Page 137 of Soulbound
Bishop groaned, wrapping a weary arm around his wife. "What... happened...? Where is... everybody?"
Sebastian grasped this brother's hand. "We did it," he said, repeating Cleo's words.
Drake clapped a gentle hand on his shoulder, and it was like looking up into a mirror. Or an older version of himself, at least, and it was rather uncanny. "It’s good to finally meet you, face-to-face."
"Are you all right?" he asked, for he alone knew what it felt like to be a demon's vessel.
Drake shuddered. "I'm here. And I have all my sons safe before me. There will be time enough to forget... to forget everything it did with my body."
"You gave yourself up. For me," he whispered.
He'd wondered all this time why this man—a virtual stranger—had sacrificed himself for Sebastian.
He didn't wonder any more.
It was the same feeling that had made him share power with his unconscious brother; the same sensation that made him kneel at Cleo’s feet even when she raised the knife and he thought she was going to kill him; the same stirring he felt when Lady Eberhardt kissed him on the cheek before she sent him into battle.
Love.
It all finally made sense now. And though his feelings for the others paled behind his feelings for Cleo, he would still stand between them and any sign of danger. Even, perhaps, die for them.
He’d lost so much over the course of his life. He’d endured so much pain. And yet it was all worth it—in some masochistic way—for the chance to stand here now, and to know these people.
Drake saw it all in his eyes, and gently offered him a hand to help him to his feet. "It was worth it. Even for the chance to see you like this, one more time. We have a great deal of missed time to make up for."
"Yes."
And then his father slowly dragged him into his arms in a hug.
And everything was all right.
* * *
Cleo picked her way through the snow while the others sat and recovered. The moon rose in the sky, gleaming brightly over what was left of the snow. There'd been a momentary panic when nobody could find Lady E for several minutes, but then she'd appeared around the corner of the garden folly, leaning heavily on Remington Cross's arm and cursing up a storm.
"Bloody imps," the old woman had spat. "We were trying to track the last of them down. Can't have that rabble gallivanting through London. The queen and Parliament would be up in arms."
"I take it you succeeded?" Drake had said dryly.
"Better than you, old friend." Lady E snorted, and poked Drake with her finger. "What the hell were you thinking? Letting a demon take possession of you?"
And there'd been an awkward moment when Sebastian looked up sharply, and Drake glanced down beneath his lashes.
"Some sacrifices are worth it," Drake murmured, and gently squeezed Sebastian's shoulder.
Cleo had left them there, needing a moment to herself. Premonition kept itching, but not the dangerous sort. There was something left unfinished.
She found Malachi Gray leaning against the wall, cradling his bloodied palms in his lap. Cleo flinched. She would never forgive herself.
"Hello," she called, wending her way toward him.
Malachi lifted that ageless face to hers intently, and for a moment it looked like he was going to flee. "You appear to be yourself again."
"Yes," she whispered. "What are you doing sitting here in the dark?"
His head slumped back against the wall. "It's where I belong." A faint mocking smile touched his lips. "You know what I am."
"Yes." She knelt beside him. "You're the man who knew I wasn't myself. The man who refused to... to take advantage of her advances."
