Blessed Monsters (Something Dark and Holy #3) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,127

to ask.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice shaky and thick. He moved suddenly, shifting the book and dagger to one hand and taking her face in the other, leaning down to kiss her.

Oh, she had forgotten what kissing him was like. A warm sunbeam; like drowning. She wanted more, but when he broke away, she didn’t reach for him. Their betrayals hung over her like a knife on a fraying thread at her throat.

He hugged the spell book to his chest, grinning, so purely happy that she felt like she’d been punched in the chest. “I never thought I’d see this again, Nadya, thank you. Why did you keep it?”

“Because you died.” Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging him down until his forehead pressed to hers. “You died after I had betrayed you so fully and that was it. No more second chances. None of us dying and not staying dead is a second chance. It’s the gods toying with us because the best way to control a mortal is to take them when their mortality is slipping away and send them back twisted and broken and wrong.”

His breath hitched. He reared back, digging a finger in his ear.

“Malachiasz?”

“Sorry, I thought I heard you admit your gods were manipulative? I might be hearing things?”

Nadya groaned. “I never want to admit you’re right.”

“I’m right!”

“I hate you.”

He grinned. His spell book was still clutched to him, but his other hand rested lightly against her waist. She hooked her arms around his neck, gently tangling her fingers in his hair.

“You’re insufferable. I missed you so much, and it felt like I wasn’t allowed to. There are no words for how glad I am you’re alive, but … this can’t last. We all died on that mountain.” She fell quiet, listening to the soft sound of his breath, feeling the warmth of his body close to hers.

His hand came up, his fingers a whisper against her jaw. “Are you so ready to give up hope?”

“There’s no hope, Malachiasz.”

He grunted softly, tilting her head. “What is that?” he murmured. He traced a fingertip down her throat, taking her left hand. He glanced from her hand to her face and gently touched her forehead. Her breath caught as a rush of dread horror surged through her. An eye opened on her palm. He glanced at it, lifting an eyebrow.

“There’s one on your forehead, as well,” he said. “Well, well, Nadezhda, what are you?” The drop in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “Did I not tell you that your power drew from darker sources?”

She refused to admit he was right. “It’s not drawing from them; it’s me.”

“You’re telling me that I have a being of unfathomable power controlling my actions and somehow there is also one half my height who is very scary and standing before me?” His gaze roved over her face. “How is that possible?”

“It’s … complicated.”

“I have time.”

“Do you?”

He closed his eyes.

“If you’re going to snap on me, I would like some warning,” Nadya added.

“Oh, you’ll know.”

“That’s true, you are a bit of a horrifying eldritch chaos monster, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “Have I not scared you off yet?”

“Are you trying to?”

“Feels like it would come with the territory of being generally unliked and unlovable.”

He’d knocked the breath out of her. “Is that what you think of yourself?”

“Nadya, please.” He didn’t give her the chance to respond, moving to a nearby table. He set his spell book down and beckoned her over, deftly catching her by the hips and setting her at the table’s edge.

She was almost level to him, like this. She liked it. He moved between her knees, tilting her head back.

“The light in here is abysmal,” he murmured, intently looking at the eye in her forehead. “What are you, my love?” he asked, then blinked, realizing what he’d said.

She blinked owlishly at him. He was blushing.

“Nadya,” he amended.

She hummed in response.

“Can you see through it?” he asked. He tugged at one of the epaulets on his jacket she still wore, a smile at his lips.

“Do you see through all your truly disgusting eyes?”

He squinted into the middle distance past her shoulder. “Yes.”

“Oh.” That was unexpected. Gods, it must be constantly nauseating. “Well, no, I can’t.”

He made a thoughtful sound. “Would you like to try?”

She picked at the hem of his black tunic, running her fingers over the embroidery. “What are you proposing?”

“I’m proposing,” he said carefully, “that I help you. We’ve never really tested the bond you made