Page 97 of Tempt

And finally, she has.

She has forgiven herself for what she did to Quill.

Through imperfect love, she has touched her own worth. She has bid farewell to history and embraced the present, letting go of one boy and opening her arms to another.

And Malice? Recovering his heart doesn’t mean questioning or tapping into who he once was. No, it means valuing who he is today. And he does.

They gaze at each other, sharing this realization, sharing it far too late.

Her body shouts to the stars, please don’t take him, don’t take him from her. But destiny cannot answer that wish any more than free will can.

Malice’s lips crinkle, his sharp incisors poking out. Wonder freezes, watching with wide eyes as his own float from her face to the nearest window, to a view of the constellations. “Wonder…” He drags her fist to his mouth and speaks against the starburst scars. “I see my star.”

Then his eyes cease to move, and they glaze over, and the light leaves them. Those orbs dim, the pupils winking out. He relaxes in her arms, his body giving like a feather. His expression stills, seeing nothing.

And then his grip loosens, releasing her hand.

From the crescent of archers around them, someone yelps, another moans, and another curses. The rest remain helpless and mournfully silent. In her periphery, they set down their weapons and create a kneeling ring around Wonder and Malice.

She gawks, and gawks, and gawks at his lifeless face, at his vacant eyes. She shakes him tenderly, violently. It makes no difference, because there’s no cure for this, no legend to reverse it, no second resurrection to rely on.

He’s gone.

They have succeeded in their mission, but he’s gone. They have revealed the answer to this battle, but he’s gone. They fell in love, but he’s gone.

That arrow had been intended for her, but he’s gone.

There’s no one else she wants, but he’s gone.

A silent scream pries her mouth apart, suspended for an instant. Then she sucks in air and lets it out, the disjointed sound pouring from her womb, from her ribs, from her throat, from her soul.

Wonder’s heart shatters across her tongue. Her wail hits the roof.

The noise is full-bodied and relentless, streaming out of her over and over and over. “No!” she howls. “No…no…no!” Tears slice down her face as she heaves over Malice, rocking his head to her chest.

Guttural sobs tear through the atmosphere, knocking the stars from their vigils. Pitching forward and backward, Wonder depletes herself of noise. All the while, she mashes her weeping mouth into his gilded waves, inhaling wildflowers and pomegranates.

And the eternal scent of books.

26

She doesn’t stop when the bellows sting her lungs. She doesn’t stop when her protests fail to bring him back. No, she only stops when her throat dries, her howls ebbing to short swatches of breath.

However, she does keep rocking. She rests her head against Malice’s chest, muffling the sounds of archers talking, either to her or amongst themselves, it doesn’t matter. Then she begins to chant things Malice cannot hear, to whisper secret legends, to mumble the notes they’d written in the Archives and texts they’d scanned in the Chamber.

Perhaps she sounds like a maddened goddess. Perhaps that’s fine.

Wonder recites into his ear, which is still soft and malleable. His skin retains its flush as if he’s alive. But it’s a lie, and she hates the deception.

The discussion around her amplifies. Her peers call out, beseeching, questioning, cautioning. Let them exert themselves, for all she cares.

When she makes no reply, footsteps approach, boot heels thunking against the library floor. The echo resounds down the aisles, across the demon god’s home.

His home, away from home, away from home.

It shall be her home, too. She will live here, haunt this place as he did.

Those stubborn footsteps proceed, even as she recoils from the vibration. A specter intrudes, tall and windswept. Hunkering beside Wonder and Malice, the male silhouette darkens the already dark foyer, daring to blot out the specks of starlight.

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