Page 35 of Where the Light No Longer Follows

“I know you’re eternal and have all the time in the world, but you should let people in. You have so much to give and no one to give it to. It isn’t all so unpleasant being around you either.”

“No?”

Her eyes drew closed, and she muttered half asleep, “Not at all actually.”

Eight o' Clock

Silene wasn’t still quite so used to seeing the God of Life sitting at her kitchen table, trying all of the sweet goods she had baked all night long because she couldn’t sleep at all thinking about his ridiculously handsome face, imagining running her fingers over his mouth, down his nose, over his eyes, through his hair. Suddenly overpowered with a strange sensation that vaguely reminded her of grief. She felt as if she was leaving someone else behind—one she could not take with this time.

Cupcakes and cookies of all shapes lined the kitchen counter, while the rest of the cakes were resting by the windowsills, cooling for her to put frosting on.

From time to time, she raised her gaze from her buttercream, looking at him. Only looking away because the urge to do as she’d imagine all night long grew unbearable.

“You still haven’t told me the occasion for all of this,” he said, licking some frosting from his finger and then running his tongue over his lips as he leaned back on her kitchen chair, giving her his full attention.

“No occasion.”

His brows lifted up as he took in all the desserts crowding her kitchen. “Not opening a bakery? Catering a birthday? Feeding at least five impoverished nations?”

“I bake for fun.”

“You don’t look like you’re having fun,” he said, standing and bracing his hip on the counter right next to her. “You look distressed.”

Clamping her lips shut, she turned to beat her buttercream until her arm almost fell off.

Something cool rested under her chin, and she jolted when she looked down at the tip of a butter knife against her skin. Gabriel used it to gently turn her head in his direction. “I’m not beyond slaying any demon, human or not, if you ask me to, my ruin. Just ask me. Tell me what is hurting you and I will hurt them back two-fold.”

Silene was so confused. So very confused. Terribly confused. Why her? Why? What in the cruel, cruel name of fates was happening? What did this mean?

Swallowing, she said, “You can’t slay time.”

A smirk twitched on his face. “I wouldn’t be quite so sure.”

Her eyes roamed all over his face, and she realised why she found so much comfort in his eyes—skies, seas, lakes and rivers, it’s what they reminded her of. “Shouldn’t you be the pacifist of all Gods? The most docile of them all?”

“What about me is docile? My power is violent, perhaps the most violent of all. Uncontrollable. It can grow a flower as it can a tumour. It can bring hope as much as it can bring ruin. Once life takes root, I no longer possess any control over it, it can either bloom or rot. The purpose of my existence was to give life, not to control it.” He dipped his finger on her buttercream and brought it to his lips, licking it off. “Weren’t you the one to tell me that I've never been the good guy? I’d rather you don’t grow fond of me, my desolation.”

“Fond is not the word I’d use.” She had not lied. It was something akin to fascination, perhaps addiction, too. There was something eminently…moreish about him. His presence was all too light, like moonlight. Gentle, not blazing or burning like sunlight, but featherlight and effulgent. Longing would strike upon you when you least expected it. Like rain on long and hot summer days. You would not realise how much you missed it until the dried earth mourned for a drop.

“What word would you use then?” he asked, using the butterknife to turn her attention back to him.

She’d never wished more that it was his fingers resting on her chin instead. Silene had never known how it felt for someone to crave her attention—and she was not entirely sure she hated it. “How am I your ruin?”

The question seemed so simple. Yet he took a while to answer her. Only for it to be no answer at all.

“What am I to do, Silene?” he asked, his eyes eating her whole. “This buttercream is fucking heaven. Your buttercream has ruined all buttercreams for me. I might hollow out and vanish if I don’t have this buttercream every single day. I will dream about this buttercream. And every time I go past pastry shops, I will long to see this buttercream on all the cakes.”

She grabbed a mitten and threw it at his face. And a tea towel. And then a ladle. And a few more other stuff as she chased him out of her kitchen. By the time she had him out of her door, he was keeling over from laughter, holding a few of her cupcakes that he’d collected on his way out.

“Leave before Azriel comes and kicks your ass out.”

He threw her a wink. “See me later. Preferably not only in my dreams.”

She gagged. “Ugh.”

“Not the sound I’d love for you to make, but I’ll take it.”

She raised a middle finger, and he puckered his lips, blowing her a kiss, sealing their battle zero to one in his favour.