Another minute passed before Darien lowered his head slightly, dropped the duffel from his shoulder, and strode down the hallway toward her. He kept his head tilted down the whole time as he walked, blinking fiercely, as if trying to rid himself of the Surge—of a nightmare he couldn’t control.
When only three feet stood between them, he picked up his pace, as if he were running away—
Running away fromhimself.
And then he dropped to his knees before her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and buried his face in her shirt.
“Talk to me.” He sounded so broken, so tortured, that Loren’s already cracked heart fell to pieces, and she, too became desperate—desperate to help him in any way that she could.
“What would you like me to say?” she whispered.
Gods, he wasshaking. The arms around her waist wereshaking.
“Anything,” he bit out, his voice thick and wobbling. “Everything. I just need to hear your voice.”
Loren settled a hand in his smooth hair, brushing it back from his face, hoping he might take comfort in the feeling. He drew in a deep breath, his upper body trembling harder. His hands tightened on her hips as he grabbed fistfuls of her shirt.
She had no idea what she should say, so she began to sing. It was a hum, really. An old nursery rhyme that she remembered from the dawn of her life but had never quite known where it’d come from. A part of her had always believed that perhaps her parents had sung it to her before they’d left her at the Temple of the Scarlet Star. She’d never shared it with anyone, not until tonight.
With every line she sang to him in whispers, the less his arms shook, the smoother his breathing became. She kept one hand in his hair, the other wrapped around his broad shoulders, and her own eyes were closed just as his were. She found herself picturing that ocean again—the ocean she’d envisioned the first night she’d helped calm the storm within him. She wondered if he saw it again, too. If he was there with her, standing on that white sand beach as the waves rolled in the distance.
By the time the song ended, Loren’s head had turned featherlight. She swayed where she stood, her vision shimmering, and suddenly her legs crumpled from under her, and she fell backward.
Darien caught her before the back of her head could smack against the floor. He lifted her into his arms, calling her name softly, though urgently. She tried to walk toward that voice she loved so much, but it was like she was stuck in the in-between. It felt like she was floating, but she had the vague knowledge that he was carrying her away from here.
She would go with him anywhere. No matter how far, no matter how dark the road, she would go with him, if it meant they would be together.
Eventually, she came to. Only minutes had past, but it felt like a lifetime.
Darien had carried her to the couch downstairs, where he’d laid her down upon the cool leather. He was sitting beside her, her legs slung over his lap, a glass of water in his hand.
“Loren,” he breathed in relief. He leaned over to press the back of his hand against her forehead. “Sweetheart, you scared me.” He helped her sit up, and she took a long drink of the water he offered her. Her fingers were so weak, they could barely grasp the glass. “Are you alright?”
“I think so,” she said, her voice no more than a croak. The cold temperature of the water coursed through her body, making her more alert, though no less nauseous. “That happens to me sometimes.” She gestured to the tattoo on her forearm—at the symbol glowing a dull red. “This stupid thing is always making a fuss.”
The look on Darien’s face suggested he was worried it was worse than that, but he didn’t voice his concerns.
Desperate to erase that look from his handsome face, she said, “Would you like to watch a chick flick with me?”
A smile flirted with his mouth. “I’d love to watch a chick flick with you.”
They stayed together on that couch until dawn. The night brought stillness—a sense that they were the only two people in the world. Loren reveled in the feeling—at the opportunity to be alone with this Devil, and so close to him that she could feel the strength that had now returned to him, could feel his body heat. She couldn’t get enough of him.
They eventually fell asleep side by side, their auras as tangled up in each other as their bodies. She slept with her head on Darien’s chest, the sound of his heart beating steadily in her ear. Her arm was wrapped around his middle, gripping him tight to her, and she did not let go once, not even in rest.
Her anxiety could not touch her here. Her usual awful nightmares did not show their ugly faces. With Darien beside her, her own personal dreamcatcher, she slept better than she had in years. Whether he called himself a Devil or not, he had quickly turned into her angel.
Perhaps she was becoming his, too.
41
It was Singer’s birthday on Sunday.
Well, as close to his birthday as Loren could get, considering she’d plucked him out of a cardboard box she found on the street, and therefore didn’t know the true date of his birth. But she figured the day she adopted him was close enough, so she started whipping up a treat for him in the tiny kitchen above the apothecary shortly before closing.
Underestimating how long it would take to mix up the ingredients and pop them into the oven, she lost track of time. She was about to text Darien and let him know she would be a few more minutes when the door to Mordred and Penelope’s swung open below.
“Loren?” Darien called. The door clicked shut behind him. “Everything alright?”
