“You feel...different.”
Tomás’s voice curled through Aidan’s dream, just as the incubus’s legs curled over Aidan’s lap. The room bled into focus: leather sofa, blazing hearth fire, white bearskin rug. And the incubus himself, draped across Aidan like a blanket, wearing little more than jeans and a smile. Firelight flickered deliciously over the man’s body, over the smooth, tender skin.
Even without Fire in his chest, Aidan sparked at the sight. At the closeness.
At the heat.
Despite himself, he reached out and trailed a hand down Tomás’s chest, letting his fingers—all five of them—ripple over the man’s sternum, his abs. Heat thrilled through him, snaking up his arm and down his spine, igniting pieces of himself he hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages. He could touch the incubus for eternity and never feel warm enough. He could press as close as humanly possible, and still feel light-years away from that great internal sun.
Tomás just watched, a small smile on his face and one arm cocked behind his head, the other resting on Aidan’s thigh.
“Different how?” Aidan asked. His voice seemed to echo in the emptiness, as though the room were nothing but shadow and furniture and flame.
“You seem—” Tomás began, choosing his words carefully. Aidan knew what came next: empty, broken, useless. “—hungry.”
Tomás languorously drew himself up to sitting, his hand going to Aidan’s chest. Just that touch sent sparks over Aidan’s skin, sparks that sizzled and crackled through his rib cage. But rather than filling him with fire like before, they danced around the void in his chest, the heat highlighting the lack he felt within.
That’s when it hit him.
Like an ache, a hunger pang, his chest called out in agony, a chord resonating with Tomás’s own emptiness. It made him want to draw the Howl closer, to feel the void that stretched between them. He knew the difference, even in the dream: Tomás’s Sphere had been depleted, inverted. It devoured heat, rather than creating it. Aidan’s was just...hidden. He knew it was there, deep in his chest, knew the energy center still worked, still gave him life, even if he couldn’t utilize it to work magic.
That almost made it worse, knowing it was there, just beyond reach. Knowing it was his own limitations holding him back.
Tomás chuckled.
“Still burning, despite it all,” he said, still rubbing Aidan’s chest in a slow, lazy circle. “What did they do to you?”
In answer, Aidan pulled back the sleeve of his black sweater, revealing flesh untouched by blades and brands—save for the scar seared across his Hunter’s mark. Just looking at it made the room tilt, as if even the dream knew how wrong it was.
“These are not the words of any god...” Tomás whispered. He drew his fingers down the length of Aidan’s arm, taking his wrist in his hands. Tomás didn’t touch the wound. He looked scared of it.
“She’s speaking to me,” Aidan said. He didn’t know where the words came from, or why he spoke them. He just knew that he had to convince Tomás to save him. Had to convince Tomás he was worth saving.
He never thought he would believe it, but the Howl was his only hope of getting out of here.
Tomás jerked his gaze up, something like concern quickly hidden in his eyes.
“Is she?”
Aidan nodded. “I hear her. Through Fire.” He didn’t tell Tomás he’d seen her. That he’d seen her as his mother. That she promised to bring his loved ones back. He swallowed the thoughts down and prayed Tomás couldn’t read them. “I saw the shard. Jeremiah has it.”
“Then it should be easy for you to procure.” Tomás’s touch burned against Aidan’s skin, pleasurable as it was painful. His grip was tight. Aidan watched the Howl’s eyes. He knew that Tomás wasn’t surprised. Knew the Kin had sent him here, into the heart of the Church, without any warning. It had been a trap, and Aidan had hoped that Tomás would show some sign of remorse over it.
He didn’t.
“What else does she say?” Tomás asked instead.
“She told me to get the shard for you,” Aidan said. “How could she speak to me? I thought she was dead. Killed by the Church right after the Resurrection.”
“She is.” Tomás’s voice was skeptical. “No one has heard her voice in years. Not even me.”
Even in the dream, Aidan felt the resentment in Tomás’s voice. He sat up straight. “Then why do you need the shard? I thought you needed it for her. How can she need it if she’s dead?”
“She rules over life and death,” Tomás said, as though reciting something he’d heard long ago. “To die in her embrace is to accept immortality.” He shook his head. “The shard contains my brother’s power, and the secret of his resurrection. Anyone would covet such a thing.” He cocked his head. “Tell me. What did my mistress look like?”
