Chapter 24

If you’re thinking I’ve become an idiot ever since I met Minnie, you would be correct.

The more I should be suspicious of her and question her about her background, the more I end up foolishly acceding to all her wishes. Which is also how I currently find myself watching an episode of Supernatural with her while she’s munching away on chocolate cookies.

She’s already eaten two dozen of them!

But this is the least I can do after our failed shopping trip at the most illustrious jewelry shops.

When I’d said I’d get her a ring, I didn’t realize she would be so hard to please. So far, she’s been very accommodating and she’s never once complained about the things I bought her.

But as soon as marriage rings came into question, she became impossible to please.

I first took her to Cartier. She found nothing to her liking. Then, we went to Tiffany’s. Once more, nothing impressed her. We went to a string of other luxury shops with no success.

“I want something unique,” she said as we came back home empty-handed. “Something of your making, not of anyone else’s.”

Great. Now she wants me to become a master jeweler as well. For fuck’s sake, it’s like she enjoys torturing me with blue balls. By the time I learn to make a goddamn ring, I’ll likely die a goddamn virgin.

But do you think I told her no?

Of course not.

I assured her I’d find a way to personally make her ring. Because I’m an idiot. That’s why.

I’ve already ordered all the necessary equipment, so now it’s only a matter of learning how to craft it.

“You know, this show didn’t get demons completely wrong,” she mentions as she slurps on her Coke.

“That so?” I raise a brow.

We’re currently huddled on the floor in my spare bedroom that acts as a movie theater. There’s a huge TV with high quality speakers that ensures the perfect immersive experience—after all, how could I ever leave my house for a movie? Absurd.

We’re sharing a blanket, though that wasn’t the best idea seeing how tempting she is, even when she licks her fingers clean of the cookie crumbs—yes, I’ve officially lost it.

To my surprise, watching Supernatural was her idea. She wanted to see why it was my favorite TV show, and we’ve now binged almost an entire season in the span of three days. That’s quite a feat.

On the downside, however, that means I’ve spent the last three days in very close quarters with her for hours on end, leading me to make repeated trips to the bathroom for a cold shower.

Alas, at this point, it is what it is—as much as it pains me to say that.

“Well, there are two ways to become a demon. You’re either born one, though those are demons by designation only since they technically have divine origins too. We usually just call them the Sons of Tenebreis. But since they’re the ones who control the other type of demons, they mostly get lumped in together,” she explains matter-of-factly, popping another cookie in her mouth.

I stare at her.

“Right,” I mumble as if that’s common knowledge. “And what’s the other type of demon?”

“The second type of demons are the made demons. That usually happens when a corrupted soul refuses to move on after life. The Sons of Tenebreis swoop in and form a thrall bond with them after which the demons go on a rampage.”

“I see. And how is it similar to Supernatural?”

“Well, like in Supernatural, at first, the corrupted souls are amorphous, sort of like that smoke. But that’s only a low-level demon. The only way for them to gain strength is to possess other mortals and corrupt them before they ultimately consume their souls. The more souls a demon consumes, the higher level it becomes, until it finally manages to take shape. Of course the intermediary shapes are rather monstrous. But the highest-level demons can take a humanoid shape. It’s quite scary, really.”

“Of course.” I nod. “And where did you learn this?”

“In school. Like everyone else,” she quips blithely before she realizes her error. She slaps a hand over her mouth and turns to look at me in horror. “Oops,” she whispers.

I chuckle.

“I never learned that in school. It must have been a cool school that you went to.”

“Not…really…” She smiles awkwardly.

“So you learned about demons in school. What else?”

“I…” She gives me a sheepish look. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why?” I raise a brow. “Because it might give me insight into what you are?”

“Well…” She bites her lip. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, Marlowe. I really do. But I know that when you find out the truth about me, everything will change.”

“Why?” I probe again, turning to look at her intently. “I already know the sentinels incident was real.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I press my fingers against her lips. “Don’t try to deny it again. After what happened at Sarah’s house, I’m more certain than ever that I didn’t imagine that.”

She sighs.

“You’re right. You didn’t imagine it,” she finally admits.

