Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“You can. Just close your eyes.” She does as I ask, and I cup her face with my hands, holding her forehead to mine. “Imagine it like a tunnel. Picture it. A bridge from you to me and back again.”
Her brows furrow. The house groans. Shadows slip beneath the door and start to collect at the edges of the room.
“I can’t.” A sob shatters out of her. “It’s not—I don’t know how.”
I release the grip I have on my magic and let it tentatively reach toward hers. Silver and gold threads unfold from my chest, the center of me lighting up a deep, sunset orange. My tattoos flare to life, shimmering with the magic that flows beneath my skin.
“Show me,” I whisper.
I can feel the rudimentary protection she’s cobbled around herself, the resistance where I can’t push through.
Sweat beads on her forehead and her eyes pinch closed. “I’m trying,” she whispers.
“I know you are, sweetheart.”
She’s a locked fortress, so tangled up in her head and her heart that she can’t see straight. I thread my fingers through her hair and tug her close. She needs a distraction. She needs a way to let me in.
“Kiss me,” I say against the curve of her cheek. I meant it like an order, but it comes out like a plea. “Darcy. Kiss me.”
Her nose brushes mine. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. You can’t. C’mon. Let me see you. I’m not afraid.”
Another rough sob splinters its way from her chest to mine, and she cups my cheeks with her palms, tilting her mouth to mine.
She tastes like salt and sorrow as she kisses me as gently as she can manage, her body rigid against mine.
But I don’t want her to be careful, and I don’t want her to be afraid, so I urge her closer with my arm around her back, touching as much of her as I can. Anchoring her to me.
I want you safe, I try to tell her with my mouth against hers.
I want you here.
Stay with me.
Come back.
She gives in to me with a rough sound, collapsing over my lap. One hand cups my chin to hold me where she wants me and the other drifts over my shoulder, scratching through my hair.
I let her kiss me the way she needs, panting, biting, ferocious kisses that seem to soothe the storm raging inside of her. I sit there beneath her and take it. All the anguish and heartbreak and years of loneliness. My magic thrums, the glow growing stronger.
“Gabriel,” she whispers.
“Mmhmm.” I palm the nape of her neck, holding her steady. “That’s right. I’m here.”
Her shoulders relax from her ears. Her hand releases my face.
And the shadows retreat beneath the door.
“It’s just us here.” I drop a kiss to the corner of her mouth, her full bottom lip, the curve of her cheekbone. “It’s just me and you. I’m going to keep you safe. Let me in.”
She rattles out a breath and nods, guiding my mouth back to hers. It’s different, this kiss. Tentative. I feel it when her magic gives. It starts slow. A splintering crack in the foundation.
And then it’s not slow at all.
I always thought death magic would feel like an old wool blanket. Heavy and cumbersome and dark. But as Darcy’s magic pours out of her and into me, I realize it doesn’t feel like that at all. It’s—
Different. Dizzying. Heavy, yes, but intricate, too.
Not dark, but a thousand different shades of blues and blacks and purples that coil and blend together.
Peel back one layer and find fifteen more, everything working together in perfect synchronicity.
Not shadows, but tiny whirls of tightly coiled color.
Beautiful. Intoxicating. The first sip of good, strong liquor.
It sinks through my bloodstream and settles heavy in my bones, vibrating with new, unknown power.
I turn away from her mouth and suck in a sharp breath.
Her fingers trace gentle circles over the back of my neck and then drift down, dancing over the top of my wings, trying to settle me. I shudder beneath her touch and roll my head back, staring at the ceiling as power surges between us.
She’s right. This is too much for one being to contain. The magic inside of her is wild. Electric. It sings through me with a siren’s song, and I struggle to catch up.
It’s overwhelming.
It’s good.
“Is this—” I wet my lips. Christ. “Is this how it always feels?”
She shakes her head, still draped across my lap. “No,” she answers, her eyes pitch black. The faintest hint of amber glows in the middle of them. “Not like this. I think—” Her mouth brushes against my skin with a low, satisfied hum. “I think this is—I think this is both of us.”
Both of us. Yes. That’s it. My magic and hers, together.
She carved herself open and let me inside, and I did the same without realizing.
I push her hair away from her face, smiling faintly.
She’s wrapped in shadow and light. Her cheeks are still wet from her tears, but the anguish is gone from her eyes. She looks—fuck—
“You’re glowing,” I mumble.
Her lips tilt up, and she presses her palm to the center of my chest. Right over the scars and the pulsing light they’re carved through.
“I’m not the one who is glowing,” she whispers. The corner of her mouth brushes against mine. “Is it too much?”
A laugh puffs out of me. “No.”
It’s not enough. I want more of it. I’ve had a taste, and now I’m ravenous.
Because beneath the bite of it is Darcy, in her purest form.
I can feel her there, hidden between the shadows.
Her laugh. Her smile. Her damn braid swinging between her shoulder blades.
Her knees tucked to her chest and her chin resting on top, those catlike eyes watching me move behind the bar.
Her magic is her. Thorns and all.
My wings rustle as I wrench open more of myself to let her in. Her magic didn’t need to be tamed. It just needed to be acknowledged. She’s been tucking it away, pretending to be something she’s not. All she needed was to feel safe enough to let it go.
She turns her face to rest her cheek against mine, letting her arms dangle over my shoulders. Her body is relaxed now. Soft and sweet.
“Feels good,” she murmurs.
I rub up and down her back. Our magic hovers in the space between us, flickering light and then dark and then light again. “What does?”
“Feeling you.” She nuzzles her nose under my ear and takes a deep breath. “Knowing you’re here.”
I hold her tighter, burying my face in her neck.
How long has Darcy been alone, forced to the very edges?
How long has she been forced to experience life in increments?
I think of her list again, and for the first time I see it for what it is.
Not a collection of silly things, but—proof of her humanity.
The tiny corner of her heart she’s tried to keep protected.
She’s been so lonely, I think, still caught in the hazy intoxication of our magic.
I’ve been lonely, too.
I slowly let go of the tether I have on her magic and it slips away. It sinks back into Darcy, curling around her in ribbons before disappearing entirely.
The house goes silent. The lights flicker back on.
And I think, maybe, I’ve gone and fallen in love with a Reaper.