“I only got a brief respite cause she’s sleeping right now. I only just managed to get a breather, but I’ll have to go back before she wakes, or she’ll be upset.”
Knight shivered at whatever he could hear underneath Pink’s tone. Something hard and cold had settled in his belly.
“Cunning. Pink.”
They both stilled. Knight almost didn’t recognise the name the demons had given him. He and Pink glanced down at Ammon, who was standing at the base of the tree. His expression was glacial.
Knight and Pink exchanged glances, before flying down to meet their fates.
Ammon didn’t beat around the bush. “If you swear not to go to the mortal world ever again, then I will let you off with a warning.”
Pink looked away, refusing to speak. Knight understood. The last thing she’d want is to admit that Ammon had been right, that she shouldn’t have fraternised with humans at all because she’d given one her True Name, and now she was stuck, at least until the human died. It was the worst possible outcome.
Knight couldn’t speak either. The look on Ammon’s face made him feel small.
Ammon took a step closer. He was almost a head taller than them, with horns that curved up from his temples back to his cheekbones. His hair, like Knight’s, was in thick locs but stopped at his shoulders.
Neither Knight nor Pink moved.
“These nicquiris are my responsibility,” Ammon growled, his voice low, his red eyes like a fire. “It is my responsibility to keep us safe, to keep us from turning into every other sect out there, their existence built solely on taking advantage of humans and getting drunk on power. I won’t have it here, do you understand me? So, I’ll ask once again. Do you swear not to go to the mortal world ever again?”
Knight thought he’d known fear, but he truly hadn’t until now. This thing with Saint, no matter how right, how intense and all-consuming it felt, was going to be temporary. Eventually, their contract would end, and Knight’s tether to the mortal realm would be broken and he’d end up back in Hell.
But he thought of Saint right now, sleeping in his bed, some subconscious part of him probably missing Knight’s warmth. He thought of breaking the contract prematurely, damn the consequences, leaving Saint vulnerable and alone, and almost emptied his stomach.
Knight now knew true fear, but his need to be with Saint, to hoard his first true piece of happiness and belonging, even in the face of Pink’s experience, trumped it.
“I see,” Ammon said coldly. “Then consider this your banishment.”
He turned and leapt into the air without so much as a goodbye, and they watched him land a few leagues away in the midst of the other nicquiris.
Knight turned back to Pink. She was clutching her chest, her eyes wide with terror, sweat on her brow.
“Pink—” Knight began, but within one blink and the next, she was gone.
When Knight returned to Saint’s arms, Saint immediately rolled into his warmth, cuddling close. Knight’s chest constricted. After Ammon’s banishment, he’d felt briefly unanchored, like a single breath would send him spinning forever through space and time. But here, in his human’s bed ...
He glanced down at him, at his soft, round face, his lightly fluttering eyelids as he dreamt, and wondered if this had been how Pink had felt; if this staggering swell of emotion had led to her believing her human would be her everything.
Perhaps, for Pink, her humanhadtruly cared for her—scents never lied—but once Pink had gifted her with her True Name, the human had let the temptation of having that kind of power corrupt her.
Knight didn’t want to even entertain the idea of Saint being like that. He downright refused to think of what he’d do after their contract ended and his bond with Saint broke; that possible future seemed to be staring at him, its eyes vast and cold and empty.
Fuck. He closed his eyes. Forced his mind to empty, wrapping his arms securely around Saint and holding on tightly to the now, desperately wishing he never had to let go.
EIGHT
Last night felt like a dream.
Saint attempted to open his eyes. “Ow,” he groaned, immediately slamming them shut. Definitely not a dream.
He lifted a hand to his throbbing head. His mouth tasted disgusting, and he felt sticky and gross.
“All right, little rabbit?”
Saint squinted. Knight was lying on the bed beside him, his lips quirked with amusement. He had his head on his palm, elbow resting on the pillows.
At the sight of him, memories of last night flooded his mind, of spicy meats and sweet, alcoholic drinks, of dancing until his feet hurt, and the all-consuming rapture of what felt like a thousand kisses.
