Page 227 of Nightshade

“You have my word.”

“You gotta be one crazy dame to fuck with the heavens. Must really love this one.”

Swallowing back the threat of tears, I nodded. “I’ve loved him an eternity.”

68

Farryn

Dreams startled me upright, and on a gasp, I searched the dark bedroom, finding only a vacant chair and the curtains fluttering in the wind from the open window.

It’d been days since I performed the ritual that Gabriel had translated for me.

Had I done it wrong?

Had he lied?

The possibility of Jericho’s return had been the only thing that’d kept me going so long without cracking. I didn’t have a plan for this. Didn’t give a thought to what I’d have done if it hadn’t worked, because I needed it to work. I needed it to be true. The alternative terrified me.

Movement outside of the window caught my eye. Something black stirred with an abruptness that left me wondering if it was the demons again. A cold and paralyzing fear gripped me, until Camael jumped up onto my bed and sat at the end of it, meowing. Not in threat, but in greeting.

Nervous, I climbed out of bed and padded toward the window, pushing back the curtain just in time to see a black raven fly off into the night. “Cicatrix,” I whispered.

Hope blossomed inside my chest. I didn’t want it to. In fact, my head urged me to tamp it down, having awakened so many nights in disappointment. This was different, though. Seeing the bird was a sign. A good one, I hoped. Spinning on my heel, I dashed across the room for my robe, and flicked on the lights.

Nothing.

Nothing under the bed, when I bent down to look.

As I reached for the knob of my bedroom door, I closed my eyes, listening for any movement. Please.

I threw back the door to an empty hallway, and searched the adjacent rooms, closets, bathrooms. Under beds and beneath desks. Every room that bore no evidence of Jericho’s return sent an ache to my chest.

I rounded the bannister and dashed down the staircase to the first floor.

Nothing in the parlor.

Nothing in Aunt Nelle’s old office.

Not the living room, either.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Tears gathered in my eyes, and I shook my head, certain that it was Cicatrix I’d seen.

Then a sound captured my attention. The windchimes I’d placed just inside of the mudroom door to alert me of any strangers. Muscles steeled with distress, I quietly padded toward the kitchen, realizing I had nothing of a weapon, if it was an intruder.

As I approached the room, I caught sight of a shadowy figure, and I skidded to a halt. Slapping a trembling hand over my gasp of shock, I reached for the lightswitch beside me.

I held my breath.

Flipped it on.

Leaning against the counter, Jericho stood naked, his arms crossed over his body as he shivered. The silvery tattoos across his skin sparked and flickered, as if they moved. The patch that typically covered his ruined eye was absent, showing off the grisly-sewn eye socket.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The pressure inside my chest felt as if it might burst. I closed my eyes, praying he’d be there when I opened them again, and to my utter delight, he was.

Except, something wasn’t right.