Grace and Glory (The Harbinger #3) - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,161
me. “I can’t learn how to come back from the dead.”
“Your mind.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “The bond stopped your aging. I cannot be a hundred percent sure, as this is not something ever done before, but it may have also stopped the deterioration of your eyes.”
“Really?” I whispered, a wave of prickly shock washing over me.
“It’s no magic cure. Your vision will not improve, and from what I understand about your particular genetic disorder, there is no guarantee of complete blindness,” he said, and he was right. There wasn’t. RP often progressed differently for each individual. I was kind of surprised he knew that.
Then it struck me that he did know because Peanut had known everything about my disease.
And he was Peanut.
I might pass out.
“Or it may get worse, Trinity. Your aging has stopped, and what that does genetically is beyond even me. It is unknown, as are other things, such as your ability to conceive—”
“Let’s not talk about that.”
He frowned. “Conception is a simple matter of life, Trinity. It’s nothing to be embarrassed by. Do you think I’m unaware of your recent scare?”
“Okay. Whoa. Let’s just not go there. I don’t think my brain could process it.” I shuddered, but my brain had already gone there. Grim knew when he spoke to Zayne and I. He’d said that a child between us would be a Trueborn, but that was before. I hadn’t understood what he meant then, but I did now.
That was before I had taken in a part of Zayne’s essence—before the bond. “What am I now?” I asked. “Am I still a Trueborn?”
“You are,” he confirmed. “But you are also something else entirely. Something new and without labels. You are, as you’ve said before, a very unique snowflake.”
A shaky laugh left me as I tipped my head back against the wall. I’d said that multiple times to...Peanut. All of this was a lot—a lot of good, but still a mega truck ton of stuff. I looked over at him, throat feeling swollen all over again. “I don’t know what to say other than thank you, and that seems inadequate—”
“A thank-you is not necessary. This is not a reward for fulfilling your duty. This was simply the only way I knew how to show you that you are not just a weapon. You are Trinity Marrow. A warrior both mentally and physically, with questionable tastes in food, but spot-on when it comes to television. Except for Supernatural. I do not like how they portray me. But you are many things, including my daughter.”
Oh God.
Tears crawled up my throat, welling in my eyes. “Don’t be like this—like a father.”
“I don’t understand.” Confusion filled his voice.
“It’s easier to think of you not caring or just being displeased with everything in general,” I blurted out in a rush. “Because then it doesn’t seem so unfair that you can’t be my father. I’m not missing out. You’re not missing out, you know? Because you’re going to leave after this, right? You can’t stay here. I won’t have you.”
“No, I cannot stay here.”
Tears snuck through, dampening my cheeks. “And Peanut?”
He moved then, kneeling beside me. Carefully, he reached out and brushed the tears away. “I don’t think you need Peanut any longer.”
But I did.
I’d miss his ridiculous ass, and it didn’t matter at the moment that Peanut was Michael.
“That may be hard to accept right now, but deep down, you always knew a day would come when you’d have to say goodbye. You wanted him to go into the light, did you not?”
I nodded.
“This really isn’t any different. Peanut did not cease to exist. He will always be there. I will always be here,” he said, and my breath caught. “This will not be the last time you see me. I can promise you that.”
Swallowing thickly, I nodded again. I got what he was saying. Peanut didn’t die. He was Peanut. I understood that. It was just time for me to move on.
“Besides,” he said, his warm hand flattening against my cheek. “You still have a purpose. Both you and Zayne. Sooner than you probably even expect.”
I zeroed in on that, sniffling. “W-what do you mean?”
An eyebrow rose. “My brother was very, very bad during his brief sojourn.”
“Oh,” I whispered, and then stiffened. “Oh, nooo.”
Michael nodded.
“Are we going to have to hunt down and kill an Antichrist baby?”
He stilled. “I do not understand how your brain connects point A to point B.”