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“Mine.” The fire within his soul flared brightly at the confession, as if sighing in relief after endless captivity. “It’s my real name, written in the celestial language of the Empyrean.” A heavy breath lifted shoulders that had never felt so light, yet still bore such a burden. “Restor.”
Molly fingered the tattoo again while the shirt she held to her dipped lower, revealing one last peek of a supple breast. He’d never been more grateful and tormented by the distraction. “It’s a beautiful name,” she offered.
Brass blanched and was surprised she hadn’t run screaming from him. Then, because life-changing realizations were making him fucking stupid, he surprised himself further by saying, “It’s yours now.”
She tore her gaze away from her wrist and looked at him. “What? Why?”
He swallowed past a truth he never thought he’d have the providence of testing on his tongue. “Because it is the mark of the soul bond, a connection of the Eternal Flame’s light within two individuals. The tattoo is a symbol of our mated joining.”
“Mated joining,” she clarified slowly.
“Yes. We are mates, you and I. And it was that bond that brought back my full celestial angel fire. I am finally whole again, all because of you.” He brought her wrist to the center of his chest first, then tucked the rest of her body into the shelter of his.
As he held her, deafening power thrummed through his veins, along with several earth-shattering realizations.
He was wrong. His fire would never hurt her, couldn’t. It was a power he would wield in protection of her, in defense against all that threatened to take her from him. His curse. Ragana. Cyro and his charmers. He’d rain his angel fire down on them all just to lay their ashes at Molly’s feet in tribute.
All this and more ran through the tracks of his mind so quickly, he almost didn’t notice the tendrils of a foreign power mingling with his own.
As Brass sat next to Molly on one of the sandstone-colored sectional sofas in the den’s empty great room, he couldn’t ignore the effect a tray of leftover croissants and French press coffee had on brightening her mood. He may have been an immortal angel, but he was still not above taking notes when it came to a woman stating the importance of carbohydrates and caffeine.
What could he say? Like all males, he loved a list.
While the rest of his brothers were out on charmer patrol, Brass took the opportunity to ensure Molly was properly fed and watered before he answered any more of her questions.
Because, of course, she had more questions.
And so do I.
After they’d gotten dressed and Molly requested a few minutes in the bathroom to make herself human, whatever that meant, he’d wondered how the soul bond piece fit into his doomsday puzzle. Entire essential parts of him revolted against the idea of leaving her unprotected, and for a brief, blissful moment, hope had flared in his chest that the mages wouldn’t be so cruel as to continue him careening toward his current fate. Why gift him with a mate, only to have her memory ripped from him days later once the madness took hold?
What if Ragana’s threats had been true? What if he truly wouldn’t recognize her once his humanity had been ripped away from him?
What if I hurt her? What if I kill her?
And then there was the one line of questioning that worried him most of all, the one thing he couldn’t parse out quite yet and he feared he was running out of time to do so . . . What of her magic?
The questions had played out on a morbid greatest hits reel in his mind. Each time the record spun around, it picked up more and more worries, until the panic pile was so high, there was no longer any room for the elation granted him in finally accessing his full celestial power.
In finally having her.
Molly peeled back the buttery layers of a croissant and popped each one into her mouth, though her face didn’t reflect her usual exuberance for the act. Several times, her eyes wandered about the room, though whether in avoidance or curiosity, he couldn’t be certain.
Brass tried to see what she saw and look upon his ancient home with the eyes of someone entirely new to his world. Slabs of carved-out granite stretched high around them, curving into a ceiling that hugged the cavernous space. The rock walls were studded with elaborate wall sconces, which threw off just enough light to cast entrancing shadows over the bachelor-pad-standard overstuffed sofas and nicked-a-plenty walnut coffee tables. Aside from the stone support pillars and general cave-like structure, he supposed it wasn’t that different from any other mortal dwelling . . . except for the far corner, which housed a row of practice targets, breakfronts gleaming with every sort of weaponry, and, as was standard, a pool table.
Once Molly had taken several passes of the space, she chewed the inside of her lip, and Brass braced for any number of possible things to come out of her mouth.
“I don’t really know what to say,” she offered before blowing away the steam curling from her open mug.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“Now, we both know that’s not true.”
He shrugged away the statement, but it didn’t escape her notice. Always so damn observant.
“Always with the nonanswers,” she griped.
It was on the tip of his tongue to argue, to fire back with something snarky that would get her blood pumping high enough to fight with him so he wouldn’t have to explain things that would otherwise send her running again. So, instead, he remained silent and went back to stroking her wrist where it draped across his lap. Mages damn him, her wrist. He hadn’t been able to let her hand go since she’d settled on the couch and likely wouldn’t be inclined to do so anytime soon.
