My back was to the wall when Constantine finally stepped away, our hands sliding together, palms kissing briefly. I watched him walk to the door, then lift one of Hunter's hats to his head—one that disguised his horns and the tone of his skin, but didn't transform him into a comical little man—and met grey eyes where there should've been gleaming silver. The door opened, silent, and sunlight washed over my demon, blurred by gathering tears. I didn't know if he looked back at me, or only out at the street, but I watched his hazy figure pause at the threshold, the cry and bustle of London spilling into the still hall.
"Take care, sweet creature."
"Constan—" His name was whispered, broken by a gasping sob, and then shuttered by the click of the door closing behind him, the hall dark and quiet again. I swallowed the cry in my throat and squeezed my eyes shut, fisting my hands at my sides. I would not chase him, drag him back, beg him to stay.
He said he would return.
And I was not alone.
With a huff of breath and a swipe of my hands over my cheeks, I marched up the stairs, back to the bedroom where my lovers had spread out to fill the space I'd left. Constantine leaving was the pain of heartbreak, yes, but this sight was the blessing of another four hearts beating true and steady in my chest.
I shed Hunter's robe, then the soiled shift, and found Ronan watching me with a sleepy smile.
"Hello, nut."
The bite of sorrow, the honeyed lick of affection, married together in my chest.
"I love you," I said, picking up another shift, slipping it on over my head.
Ronan sat up abruptly, eyes blinking and growing wide. "You what?"
"I love you," I repeated, frowning at him. Hunter had twisted on the bed, confused and sleepy and beautifully mussed. "I love you too. Is it okay to say it down a line like this, or is that rude?"
"What the fuck do I care, just keep saying it," Ronan said as the others stirred awake.
Hunter frowned. "Little one, have you been crying?"
"I love you," I repeated to Ronan. "You persistent, darling, irksome, delicious man."
"You have been crying," Ronan said, scooting to the edge of the bed, now scowling.
"And I love you," I said to Hunter. "You dreadfully noble, exceptionally wild, marvelously deviant warrior."
Hunter relaxed, even as my throat grew tight.
Jude's eyebrows were raised expectantly, his lips twitching and brow creasing as I set my hands on my hips. "I love you, and I barely understand it because it feels like you're part of me, like someone cut us out of one cloth. And I barely know how to love myself most days, but loving you is exceptionally easy and somehow making it a bit easier to extend that—"
"Hazel, love, yes. Yes to every word of that. I love you, now come here," Jude pleaded.
Nireas's eyes were wide, his face pale, and I knew with a simple glance that he was bracing himself to be left out.
"And I've loved you for eight years, you bastard, for making me wait so long and then making it so horribly simple to forgive you!"
Ronan jumped up from the bed, scooping me into his arms as they all scrambled to meet us at the end of the bed.
"Hazel, what's happened?" Hunter asked.
"I love you, too," Nireas said, stroking my hips and shoulders and ankles with all six of his hands as they found a way to cradle me between the four of them. "I'll keep it very easy to continue to forgive me, I promise. I'll make it absolutely worth the eight years."
"Nut, what's wrong?"
"Can't you just say it back?" I whined.
"I love you!" all four of them shouted quickly.
"Where's Constantine?" Jude asked, lowering his voice to soothe me, his hand finding mine and drawing my knuckles to his lips, thumb stroking over my skin.
I tried to take a breath, but my chest was too tight, and I closed my eyes to their stares. "Please don't ever leave me," I whispered.
Hunter didn't hesitate. "Never, my love."
I sighed, sank into the mass of them, rode the gentle jostle of their bodies as they scooted us back to the head of the bed, keeping me tangled in their embrace.
"We'll never leave you," Hunter said, his claws dragging through my hair. "Never."
* * *
For the firsttime in over eight years—maybe ever; I hadn't asked Nireas—The Company of Fiends canceled a show.
"Well, our rehearsals were ruined by all the hubbub, weren't they?" Mr. Reddy grouched, but the man had dark circles under his eyes and he was holding Myra close on his lap.
"We'll be back on tomorrow," I said, patting Mr. Reddy on his shoulder as I crossed to sit with Nireas and Ronan on the organ bench.
Jude and Hunter were in the wings behind us, holding a quiet discussion with Asterion, Marius the basilisk, Esther Reed, and her gentlemen.
"What's going to happen to all those poor people you brought with you?" Myra asked Reddy. "They're so frightened. The girls have them tucked away in the canteen, but they're absolutely terrified of the monsters. They can't stay here."
Asterion rose from the seats, clearing his throat and giving Myra a small bow that drew a blush out on her cheek. "I'll be offering up my own home for their use. Their refuge. We'll have to find a few capable humans who can take care of the house and of their needs."
"I'd offer my own services, but I think we must leave soon. See if we can't find what route Birsha has taken in his escape," Dr. Underwood said.
"The only woman you're treating for hysteria is me," Esther muttered.
"His house in Paris was extensive, well-established," Auguste said, smirking as Underwood blushed. "At the very least, he would pass through France. We'll start there and work our way out."
"I could help at the house," Myra offered, her voice small.