical. “Then we’ll all go.”
I hear the menace in that generosity and shake my head before he finishes.
If all three of them show up at my childhood home, my parents will think they answered a different kind of knock.
They will see titans at the door and call the police for a cult.
I picture the neighbors’ shutters slamming closed and feel my chest tighten.
“No. We can’t all go.”
Deimos’s jaw tightens. “Well you can’t go by yourself.” His voice is sharp enough to cut. It is frustration folded into a command. He moves to step closer and his hand reaches for me, possessive and reflexive.
I step out of his reach before he can touch me. I do not want the refusal to become a struggle. I want this to be mine to answer, not an invasion to stage.
I turn to Bastion and press my palm to his broad chest, feeling the solid heat there. “You can’t come, my beautiful brute,” I murmur, keeping my voice softer than the word. His golden eyes glint. “You’re way too intimidating.”
He chuckles, a low amusement vibrating through him. The smile in his mouth is disappointed but indulgent. He brushes his thumb along my jaw and tilts my chin up. “Fair enough, Hellcat,” he says, and his hand is gentle in a way I hadn’t expected.
One down.
Deimos steps forward, as if to volunteer, as if his presence will be the only proper armor. “Cassiel and I will come with you,” he states. It sounds decided, not offered.
I hesitate then meet his gaze. My answer comes from a place that annoys him and delights me both. “I’m sorry, but you have to stay too.”
The question in his eyes sharpens into suspicion. “Why?” he asks.
I offer a smirk even though the choice is practical, not playful. “You have a temper. You’ll spook them.” The scowl comes hard and fast.
“Cass will come with me,” I say, like bargaining.
Deimos shoots Cassiel a sudden look, sharp as a thrown knife. “Absolutely not,” Deimos says before Cassiel can answer. His tone is final. It sits in the room like a decree. “You cannot go without any of your proper mates.”
At that exact moment I hear Cassiel inhale a sound that might as well be pain. The reminder is blunt and cold: unlike Deimos and Bastion, he has not yet claimed me in the ways the others have. There is a fissure in the safety I thought I had. Shame prickles at me because it is mine to own.
I place a careful hand on Deimos’s chest and let the heat of him steady me. “I will be okay,” I murmur. The words are softer now, meant for him and for myself. “We will be okay.”
I look at Cassiel and try to lure him into being the safe face I need. “Cassiel is the least intimidating out of the three of you,” I say lightly.
Bastion snorts. “He might look like the safest bet, Hellcat, but underneath all that pretty, he’s the deadliest of us all.” His voice is smug and fond, and I cannot help laughing.
I step closer to Cassiel, cup his cheek, and tease him with an insolence that feels like armor. “A nightmare wrapped in a daydream.”
He flushes, burning behind his silver-blue eyes. He nervously flicks his gaze between me and Deimos.
Deimos’s grin splits his face. “Did you just quote Taylor Swift to a cast out angel?” he asks, amusement eating the edges of his frustration.
“I’m not wrong,” I say, because truth is a small, saving thing.
Deimos laughs then, a real sound that loosens the last of the tension. Cassiel’s posture shifts; the standoff melts into something truer. He steps forward in a movement that is quiet but certain.
“I will look after her,” he says simply. The words are not showy. They are concrete. They sit in the air like an iron promise.
Deimos’s smile vanishes. For a breath the room is all teeth and sharp edges. “And protect her?” he asks, the word a dare.
Cassiel tightens, wings fluttering beneath his skin like a caged storm. “With my life,” he replies without hesitation.
The charge between them snaps taut. Deimos stares at Cassiel for a long time, weighing, testing, then finally he relents.
His scowl does not soften but he lets go.
He reaches for me, fast and possessive, and pulls me in for a bruising kiss.
His mouth on mine says everything and then something more—warning for Cassiel and promise for me.
“With your life, Angel,” Deimos mutters against my mouth as he releases me.
Cassiel’s jaw clenches. I roll my eyes at them both and take Cassiel’s hand, fitting my fingers into the warmth of his palm. His hand is steady, less showy than Bastion’s or Deimos’s, but it fits. It calms.
“Come on,” I whisper, and Cassiel moves, not flashy, not loud, just efficient.
In a breath he snaps the two of us out of the apartment.
The world drops away and we stand on a walkway I have not seen since before I belonged to any of them, and for the first time in a long time I feel the small, trembling part of me that still remembers childhood breathe.