“And the man in the snow?” I raise a brow, though I have an inkling of who it might have been.

“My brother,” she confirms with a sheepish smile. “He visits me every now and then to give me information.”

“What information?”

She presses her lips together.

“He tells me if the sentinels are close or not. And if they are… He helps me fight them.”

“He was there, too, wasn’t he? At the scene of the accident.”

She nods.

“I should have called him earlier to take care of it, but I panicked because you were there too. And I was reluctant to use my powers because they act as a beacon to the authorities that are after me.” She pauses. “I put you in danger. I’m sorry,” she says with a sigh.

I wave a hand.

“Nothing happened to me. But I distinctly remember a blue glow around you when you were fighting the sentinels. What’s that?”

“My energy signature. I can only use a small percentage of my powers without detection. I’m still not sure if the amount I used that time sent them a location signal, but seeing that we haven’t had any visitors since, I’m going to assume I’m fine. For now.”

“You have powers…” I trail off.

I’d already intuited as much, but to have her confirm it? It’s quite unsettling. Not because she has powers, but because people with powers exist. That and witches, demons, and mummy-like sentinels.

I’m still wrapping my head around that.

Minnie is not the damsel in distress I originally thought her to be, but that doesn’t diminish my attraction to her one bit. In fact, I find myself even more enthralled with her the more she shares about herself.

She’s not human. She has powers.

Fuck. My girlfriend is a fucking supergirl.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more aroused in my life.

“What can you do?” I find myself asking.

She gives me a hidden smile.

“Well, normally… There isn’t much I cannot do. My family belongs to the ice clan, so my powers are predominantly based around ice.”

“Is that why you’re never cold?”

She nods. “My body temperature is higher than most. I can withstand the most extreme temperatures with little to no discomfort. I can also create and manipulate ice.”

I stare at her in awe. I may hate the cold but damn if this isn’t the one instance in which I’m willing to make an exception.

She’s a literal ice queen. And she’s fucking mine.

Heat climbs up my cheeks and I clear my throat.

“And this?” I say as I trace her forehead. “Did you even have an injury?”

“Yes. But I heal fast.” She brings her fingers to her forehead. “I forgot to wear my bandage. Did that give me away?” She giggles.

“A little.”

“Here, let me show you,” she says and reaches for my set of keys. Using the sharp part of one of the keys, she places it against her arm, denting the skin.

“Wait. You’re not supposed to use your powers,” I say and stop her.

She shakes her head.

“This is not technically me using my powers. It’s as natural to me as breathing is to you,” she replies and digs the key again in her arm.

The metal cuts into her skin. At first, it’s just a scratch, but as she keeps pushing it into her flesh, blood pools to the surface.

She points her arm at me, letting me see the small gash. In a matter of minutes, it’s closed. The skin is once more smooth, with no hint of injury.

“Damn.” I whistle.

“You’re taking this way better than I expected you to,” she adds nervously.

There it is. I can see the worry reflected in her gaze and her body language. She draws back, huddling into herself as if to protect herself from rejection.

Perhaps someone else wouldn’t have taken this well. Perhaps I wouldn’t have taken it as well if she had told me from the first—I might not even have believed her.

“Minnie, you’re just confirming what I’ve been suspecting for weeks. I suppose I’ve had time to get used to the idea, though what you’re telling me now is nothing short of extraordinary. Are there more people like you?”

“My brother.”

“That’s a given. Besides your brother.”

“There are many of us,” she says, but she doesn’t elaborate.

I suppose I can let her off the hook for now. I’m pleased enough she’s starting to trust me with information. Pressuring her won’t solve anything.

Good Lord! I cannot believe how magnanimous I am. Old me would have had her strapped to the chair in my basement to torture the information out of her.

“You’re really not put off by what I told you so far?” she asks again, wariness entering her features. “Others were not so kind in the past.”

“You’re lucky you came across me,” I tell her proudly. “See, not only am I handsome, rich, and smart. But I’m also open minded and accepting. You got yourself a great deal.”

“You forgot arrogant,” she mumbles under her breath, but I detect a hint of a smile.

