Your queen, she whispered, making me frown.
Except an intangible chessboard appeared in her mind, one where she considered herself a pawn. Yet she was telling herself and me that she wanted to be my queen.
This isn’t about chess, Kayla.I cupped her face.We’re not pieces on the board. We’re the ones making the moves. The strategists watching the plays unfold. We’re the reason the game can exist.
I kissed her, telling her with my mouth all the words I wouldn’t voice out loud.
But she could hear them in my mind, the pledges I made, the emotions I felt, the sadness inside at realizing how badly I’d wounded my mate.
Her energy might be healed. However, her heart remained bruised.
I added my own healing ointment to the injury as I made love to her with my tongue.
It wasn’t sexual so much as intimate. This wasn’t about pleasure or fucking. This was about us. About our future. About our bond.
By the time I pulled back, her irises appeared a little less chaotic, her mind slightly quieter, her heart beating once more.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was a start.
Because the thought she kept repeating to herself now was,He didn’t leave me. He’s here.
I pressed my forehead to hers. “I will always be with you, Kayla. Even if you run to Hell, I’ll be there. Because I’m never letting you go again.”
Kay
I studiedmyself in the mirror, noting the increase of reddish hair mingling with my darker strands. It seemed even more vibrant now than it had the other day, similar to how the gold in my irises seemed to be flickering like miniature flames.
Yet my hands were pale.
And my horns were nowhere to be seen.
It would concern me if I didn’t still sense the power rippling beneath my skin.
I opened my palm to create a fireball, the embers burning and sizzling with energy strong enough to take down a lower-level demon.
Ezra stepped into the bathroom behind me, his features unchanged. “Your hair is still white.” It’d been dark with some silver in it when we’d first met. Now it was still mostly white.
Except for his eyebrows.
One of which he arched now, the darker color more prevalent than the white. “Do you not like my hair?”
“I’m just trying to figure out why I look different and you don’t,” I replied.
“Hmm.” He moved behind me, his gaze holding mine in the mirror as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
My gaze went to the swirl of black ink decorating his left arm. The design seemed to pulse with power. Or maybe that was the muscle beneath the obsidian tattoos.
“My power and looks have evolved for the last few decades,” he continued, his eyes following mine to his tattoos. “However, those markings are ones I’ve had for thousands of years.”
“Are they related to your power?”
He lifted a shoulder. “They arrived when I ascended into my role as Archangel of Justice, so I suppose they are. But I barely notice them.”
I frowned. “My power changed when I grew horns—something I definitely noticed—and my hands started to char. But now I’m normal again.”
His lips found the curve of my neck as he laid a kiss against my pulse, his gaze still holding mine in the mirror. “You were never normal, Kayla. You’re the daughter of an Archdemon and the mate of an Archangel. That has created an incredible power within you, little heiress. Give it time to flourish.”