Aidan paused. Admitting this felt too vulnerable. But the ease of the dream intoxicated him. His words fell from his lips like sins. “She looked like my mother.”
“She is all of us our mother. What did she say?”
“She could bring my family back. If I served her. If I brought you the shard.” Aidan heard the words leave his lips, but he couldn’t register the gravity. He was serving the Dark Lady. He was a heretic, just as Jeremiah said. The trouble was, he was beginning to believe that the Dark Lady might not be the villain anymore. “But she’s dead,” he repeated.
“Death is no barrier when you hold the key. And you, Aidan—you can read the language of the dead gods. You can speak it. In doing so, you could rewrite history. You could reverse even death. As she did. Once.” Tomás’s hand finally trailed over Aidan’s scar. Aidan winced, and images of his torture flashed through his mind.
“If you knew the shard was here,” Aidan said, “why didn’t you come and get it yourself? Why send me? And why aren’t you getting me out?”
“The Church is the one place creatures such as I dare not tread.”
“Because of this?” Aidan asked, pointing at his scar. He took his arm back and pulled down his sleeve.
“No,” Tomás said, still looking at Aidan’s arm. “Not because of that.”
Something in Tomás’s demeanor shifted. He no longer seemed haughty, on the brink of tipping into madness or sex. He curled his legs into himself and stared at Aidan’s forearm, rubbing his own arms, as though the brand had seared itself onto his skin. As though he were a lost little boy.
“I cannot get you out of there, my king,” Tomás said. Even his voice seemed smaller. “I am sorry. I have failed you. But I know you will get out. You must. And when you do, we will make them pay. That, I swear.”
“Why are you helping me?” Aidan asked. Of all the questions he should have asked, of all the things he should have said, that was probably the last. It was also the one the incubus had yet to truly answer.
“Because she has chosen you as hers,” Tomás whispered.
Even in the cold of his brokenness, the statement was an icicle to his heart. It pinned him to the sofa. And as it melted in his disbelief, the cold water of its poison filtered through his veins, a promise inked into his very being.
“What do you mean?” Aidan asked.
“You know what I mean.” Tomás didn’t move. He didn’t tease. All taunting, all seduction, was gone from his voice. He remained curled there, voice muted. As though the Dark Lady was watching. “She speaks to you. She speaks only to you. You are her voice. And through you, she will be reborn into this world.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Tomás said. He unfolded himself as he stood. He looked shorter, somehow, weighted down by the promise falling from his tongue. “But first, you must free yourself from the Church.”
“I can’t get out of here.”
“Then you will die, and the Dark Lady will choose another to serve her.” Tomás’s stare was unreadable. “You are only special so long as you are useful. Remember this. And until you are freed, you are of no use to us. Bring us the shard, and I swear you will get your retribution. I will help you as I can, but you must still prove your worth.”
Aidan swallowed. It was his only chance. It might all be a fever dream, a hallucination. A severe case of blood loss. It was treason a thousand times over, but he was already damned. And when he thought of what awaited him—further torture, the death of Kianna, being another faceless corpse on a pyre—he knew the choice was already made.
He would do anything to get out of here.
Anything to get his powers back.
Anything to make these bastards pay.
He stood and reached out, took Tomás’s hand.
“I want your word.”
“My word?” Tomás asked. His hand burned in Aidan’s, but Aidan delighted in the heat.
“Yes. When I get you the shard, I want my powers back. And then, we will burn the Church off the earth and rule from its ashes.”
Tomás smiled. Tightened his grip. “I always had faith in my Mistress,” he said. “And now I am certain she chose correctly.”
Tomás twitched his hand, pulling Aidan close, their chests touching, Aidan’s arm at Tomás’s side.
“Follow me,” Tomás said. “Serve me. And I will be yours unconditionally. And together, yes. Together we will restore your powers and rule this broken world.”
Aidan looked up into the devil’s eyes. Saw the Dark Lady staring back.
“Then I am yours,” Aidan said. He pressed himself up to tiptoes and pressed his lips to the Howl’s.
In Tomás’s embrace, Aidan finally felt warm.
Aidan finally felt right.