Chapter 21
IT WAS FUCKING IMPRESSIVE IS WHAT IT WAS.
I leaned against the wall of our makeshift celebration room, watching Rhiot pop the cork on a bottle of champagne that probably cost more than I could fathom.
My body felt strange… lighter somehow, like I'd shed an invisible weight.
The new power hummed beneath my skin, a counterpoint to the exhaustion that dragged at my limbs.
For the first time in months, maybe years, something that wasn't dread, fear, or bone-deep weariness curled in my chest. Something dangerously close to hope.
"We should be saving this for when we're actually done," Kearan said, accepting a plastic cup of champagne with a frown that didn't reach his eyes.
Rhiot grinned, pouring with extravagant flourishes. "Saving it for what? World peace? The apocalypse getting canceled? This is literally the best day we've had in months. I'm not waiting for another one."
"Well, except for meeting Parker, that is." Seph came by and hugged me, placing a soft kiss on my cheek before dancing off.
The room, our new common area, felt different tonight.
Warmer. The soft lighting Kearan had installed caught the edges of everyone's faces, softening the hard lines of stress and suspicion that had become our default expressions.
Seph had dragged in extra cushions from somewhere, arranging them in a loose circle on the floor.
Grayson had somehow produced actual food—not Division-provided slop, but real food.
Sandwiches with fancy bread, sliced fruit that wasn't from a can, cheese that didn't come in individually wrapped slices.
It wasn't much. But after weeks of constant chaos from betrayals, situations thrust upon us, and other nonsense I was too tired to even think about, it was perfect.
"You gonna drink that?" Rhiot asked, nodding at the cup I'd accepted but hadn't touched.
I took a small sip; the bubbles burning pleasantly down my throat. "Tastes expensive. And dry. I don't understand that part."
"It should," he said, dropping down beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. "Stole it from Zandia's personal stash. Figured she owes us after the shit she's put us through."
A laugh escaped me before I could catch it. "She'll know it was you."
"Of course she will." He shrugged, unrepentant. "She'd be disappointed if it wasn't."
Across the room, Seph was telling some animated story, her hands cutting through the air for emphasis.
Grayson watched her with that half-smile that made my chest tight, nodding along at all the right moments.
Kearan sat slightly apart, as always, but he wasn't staring at the floor or the wall.
His attention was fixed on the group, his posture less rigid than it had been in weeks.
And then there was Ryker.
He stood near the doorway, human-shaped but not quite part of the celebration.
No champagne in his hand. No smile on his face.
Just watchful eyes that tracked every movement, every gesture, like he was cataloging potential threats.
He hadn't shifted to raccoon form the moment I entered the room.
Which was rare these days. And he hadn't bolted when I caught his eye.
He was just... there. Present. In a way he hadn't been since the night our bond failed.
It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't even acceptance. But it was something.
"He'll come around," Rhiot murmured, following my gaze. "Give him time."
I took another sip of champagne to hide the twist of my mouth. "We don't have time. Zandia's moving too fast. Between the Hesolga and the demons—"
"Are currently getting their asses handed to them by a very pissed-off half-demon with a magic knife," Rhiot finished. "For tonight, Parker, just... be here. With us. The world can wait until morning."
As if on cue, Seph called from across the room, "Stop hogging the champagne and come tell us what actually happened! All we got was Grayson's dramatic telepathic play-by-play!"
"Which was completely inadequate," Grayson added, raising his cup in a mock toast. "All 'she's doing something with the dagger' and 'the room's getting brighter.' Zero actual details."
I pushed off from the wall, Rhiot rising with me.
"What do you want to know? How I magically cleansed a demon without burning out my brain?
How I felt the witch magic and demon power actually working together instead of tearing me apart?
" I shrugged, dropping down beside Grayson, close enough that our knees touched.
"It was... different. Not like anything I've done before. "
"Try," Seph urged, leaning forward. "We want to understand."
