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“Oh, I don’t know,” she said lightly. “If you take away the books—what’s left?”

What’s left?

What’s left?

“Listen to me.” He slithered down the sheets to face her. There was no playfulness, no levity in his voice as he said, “To know you, Avery Eden, is a privilege. It is a divine right to love you, to hold even a fraction of your heart.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she remained still in his arms. “You are not a burden. You are not worthless. Your words—your life—all have meaning. It is not a chore to be beside you, to fight the hard days and revel in the good. Every moment, every breath, every one of your smiles—God above, your laugh—they are a gift. A treasure. Do not ever think otherwise.”

“Royan—”

“I mean it,” he persisted. “Everything you are. Everything. I hate that they made you feel like this, that they treated you as something that needed to simply be maintained and not—not loved. I’ll never understand it. Loving you is so easy, Avery. I cannot begin to explain to you just how simple it was to fall in love with you. How—how effortless. Because of this.” He laid his hand over her heart. “Your light, your warmth, every bit. Promise me,” he murmured. “Promise me you’ll start celebrating. That you’ll give yourself some grace. Some kindness. And if you can’t do it for yourself right away, then do it for me.”

She nodded, hair scratching over the pillow. “All right.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” She bowed her head. “I love you.”

He kissed her brow, heart breaking and mending in his chest all at once.

“And I you, grá.”

She settled against him, body growing lax with sleep.

He glared at the window, at the moon rising out over the ocean

Why? Why bring her here now? Why like this? When I am caught, trapped, torn—

He choked down the rage, the fear, the heartbreak.

She’d be leaving the week after.

He had eternity to think about it—figure out why God had decided to torment him even further.

Please, he begged. He didn’t know what he was begging for, only that he needed—something—someone to answer him. He’d come alive these last weeks. Felt the sun on his skin, shared his stories, laughed, and ate his mother’s stew for the first time in two centuries.

He’d fallen in love.

I’ve done it all, he thought. Everything I ever wanted. I have it. It’s right here.

The air changed at his admission, dipping to near freezing. His breath clouded in front of his mouth. Avery snuggled closer, breaths soft with sleep. His fingers flexed around her and he scanned the room for the unseen threat closing in.

There were no slithering shadows, no faces pressed in against the window.

Just him and the moon and the silver-tinted sea in the distance.

Slowly, on the horizon, a sparkle of gold formed.

Gently, he untangled himself from Avery, careful not to disturb her. He slid on his pants and padded bare foot from the room and back to his study. He was most himself here amongst the rest of his things. He crossed to the window, hands braced on the frame. Cold leeched in from outside but he barely felt it, too awestruck at what he was seeing.

That gold mist began to grow and pulse, lazily circulating and undulating with the breeze.

Normally, after Samhain, he simply faded back into what he was. He became the mists, the shadows, the rare stray beam of light trapped in glass. He knew what to expect—what it felt like to slip away from himself. He’d learned to prepare for it, to not let it break him like he used to do.

This feeling—this was different.

Against the glass pane, his hand began to flicker like a candle caught in a gust of wind.

Disbelief. Agony. Relief.