Page 173 of The Devil May Care

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

KAY

The air smells like smoke and salt and something warmer—something that clings to my skin and makes me want to roll over and bury my face in it. But I don’t. I lay still for a long moment. Staring at the curve of Caziel’s shoulder where the faintest line of the Embermark pulses just beneath his skin. He’s lying on his side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other draped across my waist like he never meant to let go.

Gods. We actually did it. Fucked like our lives depended on it. I’m officially the heroine of a demon romance.

I shift slightly, testing the soreness that confirms everything wasn’t just a hallucination brought on by trials and trauma and whatever kind of Hell-magic fuels this place. There’s an ache low in my hips, the edge of a bruise blooming at the base of my thigh where I remember his fingers gripping my skin like I might melt away. I don’t regret a single second of it. Even if my heart’s a mess. Even if I don’t know what comes next.

His tail is curled lazily around my ankle, warm and heavy like a velvet rope. It twitches when I move and I almost laugh before catching myself. If I let myself smile, really smile, I might start to believe this is a thing. And that would be dangerous.

Caziel’s breath shifts. Deepens. Then slowly, his lashes lift, revealing eyes so dark they could swallow suns. I expect heat. Intensity. But helooks at me like I’m made of something fragile. Not breakable—but precious.

“Morning,” I murmur, because it’s easier than asking what this is.

His voice is a low scrape. “You stayed.”

I blink. “I’m pretty sure that’s my line.”

A pause. Then—unexpectedly—he huffs a soft laugh. “I suppose it is.”

Something loosens in my chest.

We don’t move. We don’t rush.

He runs a thumb over the curve of my hip like he’s memorizing it, like he might forget if he doesn’t. His glamor’s still gone—horns, tail, Embermark and all—and I can’t stop staring.

“I like you better like this,” I whisper.

He stills. “Unhidden?”

“Yeah.”

That earns a real smile, lazy and dangerous and a little shy. “I thought it might unsettle you.”

“It did,” I admit. “But not the way you thought.” I touch his jaw, trace the sharp edge of it down to his throat. “The glamor was unsettling. I could see through it. Just a bit. A shimmer, or a pinprick. Enough to know something, but I like you like this. You’re real. You’re you.”

Caziel catches my wrist before I can pull away, pressing a kiss to the inside where my pulse pounds. His eyes stay locked on mine, but I can already feel reality creeping in. The trials. The others. The war I don’t understand and the world that doesn’t want me.

I inhale sharply. “What happens now?”

His grip tightens for a second. Then loosens. “Now we rest. Heal. You eat. And then we prepare for Umbral.”

Right. The next trial. I should feel dread. Or fear. Or something sharp. But all I feel is full. Tired, sore, and very, very full.

Still, I force a breath through my nose. “We should get up.”

“We will,” he says. But makes no move.

Instead, he tugs me closer until my forehead rests against his chest. The beat of his heart is steady beneath my ear, and I let myself listen to it just for a little longer. Whatever comes next, this moment is mine, and I’m not ready to let it go.

When I wake again, it’s to the faint rustle of clothing and the low scrape of a buckle fastening. The bed’s still warm beside me, his scentstill curling in the sheets, but Caziel is standing near the hearth, bare-chested, hair half-tied, breeches slung low on his hips.

I blink blearily. “You’re leaving?”

He turns immediately, eyes soft when they meet mine. “Just for a little while.”

A yawn fights its way out of me. “Where?”