So I did. I told them about the emptiness after the first power drain.
About finding the grimoire waiting for me.
About setting the intention and then, hardest of all, letting go of control, letting my demon blood find its own path to that fixed point.
The two forms of power were polar opposites.
I described the way the dagger had cooled in my hand, how the two halves of my power had spiraled together instead of fighting.
"By the end," I said, "it wasn't witch or demon anymore. It was just... mine."
Grayson's hand found mine, squeezing gently. Pride and worry and something deeper flowed through the bond between us.
"It was fucking impressive is what it was," Rhiot declared, raising his cup. "To Parker, who kicked demon ass and looked good doing it!"
Plastic cups were lifted around the circle. Even Kearan raised his in acknowledgment, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
And then, impossibly, Ryker's chin dipped. A single nod. Brief. Stiff. The biggest gesture he'd made since the rejection. Our eyes met across the room, just for a second, before he looked away. But that second stretched between us, heavy with all the things we couldn't say.
My throat closed. I ducked my head, focusing intently on my champagne to hide the sudden burn behind my eyes.
"That's enough shop talk," Seph announced, breaking the moment. "I vote we switch to embarrassing stories. Parker, has Grayson told you about the time he tried to use his telekinesis to impress a girl and ended up dumping an entire vat of punch on the Division director?"
Grayson groaned. "That was one time. And I was sixteen."
"And wearing your first suit," Rhiot added, grin widening. "Which was two sizes too big because your mom was convinced you'd 'grow into it.'"
"I think we've established I'm the only one with any dignity in this group," Kearan said dryly.
That set everyone off, memories and teasing flying back and forth with increasing volume and decreasing coherence as the champagne bottle emptied and a second one appeared. Mephistral, who'd been suspiciously well-behaved on his perch by the window, finally couldn't resist joining in.
"The time the grumpy wolf boy tried to shift in the shower and got stuck halfway!" the imp cackled, doing an impression of someone's face mid-transformation. "Face all smooshed and howling about his dignity while the hot water ran cold!"
I had no idea who he was talking about, but it didn't really matter.
Even Trux laughed at that, the sound rusty but genuine.
He'd been quieter than usual tonight, watching the celebration from the edges, but he'd relaxed by fractions as the evening progressed.
Now he sat with his back against the wall, one arm slung casually around Rhiot's shoulders, a half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
For approximately forty-five minutes, everything was fine.
Then it wasn't.
One second, Trux was laughing at something Seph said, his body loose, his eyes their normal amber. The next, he'd shoved Rhiot into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster, his eyes fully shifted to gold, an animal sound tearing from his throat.
"Hesolga," Grayson said, voice tight with recognition. "He's breaking."
I lunged forward without thinking, reaching for Trux. "Trux, it's Parker. You're safe. We're all—"
His hand shot out, catching my wrist with crushing force. For one horrible moment, I stared into his eyes and saw absolutely nothing of the man I knew. Just animal panic and rage, trapped and lashing out.
"Trux," I tried again, keeping my voice steady despite the fear clawing up my throat. "It's me. It's Parker. You're having an episode. You need to breathe."
He didn't recognize me. Didn't recognize any of us. His gaze darted wildly around the room, seeing threats everywhere, in every face. Another growl ripped from his throat, lower and more desperate than the first.
Rhiot was already moving, circling to Trux's blind spot with the careful movements of someone approaching a wounded animal. "Trux, buddy, it's Rhiot. You're having a Hesolga episode. You need to focus on my voice."
No response. Just that terrible, trapped look and the increasingly violent thrashing as Trux fought against whatever demons had him in their grip.
Then Kearan stepped forward.
Not cautiously, not with the careful calculation Rhiot had shown. Just walked straight into Trux's space and laid a hand on his chest, directly over his heart.
"I've got you," he said, voice quiet but carrying. "Let me take it."
For a moment, nothing happened. Trux remained frozen, wild-eyed and trembling.
