Page 175 of A House of Gold
"He'll try." Croesus agrees. "But you're stronger than he thinks. Stronger than any of them think." His gold eyes hold mine. "You survived me. You survived killing an archangel. You'll survive Seraph too."
"And then Idris. And Kael. And all the others."
"And then you're free." He leans his forehead against mine. "And then you choose."
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of it. Six more Houses. Six more years. Six more angels who will each try to claim me in their own way.
And at the end of it all, if I survive, I'll have to make a choice that will satisfy no one, least of all myself.
"I'll come back," I promise. Meaning it, even though I know it won't be the same. "When it's over. When I'm free. I'll come back to you."
Through the binding, I feel his desperate hope. His fear that I won't. His love that demands he let me go anyway.
"I'll wait," he says. "However long it takes. Seven years. Seven decades. I'll wait."
We stay like that for a long moment, forehead to forehead, breathing the same air. Trying to memorize each other before everything changes.
Because it will change. We both know it.
"Rest now," he says finally, easing me back against the pillows. "Recover your strength. We have a few more days together before you leave."
"Will you stay?" The question comes out smaller than I intended.
"As long as you need me to." He settles beside me on the bed, pulling me against his chest. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake."
I close my eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart through our bond and through the physical connection of his arms around me. Seven threads of awareness hum in the background of my consciousness, but Croesus's presence drowns them out.
For now, I'm here. Safe. Loved by an angel who's learning to let go.
Tomorrow, I'll start preparing for what comes next.
But today, I rest.
37
Recovery is strange when you're connected to seven immortal beings.
My body heals faster than it should, even more so than before, probably because I'm now tethered to seven sources of divine energy. The exhaustion that should last weeks fades in days. The bone-deep fatigue from channeling divine power dissolves like morning mist.
But the bonds remain. Constant. Inescapable.
I spend my first day awake just lying in Croesus's bed, learning to filter the constant stream of awareness. It's like having seven radio stations playing at once in the background of my mind. Not loud enough to make out words, but present enough that I can't ignore them.
Croesus is the clearest, our original binding makes him almost overwhelming in his intensity. I feel his presence like a weight against my consciousness, warm and golden and possessive even when he's rooms away.
The others are more distant but still there. Seraph's cold precision. Kael's burning rage. Idris's shifting curiosity. Lysander's warm hunger. Dorian's comfortable melancholy. Caspian's bone-deep exhaustion.
Seven deadly sins, all tied to me. All aware of me just as I'm aware of them.
It should feel invasive. Claustrophobic. Instead, it feels like I've spent my whole life shouting into a void and only now realized there are people shouting back.
By the second day, I'm strong enough to leave the bed. To shower, to dress in my own clothes, to venture out into the house.
I find Nat in the library, of course. He's cataloging a new acquisition, a ledger bound in what looks like human skin. He glances up when I enter, and his expression shifts from professional neutrality to something almost like relief.
"You're alive," he says. "That's good. Croesus has been unbearable."
"Has he?" I settle into the chair across from him.
