Page 198 of May: Bloom & Bane

Soft purple shadows pool in the corners of the living room. Therael stands by the hearth, looking composed as ever. Hovering beside him is one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen. His skin is the color of a midnight sky just before the stars fall. Long black hair spills down his back, random strands cuffed with golden charms that chime faintly. Two horns rise from his temples. It takes me a few seconds to realize they’re made from thousands of dark feathers. Across his bare chest sits a golden harness with a single pendant resting against his sternum.

He turns his head as we enter the room, his glowing golden eyes landing on Sage.

“Solvernah,” Damon purrs, pressing one elegant hand to the pendant on his chest. “Still taken, I assume?”

Sage nods once.

“Devastating.” He presses the back of his hand to his brow, the very picture of tragedy. “I’ve barely slept.”

“You do not sleep,” Therael says flatly.

“I’ve barely not slept, then. Grief takes many forms.” His gaze slides from Sage and locks onto me, the gold draining until it deepens into the color of nothing at all. He drifts closer, his charms chiming melodically. “And here she is. The Little Empath who took the meadow’s heart off the market.”

He bends down into a bow so low, I’m surprised he doesn’t tip over. “I’ve heard appallingly little about you. I intend to correct that over breakfast.”

“I’ve heard a little about you.” I chuckle. “You hit on my mate the first time you met him.”

Sage chokes next to me.

Damon freezes at his lowest point, his eyes flashing gold as they flick up at me through the feathered fringe of his horns.

“Ohh,” he says, rising slowly. “Therael, I can see why you’re fond of this one.”

His gaze drops to my stomach, and his charm wavers. The gold of his irises turns into something warmer.

“What a precious soul,” he murmurs.

“You’re staring at my daughter, Afterlife,” Ashán barks.

Damon’s grin widens, his eyes never leaving my stomach. “And you’re growing her out of my element, Little Reaper. I’d say we’re even.”

“Did he just call me little?” Ashán glances around the room. No one answers him. “Eden. Eden?!” He sounds genuinely wounded.

“I heard him, my dark prince,” I say, patting the tendril that’s snaked its way around my belly.

“He’s lucky you cried last time I choked someone with my shadow.”

Damon’s boisterous laugh breaks the tension. He adjusts the harness across his dark chest with a slow sweep of his fingers. “For your sake, I will allow you to continue believing your shadow could injure me.”

“If you two are quite finished.” Therael clears his throat. “I did come here with a purpose.”

He looks over Sage with feigned objectivity. “Yesterday you could barely lift your head,” he murmurs. “You argued with a fern—and you lost.”

“I don’t even remember seeing you.”

“Your color has returned, and your vines look healthy.” Therael’s eyes move over him, patiently inspecting every inch. His hand comes up and rests against the side of Sage’s neck. “Good.”

The tiny nod of affection takes Sage by surprise.

“The níva loop,” Therael continues, stepping backward. “You understand it now? Because if I am summoned to watch you wither a second time, I will plant you in the garden myself and let Eden water you.”

“I understand it. Thank you for yesterday.”

“Mm.” Therael turns to the window.

“I brought danishes from Second Helpings,” Damon announces, producing a pastel pink box from underneath his coat. “Strawberry cream cheese. Poppy is touched by the divine; I’m convinced of it.”

He pops the lid open, and the scent rising from the flaky, golden crust makes my mouth water.