He sighs and moves away, sitting on the hood of his car when he says, “Ever, the Ouroboros itself isn’t evil. Far from it. Roman and his tribe have distorted the meaning. It’s actually an ancient alchemical symbol, signifying creation out of destruction, eternal life—that sort of thing. Plenty of people have ’em, and the only thing it proves is that Jude has a thing for body art. Body art, and you.”
I move toward him, wanting him to know that it’s not at all reciprocated. How could it be with Damen in the picture?
Realizing he heard my thoughts when he pulls me close and presses his lips to my ear. “You sure? It’s not the flashy car and magick tricks that won you over?”
I shake my head and nuzzle closer, aware of the veil that hovers between us, thrilled our telepathy is working again. Fearing I’d somehow broken it when we were back in that room.
Of course it’s working again, he thinks. Fear separates—makes us feel alone—disconnected—while love—love does just the opposite—it unites.
“It’s always been you,” I say, needing to say the words out loud where we can both hear them. “Just you. No one but you.” I gaze into his eyes, hoping the wait is over, that we can forgo our three-month deal.
He cradles my face in his hands and presses his lips against mine. His warm loving presence the only answer I need. The only answer I want.
Knowing there’s so much more to discuss—Roman, Haven, the twins, Jude, the Book, Ava’s return—but knowing it can wait. For now I just want to revel in being with him.
Sliding my arms around his neck as he pulls me onto his lap, the two of us gazing out at something so dark, so vast, so infinite, so eternal, we both know it’s there—and yet we can’t even see it.