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He made a sound against my mouth. Relief, I think. Or maybe just exhaustion. Maybe both. But I couldn’t help but sink into his lips and drink down our shared touch as it had been missing for so long.

Someone cleared their throat. I flinched, pulling back. Angel looked dazed, but more awake than he’d been moments before, though also more tired than I’d ever seen him.

Ivan carefully studied the far wall. Zhenjun sat at the table, sword gone, examining the tray of cookies. And Beau lingered a few feet away, watching with quiet amusement.

“He should eat. You both should.” Beau waved at the tea and cookies. “Eat and rest. Do you need help getting him to the table?”

I tugged Angel toward the table, feeling a little like we were both drunk, maybe on each other, maybe on the sheer relief of being able to touch again. I had a moment to wish we could stay here forever. Leave behind the thousands of waiting problems. Be selfish.

God, I wanted to be selfish right now.

“Can anyone tell me what’s wrong with his arm?” I turned my focus to Zhenjun as I settled Angel at the table. “Why does it look like ground-up motes clogging his veins?” I wondered if I needed to thank the bastard for not killing Angel, but reminding him of the attack seemed like a bad idea. Even if Angel hadn’t been in his right mind.

“I can remove them,” Zhenjun said blandly. “As can you.” He reached out his hand as if to touch Angel⁠—

But Beau sat down at the table, and suddenly the space between Zhenjun and Angel had tripled. Zhenjun could no longer reach Angel with the table between them. Wow, I needed to learn magic like this guy.

“Hmm,” Beau said, picking up his teacup as if he hadn’t just changed the dimensions of the space with a single blink. “Perhaps not the best course.”

Zhenjun blinked at him, annoyance clear on his face.

“But it’s hurting him,” I said.

Ivan stared at Angel for a long minute. Then his eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh.” He sounded horrified as he turned to Beau. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Mhmm,” Beau agreed.

Ivan looked around frantically for a heartbeat, then got up to grab another stack of books. “I can help. I know I can.” He looked up, only meeting my eyes for a second, and they were watery. “I can help.”

“Help?” I asked, feeling like I needed a lot of help in that moment. Even if it was only in understanding. Or maybe retaining my sanity.

“The motes cling to him to stop the fade,” Zhenjun said, picking up a cookie. He stared at the thing like it might bite him.

I let his words sink in.

“Wait. Fade?” I turned to Angel. “He’s fading?”

“You are dead,” Zhenjun said, snapping the cookie in half. “Shifters cannot be bound to the dead; they are a chaotic mass of life.” He took a bite, utterly unconcerned with the weight of his words. “I did tell you to find your body quickly.”

28

ANGEL

I couldn’t stop touching Jude. Not that I would even if I could. I’d almost fallen over twice, and could barely keep my eyes open. Sleep and rest, sure. But even with a half dozen cookies in my stomach and a pot full of tea, I needed sleep, and Jude. Mostly Jude.

If we’d been alone, I’d have buried my face in his neck and breathed him in until I forgot the hollow ache of his absence. But my arm throbbed with a deep, thrumming pain that pulled my attention back to my hand.

The black veins snaked up my forearms, branching like poison working its way toward my heart. I flexed my fingers. They moved, but the skin felt tight, foreign, damaged.

Motes were stopping my fade. Motes, which were a name Jude gave fragments of the Veil. Remains of people’s emotions or energy? The idea was still a little foggy to me and since I couldn’t see them as anything more than dark blotches at the edge of my vision, I wasn’t certain how much it mattered. I wasn’t the Weaver, but I was his protector. Which meant these motes were trying to keep me on this plane too. I’d pulled them out of the girl, where they’d been clinging for purpose? I sighed, too tired to run in circles.

Jude flipped my palm over, running his fingertips along one of the dark lines. His jaw tightened. Concern bled through his expression, raw and unguarded. The tension in his shoulders told me his brain was already running wild with scenarios, outcomes, and escape plans. That was Jude. Always three steps ahead, even when his very existence was falling apart.

Both of our existences, I guess.

He half-carried me through a door in the cottage, and we stepped into our apartment like we’d walked through a magical wardrobe.

“Um?” Jude asked.