Page 108 of The Madness Within

He gave a breathless laugh, equal parts relief and exasperation. “Youdied, and you’re making jokes?”

“You’re the one who gave me a love confession while I was technically a corpse. That’s prime banter material.”

He growled softly, nuzzling my hair, and I felt the tension in him tremble free. “Yes, Ember. I love you. I always have. You terrify me, infuriate me, drive me to madness, but I love you, my Little Thief.”

A tired smile curved my lips. “You always call me that… why?”

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, brushing my hair back from my face like I was something breakable. Something sacred. “Because you stole everything, Ember. My peace. My purpose. My mind. My fucking heart. And the worst part is, I let you. Gladly.”

I smiled, weak but whole. “Good. Because I’m keeping you.”

He chuckled, brushing my hair back from my face. “I saw you in that alley, wide-eyed, trembling, soaked in someone else's blood, and even then, even in that ruin, you captivated me like the world had narrowed down to just to you.”

I sighed, letting myself melt into his warmth.

For once, the monsters were gone.

For once, the Veil and the Gate were closed.

And for once... I knew what it felt like to be loved back.

Chapter Forty-Eight

??Death Is A Vow

Dorian

She almost died.

That thought repeated like a cursed mantra in my skull.

I’d faced monsters that wore human skin. I had walked into courtrooms teeming with evil, defended Devils and danced with saints, but nothing, nothing, compared to the hollow ache that tore through me when her pulse stopped under my hands.

Ember.

The fire I never wanted to need. The light that makes the shadows inside me bearable. Shewas dying, and I… I unraveled.

And I won’t let it happen again.

She’s more than a prophecy. More than a weapon. She’smine. And I’d paint the world red before I let it touch her again.

So, I made a choice.

From now on, she wenteverywhereI did. I’d teach her to fight humans, demons, creatures with too many mouths and not enough souls.

If justice wouldn’t serve them, we would.

Together.

Because love wasn’t soft.

It’s brutal. And I would be the most brutal version of myself if it meant she walked beside me instead of beneath the dirt.

Three Weeks Later

We were parked outside a rotted Victorian house that leaned too far into the wind, windows like eyes that didn’t blink. The stench of old blood and decay clung to the walls like wallpaper.

Inside lived Evelyn Wren, sixty-two, but still looks twenty-two, pale as powdered bone, and the proud owner of a not-so-secret appetite for infant flesh.

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