Page 50 of Demon's Beauty

Finn

All night long I dream of fire. Of drakons. Of the terrified look on Soleil’s face just before I reached her.

It’s an uneasy, restless sleep, only made better by the touch of gentle hands; by the sound of a soft, familiar voice; by threads of magick keeping me on just this side of the abyss of pain that threatens to drag me down into its depths.

When dawn breaks, that pain is still there, but it’s been kept at bay.

A fierce ache, yes, but not the all-consuming agony that washed over me before I fell into an unconscious stupor.

I blink awake in the low light of the tent, and my back isn’t the only thing that aches.

A deep stab of longing in the center of my chest only eases when I turn my head and see my witch hasn’t left me.

She’s been right here this whole time, and I can’t stop myself from reaching out and laying my fingers over hers.

Soleil’s eyes flick open, brilliantly green even in the dim of early morning.

“Finn.” Her voice is thin and raspy, and it brings another hazy memory to mind.

My witch, taking charge. The firm command of her voice as she ordered the entire camp about, making sure I got the care I needed.

The warmth of that memory is immediately chased away when I realize…

Why is she sleeping against the wall?

My mind is sluggish, but sharp enough for a wave of guilt to pass through me.

She doesn’t look very comfortable, and there’s no reason for her to be so far away when there’s plenty of room here next to me on the—

“Let me look at your back.”

Though all my muscles protest, I shift a little so she can get better access. Lying belly-down on my bedroll in the confined space, with my wings tucked in tight, the angle is awkward. But Soleil makes it work as she kneels next to me and pulls away the compress covering my wounds.

She lets out a satisfied hum. “Better. This looks better.”

For the next few minutes, Soleil diligently inspects me. She brews up another compress and secures it against my back. When she’s done, she draws back to settle a couple feet away from me, and I bite back a dissatisfied growl at losing the warmth of her beside me.

She looks exhausted.

Deep shadows under her eyes. Her hair falling in tangled disarray. A weariness etched deep into her lovely face.

And something else.

A deep thread of grief and regret, which comes rasping out in her next words.

“I really am sorry, Finn. More than I can say. It was careless, leaving like that. I’m an idiot and I never should have—”

“Hey, sunshine, it’s alright.”

I didn’t mean for that to slip out.

The nickname.

Sunshine, of all things.

It’s been hard not to consider Soleil my own personal luminary since she told me what her name means.

Since before that, really, from the very first moment I saw her.