But Mikhail… you love Severn.”
“Perhaps.” He moved closer again, and when Severn looked up, Mikhail pulled his hand to his chest, holding it against his heart. “I do not know the answer, but I do know the lies must end.”
Severn swallowed. “I won’t be able to stand it if I lose you again. I don’t want this… any of it. The war, us in the middle of it. We could just leave?”
“You answered destiny’s call, and it brought you here. Neither of us can argue with that.”
He looked so hopeful and so young all at once that Mikhail’s heart ached for him.
“Suddenly you believe in destiny?”
“I believe in you,” Mikhail said. “I always have, which was why Tower Bridge broke my heart.”
Severn grimaced. “Gods, I’m so, so sorry.”
“So am I,” Mikhail whispered across his lips, and when Severn opened, he sealed the kiss, making it achingly gentle, as though Severn might break apart in his hands.
The brush of Severn’s lips, the softness of his mouth, accompanied by how Severn trembled in Mikhail’s hands, it was true and real, and wasn’t that all that mattered?
Mikhail broke away and whispered against his cheek, “I am a mess, and hopeless and riddled with flaws, but I’m trying to find my way. Please don’t ever give up on us, on me.”
“Never.” Severn’s hands clutched at Mikhail’s shirt.
“I love you,” Mikhail breathed the words against Severn’s neck. Severn groaned and pulled him in for a second, hungrier kiss. His tongue and mouth plundered Mikhail’s, the kiss devastating. He threw his arms over Mikhail’s shoulders and hitched his legs around Mikhail’s waist, and Mikhail suddenly, desperately, needed to feel Severn’s skin against his own. They staggered, and Mikhail backed Severn against a wall, holding him so close the lines between them blurred. Severn’s teeth nipped Mikhail’s neck. His fingers tore open the borrowed shirt, and his suckling mouth trailed over Mikhail’s revealed shoulder.
He wanted this angel beneath him, inside of him, everywhere all at once. He wanted to spread his wings wide and have Severn kneeling at his feet, his beautiful mouth around Mikhail’s erect member. The tiny cottage suddenly felt too small to contain them.
Severn still had his thighs locked around Mikhail’s waist. Mikhail carried him out the door, through the small garden, and into the long grass fields, and there, under silent starlight, he let his wings open in all their glory.
At Severn’s gasp, Mikhail caught sight of the wings in the corner of his eyes, finding three pairs instead of one. There was no denying destiny now. The evidence was right there.
Severn’s wings revealed themselves—dark and demon, broad and powerful—and a potent rush of lust tore all the doubts from Mikhail’s mind. He gritted his teeth, pressed his forehead to Severn’s, clutching the back of his neck, and locked their gazes. This moment, this was it. There could be no more lies. “Be true,” he demanded. “Be Konstantin.” He didn’t know if this was right, if it was even what he wanted and not some product of his body’s unchained desire, but it felt right. Like they’d come full circle, but this was a battle of love, not hate.
Severn’s breaths heaved through his gritted teeth. He stared into Mikhail’s eyes, and then placed his boots back on the ground, took three steps away, spread his wings, flung his head back, clutched his fists at his sides and… changed.
The angel in front of Mikhail blurred at his edges. Pale skin darkened, absorbing the shadows, crafting form from night. His height grew, his body filled out, and two horns sprouted from his head, arching backward, and there stood the monster Mikhail had beaten on the battlefield ten years ago.
Powerful.
Undeniable.
The demon lord Konstantin.
He staggered, wings adjusting to counterbalance his new weight, and then he dropped to a knee, gasping. Long, sharp nails dug into the ground as he clutched at the earth, as though needing to hold on to it.
The truth.
Finally.
The last time Konstantin had been on his knees in front of Mikhail, Mikhail had butchered him, crippled him, and taken his wings.
Konstantin looked up. Pain etched deep lines into his face. A face not unlike Severn’s but sharper, harder, with eyes so full of hurt, it made Mikhail want to tear out his own heart and hand it to him.
Mikhail’s knees thumped against the ground. He clutched Konstantin’s wrought face in his hands. His heart thumped against his ribs, his body flushed and hot and riddled with emotion. Fear. Fear that he’d asked too much