up from his slumber very soon. I suspect when he does, he won’t be any happier about the whole fainting couch thing than I was.
I look around the room, and my eyes land on the shadow-shrouded corner that I remember Echo walking out of before I had accepted what I was. It’s a strange full circle moment, and I’m not sure exactly how I feel about it.
Really, that shouldn’t come as any surprise though, because I have no fucking clue how I feel about any of this.
Grumpy Lurch is being surprisingly not-hostile about the amount of demon gore that’s being tracked into the house, but he is quick to tell us that Nefta and Taz will wake in time when they’re healed, and that he’ll keep a close eye on them while the rest of us clean up.
I’m in a bathroom in a blink with no recollection of how I got there, because my body is just moving on autopilot. I strip out of my clothes and step into the warm spray of a shower, like I’ve activated zombie mode. I couldn’t tell you if I scrub myself or if someone else does it for me, because I can’t seem to focus on anything other than replaying tonight’s cluster fuck of events over and over again and the answers I received—answers that just form more questions.
The Ophidian.
The realm he created.
What I am.
It all just plays on a loop right alongside every second of the battle, and I can’t seem to escape from it all.
Is Morax a God? How else could he have created another realm? I thought only Gods could do that. But if he is, then why would he need me? Shit, am I God? I snort at that, because now I’m just sounding like Tazreel in all his arrogant glory.
I replay his confessions in my mind. No, this isn’t about existing Gods. This is about Morax wanting to become one. Dude has a serious God complex.
So now what?
I try to answer that question repeatedly, but nothing I put together feels right or safe. There’s too much that I’m missing, and I need Nefta to wake the fuck up and fill in the missing pieces.
Still lost in the recesses of my mind, I’m lurched back into the present when pain suddenly ricochets through me. Shock wrenches from my lips as I surface from my deep pool of thought with a screech. I come to with Iceman’s hands on my broken wing, soothing the now straight line where he reset the bone. I Lamaze-breathe through the rebounding pain, tears dripping freely down my cheeks.
Fuck, that hurt.
“Warn a girl next time!” I growl at him between clenched teeth.
“We did. It’s not our fault you went all unresponsive on us. We couldn’t just leave it to heal fucked up like it was,” Jerif barks back.
I realize that all the guys are freshly showered and dawning various lounge worthy clothing. I’m sitting on the edge of a silvery bed, wrapped in a silk robe with the back cut out for my wings. I don’t even remember getting out of the shower.
The shakes are setting in, either because Iceman’s touch is cold, or maybe the shock and adrenaline are finally wearing off. I suspect it’s the latter.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I bring my hand down my face, wiping away the tears and catatonic frustration.
“You don’t have to be sorry, Jeter,” Crux tells me as he sits down on the bed beside me. “We just want you to talk to us.”
“And to stop shaking,” Jerif says with a scowl, as if my shivers are personally offending him. I give him a wry look as he makes the flames in the fireplace roar three times bigger and start putting off some major heat. Iceman sidesteps away from the flame.
“Thanks,” I tell him, grateful for his surly ass. “How long will it take my wing to fully heal?” I ask the room.
“Not long. A few hours, I think. You could be healed instantly if you stepped into Nihil, but I suspect you don’t want to go to Hell right about now,” Iceman tells me.
“You’re right about that,” I mutter. The only demons I want to see are these four and Taz.
I look over my shoulders and give my wing a soft stroke. It seems to sigh against my back at the touch. The pain is still there, but it’s cold and throbbing, slightly numbed again from Iceman’s handiwork.
When I look back at the guys, they’re all