Eight
DESMOND
I know there is much to discuss.
Entire worlds, in fact.
Nightfall.
Magic.
Demons.
Fated mates.
The fact that I transported my beloved from a train station to my bedchamber with all the subtlety of a charging war beast.
But right now?
Right now all I want to do is hold her.
My mate is warm and soft and gloriously real sprawled across my chest.
I cannot stop touching her.
A hand in her hair.
My fingers tracing circles along her back.
Simply reassuring myself that she exists.
Three hundred years I waited.
I deserve at least a few moments to stare lovingly at her while she sleeps.
Or pretends to sleep.
Because I know she's awake.
Humans breathe differently when they're asleep.
I learned that sometime around 1914.
Don't ask.
“You're smiling again,” she murmurs sleepily.
I grin.
“I know.”
“You've been smiling for ten minutes.”
“I know.”
“Should I be worried?”
“No.”
She laughs softly.
The sound goes straight to my heart.
Fates, I love that laugh.
Love.
The realization hits me again with overwhelming force.
I love her.
I love the little wrinkle between her brows when she's confused.
I love the tiny scar near her chin.
I love the fact that she talks to patients when everyone else is too busy.
I love the way she snorts when she laughs really hard.
I love—
“Hmm, I should probably be going,” she says.
Every muscle in my body locks.
Going?
Going where?
Away?
No.
Absolutely not.
“Going?” I ask carefully. “Going where?”
“Well, I have a shift tomorrow—”
“A shift?”
“My job?” she says slowly. “I am a nurse.”
Oh.
Her occupation.
Not abandonment.
I can work with occupations.
Worry and confusion war inside me.
I understand my mate had a life before me.
Friends.
Responsibilities.
A home.
But now she has me.
And I have her.
Surely that solves most problems.
“I see.”
She nods.
“Good.”
“Of course, you may work if it brings you joy. But there is no need.”
She blinks.
“What do you mean no need?”
I gesture around the room.
“Well… there is no need.”
“Desmond, of course there's a need.”
“No?”
“I have rent.”
“Not anymore.”
“Food.”
“Already handled.”
“Clothes.”
I glance toward the walk-in closet.
“Many.”
She sits upright.
“You don't understand.”
Apparently, I do not.
“Perhaps not. Explain.”
“People need money.”
Ah.
Money.
A simple enough problem.
“I am explaining badly,” I tell her. “You see, I possess a vast fortune. Work if you wish, Myrrin. If healing others brings you joy, then I shall support that joy. But everything I have is now yours.”
Her eyes widen in horror.
Horror.
Fuck.
Why horror?
“I won't take charity.”
I sit up so quickly, she jumps.
“Charity?”
“Desmond—”
“No.”
I take her hands.
“It is not charity.”
She looks uncertain.
“My love, I live for you now.”
The poor thing looks even more alarmed.
“Desmond, it's too soon for that.”
Too soon?
My smile fades.
“Too soon?”
“For love.”
The words hit me like a spear.
Too soon?
Three hundred years.
I waited three hundred years.
How much longer am I expected to wait?
Another century?
Two?
Hurt crashes through me.
“Too soon?” I repeat weakly. “How can you say that when you bear my mark?”
“What?”
She reaches for her neck instinctively.
I smile softly despite my confusion.
The mark is beautiful.
Already my magic works within her, adjusting her lifespan to mine, sharing strength, life force, and power.
A miracle unique to Demon mates.
The greatest gift I possess.
Josie's fingers brush the spot.
Her eyes widen.
Then she bolts out of bed.
“YOU BIT ME!”
I blink.
“Yes.”
“YOU ACTUALLY BIT ME!”
“Yes?”
She spins toward the enormous mirror near the wardrobe.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!”
“I do not understand the issue.”
“You bit me!”
“I claimed you.”
She whirls around.
“You claimed me?”
“You said I could.”
Fates preserve me.
I sound petulant.
Like a child accused of stealing sweets.
Which is unfair.
I did not steal anything.
She gave herself freely.
“Desmond, normal people don't bite each other!”
I pause.
“During mating?”
“YES!”
“Oh, um, well, Demons do.”
Interesting.
That explains several awkward conversations throughout the twentieth century.
“I can’t believe this!”
“Um, I see.”
“You see?”
“Humans are strange.”
She throws her hands into the air.
“Humans are strange?”
“Very.”
She starts laughing.
Actually laughing.
Loud, helpless laughter.
I stare in confusion.
“Have I said something amusing?”
“You just gave me a permanent hickey and called me your wife!”
“I did not call you my wife. You are more than that, Myrrin.”
She points dramatically.
“Claiming! Marks! Everything I own is yours! Living for me! Desmond, we've known each other for six hours!”
I smile.
“Yes.”
“That's insane.”
“No, it’s fate, my love.”
“You can't love someone in six hours.”
I stand and approach carefully.
“Josie.”
She looks up.
“I have loved the idea of you for three hundred years.”
Her expression softens.
“I simply did not know your name yet. And now that you are here, now that you are mine, I swear I love you more than my own life.”
Tears fill her eyes.
Again.
Humans cry so much, I had no idea.
It is both alarming and adorable.
“I don't know how to do this,” she whispers.
I cup her face.
“Neither do I. But we will figure it out together.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. My previous relationship experience consists entirely of longing and talking to houseplants.”
She blinks.
“You talked to plants?”
“They never interrupted.”
A laugh escapes her.
Victory.
“Desmond.”
“Yes, Myrrin?”
“You are so weird.”
Joy fills me.
Because she says it affectionately.
And I grin.
“You love weird.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Too soon.”
I kiss her forehead.
“Perhaps.”
But we both know she's smiling.
And my heart is near to bursting.