Then, slowly, the tension began to leach from his body.
His breathing eased. The gold faded from his eyes, leaving them their normal amber, confused and then horrified as awareness returned.
Kearan murmured in a language I didn't understand but recognized from previous healing episodes I'd seen him perform.
"What did I—" he started, then cut himself off as he saw the cracked wall, the scattered cushions, the wide berth everyone had given him. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"You're okay," Kearan said, already stepping back, his movements methodical despite the fine tremor in his hands. "Just a bad episode. Nothing broken except the wall." He bent to pick up an overturned cup, his face carefully blank. "I'll get you something for the headache."
He moved toward the small kitchen area, his back to the room as he busied himself with straightening the chaos Trux had created. No one followed him. No one mentioned the way his hands wouldn't stop shaking or the sweat beading at his hairline despite the room's perfect temperature.
But I saw it the moment his hand went briefly to his arm, fingers brushing the edge of his burn scar before he caught himself and dropped his hand back to his side. A reflexive gesture. One he'd made a hundred times before when he thought no one was watching.
Except this time, I was.
I waited until Kearan had disappeared into the kitchen, then turned to Grayson. "How long has he been doing that for everyone?"
Grayson didn't pretend not to understand. "Since before you got here."
"And?" I pressed, something cold settling in my stomach.
He was quiet for a beat too long. "That's a conversation the two of you need to have on your own. I've already told you more than I should."
The words landed like stones. How would I get my most reserved, secretive mate to finally open up?
Across the room, Trux had slumped against the wall, head in his hands, shoulders hunched with shame. Rhiot sat beside him, not touching but present, murmuring something too low for me to catch.
Normal. They were treating this like it was normal. Like Kearan sacrificing pieces of himself was just part of how our team functioned.
I pushed to my feet, ignoring the concerned looks that followed me. The kitchen was empty when I reached it; the back door stood slightly ajar. I found Kearan on the small concrete patio behind our quarters, one hand braced against the wall, head bowed as he fought for control.
"You don't have to do that," I said without preamble. "Not for me. Not for any of us."
He went very still, then straightened slowly. "Do what?"
"Take our pain." The words came out sharper than I'd intended. "Whatever just happened with Trux… you didn't just calm him down. You took it into yourself. The Hesolga. The breakdown. All of it."
Kearan's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes. "It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that." I stepped closer, close enough to see the fine lines of strain around his mouth, the dark circles under his eyes that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. "How many times, Kearan? How many episodes and injuries have you absorbed?"
He looked away, jaw working. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." I reached for him without thinking, my hand closing around his wrist. "You can't keep doing this. Not without—"
"I can do whatever is necessary," he cut in, voice hard. "That's what healers do, Parker. We take the damage so others don't have to."
"This isn't healing," I shot back. "This is self-destruction. And I won't watch you burn yourself out trying to keep the rest of us together."
Something flashed across his face… too quick to name, there and gone in an instant. "You don't get to make that choice for me."
"I'm not trying to—"
"Then what are you trying to do?" The question hung between us, loaded with history and hurt I was only beginning to understand.
I forced myself to meet his gaze, to hold it despite the urge to look away. "I'm trying to be your friend. Your partner. Someone you can trust with the truth, even when it's ugly."
His breath caught, just slightly. "Why?"
"Because you matter," I said simply. "Not just for what you can do for us. For you. Kearan."
For a long moment, he just stared at me, like he was waiting for the punchline to a joke he didn't understand. Then, slowly, he turned his hand in my grip until our palms pressed together, his fingers threading through mine.
"I'll try," he said finally, the words clearly costing him. "To be more... careful. With myself."
It wasn't a promise. It wasn't even close to enough. But it was a start.
I squeezed his hand gently. "Good. That's... good."
We sat there in silence for a moment, the night air cool against my skin, Kearan's hand warm in mine. Not perfect. Not fixed. But maybe, for the first time, facing in the same direction.