Page 144 of Demon Touched

I squint up at the ceiling, recognizing the room as our bedroom at the Assembly residence. I risk trying to turn my neck and am relieved to discover it moves on my command. Syrus is in a chair by the bedside, bent forward, his head nestled against the sheets.

I try to remember how I got here. I can recall the party, and Roseingrave taking me to her parlor. Then the events get harder to process, my mind going fuzzy around the memories. Roseingrave stole some of my blood, and then a strange magic—my magic, I think—made the air shimmer in a way I’ll need to examine again when I have all my strength back.

For now, however, I focus on the most important part of the memory: Syrus storming into the room like an avenging god, his magic rolling off him like thunder, his red eyes bright as blood.

And how I instantly felt completely safe.

I knew then, clearly and without question, that Syrus is more than just an anchor, or a solid place to land for me. He’s everything. My home in a world full of realms that don’t truly belong to me. As long as he’s breathing, I have somewhere I feel secure and seen. Sure, that doesn’t mean I have all the answers, but last night, I came so close to having every choice ripped away from me…

That’s what it is, isn’t it? I’ve been agonizing over not knowing what I’m doing, feeling lost after leaving Aradis. But my path only felt clearer back in the ephilium realm because I had no choices. The uncertainty I’ve been sitting in since then has only been so torturous because I’ve made it that way, rather than seeing it for what it is: a part of life, and the price I pay for getting a say in my future at all. Surely that’s better than some higher power—whether it be fate or the seraphim or circumstance—forcing me onto a path I didn’t choose.

It just means I have to cherish the certainties I do have. Like Syrus.

I only hope he feels the same with me—safe and seen. I have reason to think so, in the way he lets himself laugh with me, and how he fully relaxes against me when we sleep side by side.

But I’m terrified to think that he might not know how much I want to be all of that for him. If there’s even a shred of doubt, I want to banish it far away. Even if doing that means I need to stop guarding my own stupid heart.

“Syrus,” I say, and his head shoots up and he leans forward so he can brush a hand against my cheek.

“Leah…” He murmurs my name like thanks for an answered prayer. “Are you all right? How are you feeling?”

“I feel crappy, but glad to be alive,” I say honestly. My eyes are getting used to the light now, and I blink them open a little more so I can properly see his face.

“I can work with that,” Syrus smiles tightly, and I can see the tension still lurking in his jaw. With a little effort, I lift my hand to his face, rubbing my fingers along the tight muscle to ease it. He leans into my touch, eyelids fluttering shut for a moment, relieved.

“Syrus,” I say again, and he opens his eyes, meeting my gaze. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

There’s a moment of stillness as his gaze sharpens. Slowly, his hand slides over mine.

“I’d hoped that might be the case,” he says with a wry smile, but his eyes are bright with emotion. “Because I love you too, Leah—so utterly and deeply I don’t know what to do with it sometimes.”

“You could kiss me?” I suggest. The words come out raspy because I’m trying not to choke on happy tears. I knew Syrus loved me. But hearing him say those words in response to my own confession feels like we’re sealing something between us that’s remained unsettled for too long.

He huffs a light laugh and then leans down to kiss me—slow and gentle and perfect, his hands ghosting across my hair as my fingers tangle in the dark locks at the nape of his neck. I forget that my head is thrumming with pain and my body is sore. The happiness I feel in this moment sweeps it all into the background. I love Syrus, and he loves me, and we belong together. No matter what magic exists between us, or however many spells we break, we will always have this to bind us together.

When we part, he keeps his face close, forehead pressed against mine.

“What do you need?” he asks. “Food? A bath? More kisses?” he says the last one with a playful grin.

I stretch, wincing at the protest from my body. “All of those sound good. But maybe reverse the order, please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, dipping his head to capture my lips again, soothing my aches with the warm, sweet sensations his touch sends through me.

“Of course, my love,” he says eventually, and I wiggle my toes with secret joy as he says it.

My face, however, scrunches up with mock thoughtfulness. “My love,” I repeat, as if testing out the pet name. “I suppose it’s a bit better than ‘vulture.’”

“I hate to say this,” Syrus says after I’ve washed and been fed and been peppered with a hundred more delicious kisses. “But Strickland has asked if he can come talk to you. I know you’re exhausted and⁠—”

“It’s fine, my love,” I say, and adore the faintest of blushes that dusts Syrus’s cheeks. Fun fact—this happens every time I catch him off guard with the epithet. “I’m happy to speak to him.”

The bath did my poor, abused body a lot of good, and my head feels much clearer now, but I still allow Syrus to get me comfortable in a chair piled with cushions and a blanket before he goes to fetch Strickland. Only an idiot turns down the offer to be pampered by a beautiful demon lord.

He waits outside when Strickland arrives, signaling that the assemblyman must’ve asked to talk to me alone. It suggests Strickland still doesn’t trust Syrus. It makes his trust in me feel like even more of a gift.

“I’m so sorry, Leah,” Strickland says when he comes in and sits opposite me.

“Why?” I ask. “Did you tell Lady Roseingrave to attack me?”