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Bringing the bottle to her lips, I tip the lilac wine into her unresponsive mouth. Using a little of my magic, I force her throat to swallow it.

I pour it all down, every last drop, my hand never once wavering.

And then I wait.

I comb her hair back then stroke her iridescent wings.

Never should have brought her here. Never should have rekindled what we had. Never should’ve entered her life in thefirstplace.

It’s a peculiar kind of agony, knowing the love of your life would be alive if not for you. Loving her enough to want that life for her even if it means erasing all that you had together. Because then, at least, she’d still be alive.

Movement draws my attention to her wrist. Where a minute ago, my black beads had reappeared, row after row of them now vanishes once more.

Only death or repayment can fulfill a bargain. Death or repayment.

Death.

Fear—true, heart-crushing, sweat-inducing fear—flows through me.

She really is leaving me.

A chasm inside me opens, and it’s filled with all my pain, all my dread, all the suffering I’ve borne throughout these long centuries.

I let out a choked cry and run my hand down the side of Callie’s face, her skin damp from where the lilac wine spilled.

My skin begins to tingle, itching right over my chest. My magic gathers there, the pressure from it building to such intensity that it’s almost painful.

Out of nowhere, it blasts out of me. I groan, my back bowing at the sensation.

And then…and then I feel my powerfuse. Fuse with another’s.

I lean over Callie’s body, drawing in several ragged breaths.

I search her features. I’ve been around archaic magic long enough to know when it’s at work—as it is now.

Seconds later Callie’s chest rises then falls, rises then falls.

It worked.

Gods’ hands,it worked.

Callie’salive.

Her body arches, her lungs heaving in breath after breath. Before my very eyes, her wound stitches itself up.

I look to the heavens above me and laugh once, a wild, manic sound. The night, in all its infinite chaos, moves around me and through me.

She’s alive, and she’smine. Really, truly, entirely mine.

I rub my chest, right where my heart cradles ourcompletedconnection.

My broken wings fan wide with my triumph, and I don’t even register the pain through my elation.

She’s not mortal, not any longer, buteverlasting.

Her magic and mine sing together through our bond.

Nothing—nothing—has ever felt this good.