Page 74 of Peacemaker

Chapter Twenty-Four

Together Again

The first time a demon sealed his mouth over mine and sucked my life force from me, Silverlight had dropped to the ground, dark and silent. It had been her only defense.

She didn’t do that this time.

She had grown stronger each time she’d fought, and as Seamus attempted to kill me, to take me, I flung her toward him. Into him.

She didn’t go for his heart—she went for his brain.

But a demon’s brain was apparently very well protected, and she glanced off the impenetrable bone of his skull.

I felt it. It was as though by feeding, by attaching himself to me, Seamus was me. Or I was him. It was vague and fuzzy, but it was there. I felt a buzz like electric shocks when the lethal tip of Silverlight’s blade glanced off his skull. I felt her recoil from that shock.

And then, I felt, as Seamus did, the very second Miriam turned on him.

She slid across my cheek, tasted my blood, and then, she slammed herself through the demon’s eye. His face broke apart. I felt that, too.

For a few seconds, before the seal of Seamus’s mouth was broken, I felt her cold, sick blade slide into his brain.

We both screamed, the demon and I.

I felt his death, because for a brief second, it was my death.

And then, I slammed to the ground, struggling to breathe again. My men knelt around me, Silverlight slid inside me, and my fingers were wrapped around Blacklight’s hilt in a death grip.

“The demon is dead,” I whispered. “She killed him.”

Miriam had saved my life.

Maybe she’d saved herself from the torments of hell or had chosen the lesser of two evils or had wanted to be back among us.

Or maybe I was just being fanciful.

But I was alive.

She did not shrink, as Silverlight had done in the days before she’d become part of me, and I didn’t release her. I was afraid of what she might do if she wasn’t controlled.

“Your despair?” Amias asked, staring down at me, his eyes full of worry. “Did he leave you with despair?”

“No,” I murmured. “It went with him. My mind is my own.”

It took me ten minutes to recover enough to sit up. I still felt a little fuzzy, as though a tiny slice of me had leaked away and wasn’t coming back. Like part of me remained in hell.

But even if it had, the biggest part of me was right there with my men, my protectors, the loves of my life. They were injured, but they were alive—just as I was.

Finally, I stood, with a little help, and took stock of the situation. I hurt all over. My legs were shaky and weak, and I didn’t try to walk. I would only have fallen.

Rhys sat with his back against a crumbling tombstone, listing slightly to the right. I didn’t need him to tell me what his last shift had taken from him, or that he was in trouble.

“Rhys,” I murmured.

“It’ll take time,” he answered.

Clayton took my hand. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “I’m more worried about all of you.” I looked at Angus. I didn’t say anything, and neither did he.