“There is a sense of damp to the letter,” Jason said after scanning the lines. “But the wax carries a faint impression of her scent still, as did the room.”
Her mother hadn’t been gone long enough to be erased from the palace. “I think her pride is such that it wouldn’t allow her to do what was done to the snakes.” But she had no doubt Nivriti had known of the needless cruelty. “She must’ve departed the lake palace after killing Arav, left some of her people behind to cause further disorder.”
Jason returned his gaze to the letter. “She cannot plan a martial attack—regardless of how long she’s had to plan, Neha is an archangel with a garrison at her command.”
Mahiya knew she should be saying something to that, but she felt lost in a world that had shifted on its axis.
My mother is alive.
A crackle of paper, strong wings shifting under her touch, and Jason was turning around. Startled, afraid that he was pushing her away when she so desperately needed an anchor, needed him, she froze . . . until he ran his hand over the back of her head and down to press against her lower back, just enough to let her know that he was there, his strength hers to use.
A sob rocked through her, and then she couldn’t stop, her entire body jerking, her bones suddenly brittle.
Strong arms, lips against her temple, wings of midnight opening to curve around her, until Jason surrounded her on every side. His heart beat strong and steady, his hands warm on her head and against her lower back, and his heat, it was a smoldering inferno over her skin.
Black.
That was the color of Jason’s power, she knew that without any doubt. It felt as if she was surrounded by a raging storm. The sensation should’ve been frightening, but the storm didn’t so much as lift a hair on her head, the calm within filled with such protective warmth as she’d never before felt.
She didn’t know how long they stood in the center of that storm, but after a while, she could breathe again. And every breath carried the scent of black fire. She couldn’t describe the intense wildness of the scent in any other way, but to her, it was the essence of Jason. Trying to get even closer to him, she managed to tuck her feet between his boots.
“My mother,” Jason said, his voice a low rumble against her, “was my favorite person in all the world. I loved my father, but my mother? She was the one I ran to when I got out of bed in the morning.” He stroked his hand down her hair, rubbed his cheek against her temple. “Then one day, she wasn’t there anymore. If the world suddenly changed and she stood in front of me, I would run into her arms just like that little boy.”
Raising her tearstained face to his, she said, “That’s what I want to do.” The visceral reaction had terrified her, speaking of a violent need she’d never acknowledged. “But I never had a mother, never knew her. I shouldn’t be responding like this.”
Jason moved the hand on her hair to her face, wiping the remnants of her tears away with this thumb, the touch rough, familiar. “You’ve dreamed about her, thought about her, wondered what she might’ve been like your whole life. It matters.”
“Sometimes,” she said past the knot in her throat, “when I was younger, I’d convince myself that she was an awful, hateful person, that she hadn’t fought for me hard enough. When I was really angry, I’d tell myself she never wanted me at all, actually gave me up to Neha.”
She spread her fingers on his shirt, tried to smooth the wrinkles she’d made when she’d fisted the fabric as she cried. “Then other times, before I grew old enough to understand what she’d done, I’d imagine her as some kind of a goddess, a woman who was lovely and gracious and perfect, and who’d take me away to a place where I didn’t ever have to be afraid.”
Jason didn’t laugh at her. Neither did he attempt to tell her that her dreams had been normal for the lonely child she’d been. All he did was hold her and let her speak, his wings creating a protective cocoon, her body held close to his heat, to his heartbeat, to him.
I won’t let you go.
It was a vow. No matter what happened, what Jason believed about his inability to form lasting bonds, he was hers, and she’d fight to hold him. They needed each other, her and her angel with his wings meant for the night. He was a power, had far more knowledge of the world, but she had a heart strong enough to care for a man who might never fully open his own to her . . . because even a fragment of Jason’s heart, it would be raw, honest, a dazzling joy.
*