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Plus, it turned out he was immune to her fire. Of course he was. He was meant to be hers as much as she was his.
When he finally realized he was staring at her in shock, all he wanted to say was, “You’re mine,” over her sputtering apologies.
He didn’t, though. Like Micah, Phoenix was part of a faction. A witch, she wasn’t immortal—at least, she wouldn’t be until she bonded with Micah and her lifespan matched his—but though was long-lived. There was time for him to get to know her, to woo her, to prove that he was the best male for his fiery witch. Then he could claim her part of their soul as his own, and it wouldn’t matter that he was stuck in Purgatory. With Phoenix at his side, anywhere his mate was would be Heaven on Earth for Micah.
He loved her. Adored her. Worshipped her.
Micah tempered her fire, and Phoenix made him feel more alive than he had in longer than he could remember.
She loved him, too. Maybe she didn’t tell him with her words, but in the little things. The casual touches, the way the fire in her eyes sparked when she looked at him. How she dropped her guard when he was near, and he could sense just how much she wanted to spend eternity with him if Micah would only get the nerve to offer it.
Heaven knows he wanted to, but what did he know about finding and claiming a soulmate? For so long Raze had scoffed at the idea, and Sam was sure Death would never find his match. Micah had his Phoenix, but it was all so soon. He’d only known her for a few weeks before his instincts were pushing him to finalize their bond.
And if he had the urge to tie him to her the moment she burst into flame outside of her coven, he forced himself to resist it. He never wanted her to regret her choice. Just like how he never once second-thought his decision to Fall with his brothers instead of staying behind in Heaven without them, Micah would only take Phoenix’s half of their soul when he was certain that she would never look back with remorse.
Her name. To those who were faction, a true name meant everything. If Micah gave Phoenix his, she would have complete control over him; or, at least, even more than she already had. She could summon him, and charm him, and compel him.
Phoenix wasn’t her true name. It was what she was called—courtesy of her fire magic, and her determined nature—but it wasn’t her name. Micah knew then that, when she trusted him enough to share hers with him, he would have her heart and her trust as much as he owned her soul—and then he would give her his name.
Hers wouldn’t work the same way as his. She was a witch so, while she had a true name of her own, he could never use it against her like she could him. It didn’t matter. To Micah, earning her name was all that mattered. Only then would he know that he could take her body, claiming her as his mate for the rest of time.
He would wait as long as it took. Besides, there was no rush. Once they were bonded mates, they’d have forever.
And he believed that up until the moment their fledgling bond sliced in two.
As if some higher power had taken a knife to their growing tie, it broke, and he could no longer feel her anywhere. His Phoenix was gone, and, this time, there was no rising up from the ashes.
She was dead, confirmed by her witch sisters in her coven, and with her died any of Micah’s hopes for his future.
No talisman. No soulmate.
Nothing but a cautionary tale for other factions to find and claim their soulmate because, even for the powerful paranormals, nothing was promised.
Especially not tomorrow—except, of course, if you were an immortal angel with nothing to look forward to but heartache, pain, and just another day knowing what you had, and what you lost.
