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Haziel had been second for long enough to know what she said next to be the absolute truth. “And maybe she also wanted the adventure. We don’t get much of that as seconds.”
“Huh.” Wrath glanced at her. “I suppose I never considered that.” Then he chuckled. “Anyway, Ramiel’s in for a hell of a shock. Vexia may look all demure and self-effacing but she’s my best warrior, and there’s a reason she’s considered strong enough to be my second.”
The Vexia at the theatre had looked neither demure nor self-effacing, and maybe someone less accommodating would be exactly what Ramiel needed.
Wrath led her down a long, light corridor to a large set of wooden doors at the end. He threw them open to reveal an expansive, airy sitting room filled with comfortable furniture. “And these are my chambers.”
Glass doors all along one side were thrown open to catch the refreshing breeze and provided a panoramic view of grassy plains rising into craggy, tree covered mountains.
Haziel took a deep breath of the balmy air. This was to be her new home.
“Do you like it?” Wrath watched her as if he was holding his breath.
“I love it.” She smiled at him. “Now show me the most important part.”
“Which is?”
She cocked a hip and met his stare. “The bedroom.”
“Angel.” Wrath’s eyes gleamed. “That smart mouth of yours is going to get you into all kinds of trouble.”
She giggled. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
Wrath lunged and swept her over his shoulder. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Viewing her new bedchamber from upside down was a novel experience. She got a fleeting impression of polished wood floors with bright rugs and a massive four poster bed in the center.
And then she was tossed into the middle of a fur-covered bed, and the time to appreciate her surroundings was over. The time to appreciate her hell prince, however, was just getting started.
Wrath followed her down, pinning her beneath his weight.
Part of her couldn’t believe she was actually here with him like this. She’d woken this morning prepared to go through the routine of another day in Ramiel’s realm, and now she was here, with Wrath’s strong, hard body pressing her into the bed.
“Hey.” He framed her face with his hands. “Regrets?”
“Not a one.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Except for the time it took you to come and get me.”
“Never again,” Wrath growled. “You are mine, and by my side is where you will stay.”
And then there was no more talking. What started as a slow exploration, quickly escalated into a desperate need for hands, mouths, and bodies. It felt as if neither of them could get close enough, as if they both sought to erase the time they’d spent apart.
Haziel gloried in their joining, a celebration and a beginning, and a promise of so much more to come.
Epilogue
Isabella Grace Henshawe was buried on a bright, Highveld winter day. The air was dry from the winter, the grass beneath the feet of the mourners yellow and sparse. Issy had always hated winter, and they’d so hoped she would be with them to see one more spring. Bare Jacaranda trees ringed the quiet, secluded cemetery behind the Anglican church. In a month or two, their branches would be heavy with the violet, trumpet-shaped flowers that only appeared in the spring. But Issy wouldn’t be here to see them.
One more year, one more month, one more spring—the perpetual bargain for more time. Until time had run out and Issy had left them. Issy’s mother stood alone beside the coffin. A heavy arrangement of white lilies perfumed the air, their sweetness turning her stomach. She’d known since Issy’s first diagnosis three years ago that this was coming, but she’d kept hoping the doctors were wrong, that Issy would beat the odds and be that rare miracle.
Her husband and mother were waiting for her in the car. People would be gathering at their Parkhurst home to mourn with them, with her. Her mother had given her a pill from the doctor this morning to help her through the funeral, but she hadn’t taken it. Her pain was hers, and blunting it even slightly felt like a betrayal to the child whose life had been cut so short. Parents shouldn’t outlive their children. It was wrong, unnatural.
Movement flickered out of the corner of her eye, and a bird alighted on the coffin. She lunged to chase it away, but something stopped her. Another four birds joined the first, the bright morning light catching the brilliant blues, russets, and yellows of their plumage. Her heart stopped, and her breath caught in her throat. European bee eaters, not due back yet from their annual winter migration. Issy’s favorite bird. They’d started bird watching together as a way to pass the time when Issy was no longer well enough to go to school. It had become their special thing.
Tears blurred her vision, and she could have sworn the bee eaters cocked their heads as if watching her.
“Issy,” she whispered.
The bee eaters stretched their wings and took to the air. Spring was coming. The seasons would roll forward. Life would go on. Without Issy, but life would go on.
