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I used my last scrap of energy to pass through the door in a cloud of darkness, and grunted on the other side, completely fucking drained. I hated feeling like this. Vulnerable if we were attacked.
Cat was curled up on top of her covers, her eyes open and staring at the opposite wall, and panic paralysed me. She looked dead. But then she startled at the sight of me, sitting up suddenly before she wilted with a sigh when she registered it was me.
“Tor,” she breathed, her voice as husky as mine. Her face was pale and splotchy but streaked with tears, her eyes as empty as the ghosts we’d fought tonight.
“What happened, beautiful?” I asked gently, my own torment forgotten in the face of hers. I kicked off my boots and climbed onto the bed with her, letting the dip of the mattress roll her into my arms.
“We—I—” Her breath caught and then she was sobbing, burying her face in my chest and clinging to me with fierce arms.
In halting, broken gasps she told me what had happened, from Nightmare’s lilting voice summoning her to opening the bag and seeing the dead eyes of her dean staring up at her.
“Not your fault, Cat,” I promised, my lips pressed to her forehead, moving over her skin with each word. The peaches and cream taste of her wrapped around my tongue, but instead of waking me up, she lulled me into a calm that made my exhaustion more evident. “Nothing you did is your fault.”
I wanted to tell her we were working on bringing Nightmare down, weakening her power, but the idea of giving her false hope damn near killed me. But I couldn’t say nothing, not when she cried harder, her tears soaking through my shirt.
“We’ll be with you at all times from now on, okay?” I murmured. “At least one of us will be with you, or watching. I promise.” Death and Miz would take no convincing. “Everything’s going to be okay, beautiful. She won’t get to you again.”
Cat sniffled and nodded. “Thank you,” she squeaked out, making my heart squeeze tighter.
“We thought you were safe in your room with Honey. That mistake won’t be made again,” I swore, my heart beating irregularly. What if Nightmare had ordered Honey and Cat to kill each other? What if we’d been fighting ghosts, and our wife was dead the whole time?
I held her tighter, the thought making me cold down to my bones.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CAT
The guys stayed at my side every moment of the next week, and it should have been stifling but all I felt was gratitude and relief. When they were with me, Nightmare couldn’t get to me. Even if she commanded me again, they wouldn’t let me hurt anyone or dispose of another body. I was safe.
That safety was the only reason I was able to shower and change into my red and silver ombre tulle dress today. I bought it on a bad day a year ago, when I needed something good among all the bad I’d faced that year, but I’d never had the nerve—or occasion—to wear it. The bodice was made of a bold crisscross of red fabric, with cut-outs and straps offering glimpses of my ribs and my sides, before beautifully soft tulle swept to the ground, a high slit baring my left leg. I loved it. I just wished I was wearing it for something other than Alastor Carmichael’s fundraiser.
Someone would be with me all night, though. I’d never be alone.
I jumped at the cold knuckles that skimmed my bare back, but all my tension melted at the kiss Misery brushed over my shoulder.
“You look to die for, Prick,” he said tenderly, his knuckles trailing lower and sending a rush of shivers through me. When his hand moulded to my ass, I turned my face to kiss him, wondering when hatred had turned to tolerance and tolerance to affection. Probably all those days he spent with me at my worst, watching animal videos and making sure I ate, offering solidarity and comfort.
The first kiss was disconcerting, and I drew back with a frown at the roughness of his mouth instead of the silken warmth I was used to. It was the blue-eyed asshole who stared back at me, and even though I knew it was my Miz underneath the façade, I still couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss.
“All your pretty hair,” I murmured, turning to run my hands through his much shorter black hair. When he frowned, the expression familiar even if the face was not, I added, “This hair’s pretty, too.”
“It was, until you messed it all up,” he agreed, scowling behind his wire-framed glasses.
“Oh,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. I dove both hands into his hair and made an even bigger mess. “Oh, no.”
Miz’s eyes darkened, not rich gold but piercing ice blue in this form. They still made my stomach leap and drop, though. I knew the punishment they promised, and I couldn’t help but remember when he’d pinned me to the bed and made me come over and over with his wand.
“You look more debonair this way,” I told him, flattening a few choice strands before I laid another kiss on his lips, lingering this time, his cock growing hard where it pressed against my hip.
“Debonair,” he repeated, a glow of pleasure in his eyes. “Hm.”
He liked the compliment, and we both knew it. I kissed his jaw and drew out of the circle of his arms, giving myself a last check in the mirror, twisting the crown ring around and around my finger.
“I’ll never leave your side, Cat,” he reminded me, missing nothing.
“I know,” I agreed, and summoned a smile, grabbing my clutch and jumping when it vibrated. “Shit,” I hissed and fished out my phone. “It’s probably Honey with another disaster.”
She’d been roped into organising the fancy shindig by her boyfriend—yes they were official—and had been putting out mini fires all day. Caterer fuck ups, missing flowers and evergreen boughs, a Christmas tree lacking ornaments. Every few hours there was a new tragedy, and while I hated hearing my friend stressed, I couldn’t bring myself to feel sad about Alastor’s event falling apart.
