Page 25

Twenty

S late stared down at his forest nest, his fists clenched.

His claws dug into his skin. He ignored them. What was a little more blood? He would clean himself up later, but for now, he wanted…

He wanted …

Slate growled, stalking around his nest angrily. He wanted his witch. But failing that, he wanted to collapse into his nest and sleep for a hundred years. He could even do that without risking Ruby dying while he slept, now that she was a god.

Half-god. Whatever Ruby was, she would last more than a puny eighty years. And she would have a wonderful time in that squalid little town, where the people finally treated her like she deserved.

He reared his fist back, about to punch through a tree.

Then he paused.

Something had changed since he had appeared in his realm. He had been so busy grinding his fangs about Ruby that he hadn’t noticed what it was. Now it was finally setting in.

“Would you look at that,” came a familiar voice. “It’s dark! I thought it would be evening for the next century, at least.”

“It was dark before,” Slate replied. He turned grudgingly to see Paimon, or at least, the simplified shadow of him, sitting on a nearby rock.

The dog spirit jumped down, tail wagging lazily. “It was almost dark. Now it is properly dark. Night has fallen in the Bygone void once again.”

“I don’t even know where that stupid name came from,” Slate said bitterly.

The dog spirit let out a knowing rumble. “You slept for many generations. Mortals make up all sorts of stories.”

He leaped up on Slate’s nest, ignoring his glare.

“I must say,” the dog spirit continued, pawing at the shredded fur lining the nest. “That worked out better than I intended. Now if you don’t mind, I will go back to simply being a dog spirit now.”

Slate thought about arguing. But he had never been able to talk Paimon out of anything. If the old goat’s mind was made up, that was the end of that.

“Do whatever you wish,” he said quietly.

The dog spirit laid his head on his paws. “Goodbye, old friend. I had such fun.”

Between one blink and the next, something crucial sparked out of its eyes. The dog spirit snuggled further into the nest, utterly content.

Slate watched the spirit angrily. He wanted to howl, to run through the woods until he couldn’t feel his legs. He wanted to talk to his friend, but everyone was gone from him now.

He sat down resentfully in the nest next to the snoring dog spirit. Then he curled up, thinking of the dress Ruby had left behind.

He would find it for his nest. He needed something to remember her by, even if it would inevitably lose her scent.

Slate looked up at the never-ending forest. He had been alone for a long time, but he had never been so lonely until that moment.

A loud rip made him startle. His claws shot out and he rose, only to stare as he watched a familiar shadow-clad leg appear through a glowing portal.

“Still not as easy as it should be,” Ruby Waterstone announced as she emerged into his void.

The dog spirit stood, shaking its head in annoyance at the loud noise.

“Hello, Dog,” Ruby said as it trotted into the forest. She ran her finger down the middle of the portal and watched it seal up. Then she paused, looking up at the sky.

“Would you look at that,” she said, marveling. “It’s dark.”

“Ruby,” Slate breathed.

Ruby turned to face him. She was still so small, even as half a god. He wanted to crush her close and never let her leave.

But he would. The knowledge was like rot on his tongue, but he would do it. For her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

Ruby gave him a smile that was so sad his heart clenched. “Can I not visit my lovely Bygone?”

Slate frowned. Was she really joking at a time like this?

Ruby’s smile dimmed. She stepped closer, her dress sweeping over the shadowy leaves. She looked like she was a part of the void, a thought so potent it threatened to swallow Slate whole.

“My Bygone,” she repeated. “My Slate. You… fulfilled your half of the binding. What will you have of me?”

Make her stay! It rioted inside him, even with all his determination that he would never.

“I would have you…” He ground his fangs until his gums stung. The words were on the tip of his tongue. He had to force them back.

“I would have you live the life you wish,” he spat. “I hope your townsfolk continue to treat you as you deserve.”

Ruby blinked. Her eyelashes were longer, he realized. Longer and darker, more spiderweb than lash now.

“Sweetsguard,” she said. “You think I’m returning to Sweetsguard?”

The question made his heart leap. But Slate didn’t let himself hope yet.

“That was always your plan,” he said. “And you always wanted them to like you. Now they do.”

“They worship me.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “I never wanted worship. At least, not like that.”

She stepped ever closer. Her dress brushed his foot, and Slate stopped breathing.

“I did want them to like me,” she admitted. “Now I want something more.”

Slate’s claws twitched to grab her and hold her close. He resisted.

“A void?” he rasped. “Something fit for a god?”

She laughed again, brighter than anything he’d ever heard in his dark void.

“No,” she said. “You.”

She reached up and stroked his skull mask. Her thumb trailed along the seam where bone met skin, and Slate couldn’t hold back anymore.

He picked her up and dragged her into a kiss, his claws twisting in her hair.

“You want to stay with me?” he asked, panting as they tore apart.

Ruby nodded wildly. “I’ll still visit Sweetsguard, keep it safe. But I want to live here. With you. If you’ll have me.”

She bit her lip. She even had the audacity to look shy.

Slate kissed her again until that shyness was replaced by an endearing giggle. Then he dropped to his knees in the leaves, holding her up above him.

“Until our souls dissolve to dust,” he vowed. “I will have you, my little witch. My sweet, beloved mortal.”

“Not so mortal anymore,” she whispered.

She stroked his horns, his skull mark, his pointed fangs. Things she had been so scared of at the beginning, convinced he would devour her whole.

He still planned to. Just not in the way she feared.

He was about to pull her into another kiss when light streamed past Ruby’s head. Slate squinted, temporarily convinced that she was ascending to a second godhood.

Ruby twisted. Orange light streaked over her raven hair, making it glow.

“It’s morning,” she gasped.

Slate craned his head. Dawn was rising in his void for the first time in an age.

Ruby turned back to him, grinning. Her hand grazed his loincloth, dipping under the dark fabric.

“How long until that ward needs renewing?” she asked.

Slate groaned as she touched his tender knot.

“A long time,” he told her and rolled over to press her into the dirt. “But we can practice.”