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“Deal.”

Melchom wiped the tears off his cheeks. It was stupid to cry over the first time his human was accepted as he was, or the first time Dove saw himself wearing a dress. It was even more stupid that Melchom was crying over the friendship Dove had lost for reasons he didn’t know about yet.

Melchom walked away from the house of mirrors, focusing his blurry vision on his physical surroundings. All the shelves in what had been his chambers were empty. Minions had already moved them to the King’s room. He must’ve granted them permission, but couldn’t care less about it. Gaz was there, nuzzling his face.

“Get off me,” he tried to scold her before he was standing up, carrying the human close to his chest.

There was no movement, no activity, but Melchom wouldn’t stop to think about it. He’d take him to their new chambers—the chambers of the King of Hell—and he’d figure it out from there. He’d lock the doors, and he’d wrap his arms around Dove the way his human liked. Then maybe he’d watch more memories until Dove decided to wake up.

If he did.

When he would.

Melchom still made everything burn as he walked to the stairs. The chambers where Astaroth’s body lay. The hallway where minions had stood without moving a finger.

Everything but a bubble around him and the hellhound burned with his rage.

Hell would never be ready for what was coming. He was going to take everything down, and he wouldn’t care about the consequences.

He was King, after two thousand years of not being treated as one—after their politics had consumed his gift.

No one would leave unscathed.

Gaz opened the door for them. Melchom read the worry in her rigid movements, the utter sadness and despair for her human. As surprising as it was, Melchom wanted to help her, and not just because it was what Dove would’ve wanted.

He just didn’t know how.

Melchom placed Dove’s body on the bed before he could take in the room around him. He covered Dove with blankets because his human liked to be covered—even when they were in Hell and temperatures never went below toasty.

Can you project me into people’s heads?

Melchom startled.

He’d slipped in his Dove’s head before he’d finished getting comfortable on the bed. And there he was, in the same ensemble he’d worn before, looking expectantly at Melchom.

Not just expectantly. There were sandstorms brewing behind his usually light eyes, with pain laced within the words he wasn’t speaking.

Gaz misses you, Melchom said before he could process the question.

He thought his Dove would like to know, that it would make him happy.

I wanna talk to Jordan.

I know. Dove had said as much a week prior. Melchom hadn’t managed to make it happen. Another time he’d failed, even if it hadn’t seemed so important then. Astaroth is dead. I can take you to your friend.

I wanna do it now.

Melchom frowned. He wasn’t sure he understood the urgency. The human would remain untouched until he said so, but he didn’t think that was his Dove’s worry.

It can be done.

Okay. His Dove nodded to himself.

When he’d first seen him, standing around his own memories and core values, he’d looked airy. At peace. Melchom didn’t get the impression he was at peace anymore. He also got the impression he’d lose the human if he tried to point it out.

Melchom trusted his gut.

I’ll burn it all down for you.