Page 86 of The Devil's Canvas

I catch her before she falls. Wrap my arms around her and pull her into me. She collapses like gravity remembered her.

I hold her. Hands in her hair, on her back, grounding her to the world she just burned through.

“You’re safe,” I whisper, over and over. “You’re here. With me. You did it.”

She’s shaking, her fingers twitching against my chest. But she’s here.

And I don’t let go. I hold her like she’s the only thing that’s ever been real—because right now, she is.

I don’t care that my arm is scorched. That I’m bleeding. That I’m burned where the bond kept me away. None of it matters.

She came back to me.

And now, I’ll be the reason she never falls again.

Her voice is barely there. “Why is everything blurry?”

I brush damp hair from her face, hand trembling. “It’s the pain,” I murmur. “Your body’s still catching up. I’m sorry, little artist. I promise it’ll pass.”

She lets out a weak, raspy chuckle. “Well… that sucked.”

I laugh—broken, grateful, ruined. Only my mate could survive hell and meet me with a smirk. Only she could bleed like this and still crack a joke.

And gods, I love her for it.

I press my forehead to hers. “You’re back. And you’re mine.”

“I feel it,” she says, “but also like… something’s missing.” Her eyes search mine. “I don’t know what I am now.”

I cup her cheek, thumb stroking gently over skin still flushed from the burn. “You lost your mortality. That’s what you’re feeling. You became something else. Something stronger.” I pause, watching her face as the truth settles. “That’s why it hurt. You were dying.”

She flinches, barely, but I see it. She hates that word.

So I drop my voice, just for her. “Sweetheart… feel it.”

“Feel what?” she whispers.

My hand glides down to her sternum, to the Mark—still glowing faintly beneath the blood and sweat. I press my palm to it.

“How alive you are now.” My voice doesn’t waver. “You didn’t just lose something tonight. You gained something too.”

She takes a shaky breath. My touch doesn’t hurt her anymore. The bond pulses steady. Inviting.

“Let me show you,” I say, voice low and rough. “Let me show you what you’ve become.”

The world blurs around us as I lift her into my arms and take us to the bedroom, the bond carrying us in a pulse of heat and shadow. Her breath hitches as I lay her down on the silk sheets, but the moment my hands leave her, she moves—graceful, fluid, sure.

She shifts on her knees, eyes locked on mine, and begins to undress me—not with impatience, but with intent. Her fingers move to my shirt first, dragging it up inch by inch, knuckles grazing my skin like she’s memorizing me all over again. When she leans in to pull it over my head, her mouth brushes the curve of my neck—deliberate. I groan, low in my throat, but she only smirks.

"You know I can just will these off, right?" I murmur, trying and failing to sound unaffected.

"Where’s the fun in that?" she quips, fingers already working on the button of my pants. "Don’t you demons believe in suffering?"

"Not like this." My voice is gravel now.

She laughs and slides the fabric down with a slow, sinful drag of her palms, like she knows she’s unmaking me with every motion.

She drags the last of my clothes down my legs, slow like it’s an indulgence, not a necessity. When I’m finally bare beneath her, she straddles me again, her fingers grazing my stomach and my chest, taking her time—like she’s toying with her favorite possession.

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