In the circle of Lathan’s arms, Honey’s body jerked, yanking him out of sleep into full-on awareness. She was in the White Place. And he hated it. Hated she had to go there without him. Hated he couldn’t be there to protect her against the Thing that had hurt her.
He reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp, then brought her hand to his cheek. Even in her sleep, even as far away as another dimension, her fingers flexed against his face, recognizing her protector.
The power of their connection opened wide, spreading cooling throughout his system, just as he knew she experienced warmth. Carefully, he shifted, never allowing her hand to lose contact with his tattoo, so he could see her face when she awakened.
Just like that, her eyes opened. The light illuminated her features in sharp planes and shadows. He held her hand tighter to his cheek to prevent the seizure from her brain doing double duty. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now that I’m awake.” Her voice was strong, carried no fear.
“What happened?” He glanced at her other hand. Empty. This time she hadn’t brought anything back.
“My mom. Trying to explain.” She inhaled a slow breath and let it out just as slowly. He’d told her everything he’d seen in her mom’s SMs, in Junior’s SMs, in the Strategist’s SMs—except for the one thing he would never speak of. He had held her as she cried out her feelings, and she’d held him as he did the same. Something about their tears had lanced all their wounds, and now they were healing together.
“But I really think the dream was about giving me a chance to use my power. The power to leave the past in the past and truly begin my future with you.” She stared into his eyes, then let her gaze slide over his face as if she were memorizing every detail of his features. “Have I ever mentioned how much I love your freckles?”
He felt himself smile and it felt good. “Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?” She shook her head once, her eyes getting glassy and full of water. “You are perfect. Everything about you is perfect. Not in the no-flaws sense, but in the made-for-me-alone sense.”
The scent of her happiness made everything all right.
Epilogue
Lathan stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes locked on the shadowed top step, waiting for his first glimpse of Honey. A dozen candles, held by a dozen friends, cast an intimate warmth throughout his cabin. The scents of flame and festivity filled his nose, and yet, he felt like a goddamned bug on display in some kid’s insect collection.
He restrained the urge to tug at his collar or loosen his tie—only Honey had been able to talk him into wearing one. Come on. Hurry, Honey.
As if his thoughts conjured her, he smelled her approaching. Her honeyed scent flowed into him, satisfying him in a way mere oxygen never could. She began walking down the stairs, midnight eyes shimmering in the flickering candlelight.
She wore a white strapless gown. No fancy beads or baubles. No extra frills or ruffles. He didn’t have a name for the material, but it floated over her skyscraper legs like a wispy piece of cloud. The only ornamentation was a ribbon, the exact color of her eyes, winding around the bodice and secured in a fat, floppy bow beneath her breasts.
Her hair cascaded in dark waves over her bare shoulders, and he could just imagine later, much later, lying beneath her, those dark waves insulating them from the world. She didn’t wear heavy makeup, only a bit of color on her cheeks, and her wonderfully wonky smile hitched up higher on one side. He loved that smile.
Her beauty abducted his ability to breathe. Didn’t need oxygen anyway. He only needed her. She was his miracle. If he had to go through all the pain, all the suffering, all the hardship again just to be worthy of her, he’d go through it a thousand times—a million times.
He held out his hand. The moment her cool fingers met his, he pulled her against him, fitting them so perfectly together that they could’ve been carved from the same block of wood.
She cupped his face with both of her hands and gazed at him as if she were memorizing his features, memorizing this moment. The moment right before they were married.
The minister behind them coughed lightly. Someone shifted in their seat and someone sniffled softly—probably Isleen. She had the oddest habit of crying when she was happy.
Over the past month, Isleen and Xander had forged a friendship of shared experience with Lathan and Honey, and Thomas was making up for lost time in being a great brother. Lathan liked that there was another protector for Honey who loved and cared about her in a brotherly way. It was odd, and nice, to have a network of friends beyond just Gill.
“Well, I guess we can begin.” The minister waited, probably for them to give him their attention, but Lathan was lost in the flecks of silver in Honey’s eyes.
She dropped only one hand from his face, kept the other one on his tattoo, granting him another of her special gifts. He covered her hand with his own, nuzzling her and kissing her palm before settling it back on his tattoo.
As one, they faced the minister and the room full of their friends and his father—each person holding a candle, lighting the wedding with their presence. It was a different setup—them facing the audience and the minister having his back to the audience, but Honey had demanded it. She understood that he wouldn’t feel comfortable with people behind him.
Dad sat in the front row, next to Gill, and gave Lathan a thumb’s-up and a genuine Montgomery smile. Somehow, it meant something, something bigger than Lathan ever thought it would, that his father was here, looking proud of him and not smelling of anxiety. Mom had elected not to attend. Probably because their wedding wasn’t a high-society event.