“That’s a given,” I scoff. “Though I prefer to call it confidence. Arrogance oftentimes lacks the substance, whereas I’m quite sure of my attributes.”

“Of course.” She chuckles. “You’re just the epitome of perfection.”

“Do you doubt me?” I feign outrage.

“No, no, of course not. You are, indeed, the perfect human,” she adds in a mocking, deferential tone.

“You should be glad for it since it reflects on you, too. A perfect human such as myself could only choose another perfect being to be his partner. It’s no wonder I never bothered with other women, since none of them were you.”

She blinks at me, her cheeks slowly reddening.

“That is…” She swallows. “I’m grateful,” she murmurs. “I’ve been worrying endlessly about how you’d take this, or whether you would shun me or not,” she admits in a low voice.

I narrow my eyes at her.

“Who shunned you in the past, Minnie?” I demand rather harshly.

She shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s long in the past. But not all people are as tolerant as you are. It’s something not exclusive to the human race, though your history is rife with it. Intolerance is something rather…innate. After all, the gods themselves are intolerant of most other beings,” she adds carefully.

“Was it a man who shunned you?” I probe, not wanting to let this go.

“It doesn’t?—”

“Was it Lucien?”

Her eyes widen.

“W-where have you heard that name?” she whispers, her expression shocked.

I grab my phone and pull up the picture of Mina and Lucien and show it to her. My body is tense as I wait for her reply. Though I’ve kept this at the back of my mind, it’s been something that’s been bothering me from the beginning.

But now that I know for sure that she’s not human, that means she could very well have a longer lifespan, especially with those healing abilities of hers. That in turn suggests it could be her in the picture and not a distant relative as I previously thought.

And that only makes my blood boil further.

Biting her lip, she takes the phone from me with trembling hands. She studies the picture for moments on end, but her expression betrays everything.

There’s disbelief. But also something else…

Sadness.

Tears rim her lashes and I fear she might cry any moment now.

Taking a long and deep breath, she gives me back my phone and closes her eyes.

“This is you, isn’t it?”

She gives me a small nod.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“But you look the same.” I frown.

“I’m far older than I look, Marlowe.”

“How old?”

“Four thousand five hundred and fifty-eight years.”

She watches closely for my reaction. But I don’t betray anything—I’ll have time to examine this conversation later. For now, I need to know the most important thing.

“Did you love this man?” I ask, and the words cause physical pain to reverberate through my body.

She smiles sadly.

“I did. But he’s dead. Long gone. Ashes to the wind…”

The urge to smash something to pieces is unbearable. But I bottle it all up since I need more information. I need to know exactly who he was to her.

“It says here you were his betrothed. How are you still untouched, then?” My voice comes out harsh, but even a saint would crumble in front of this insane jealousy I’m feeling.

“I said I never slept with another male before,” she answers softly. “I didn’t say I never loved one.”

I stare at her, my cheek twitching. Somehow, the thought of her loving someone else in the past is more painful than the thought of her sleeping with another.

Because she should only love me. Not some random dude from the last century. She should only think of me.

“What happened?” I grind out.

“He died of consumption,” she mentions tersely.

Then it dawns on me.

“He’s that soulmate you kept talking about.”

The realization cuts me deeper than I would have imagined.

“He is, isn’t he?” I demand when there’s no forthcoming answer.

“Marlowe, I think we should talk about something else. This clearly upsets you and?—”

“No. We’ll talk about this. Now. I don’t care a damn whit if you’re not human. But I do care that you apparently have another man in your past. Someone you loved,” I spit the word love as if it were the most disgusting thing in the world.

And it is.

Because it belongs to someone else.

Someone who is not me.

She looks away.

“You said you were waiting for him. Why? How?”

“That was… It was to make you jealous,” she stammers.

“Is that so?” I raise a brow. “I don’t believe it.”

“But it was… Marlowe, he’s long gone. You don’t need to overreact…”

“Overreact?” I echo as I get to my feet. “You just told me you loved another man. My fiancée told me she was in love with someone else in the past. How would you want me to react?”

Her lips tremble as she stares at me.

“Let me guess. He proposed to you because you wouldn’t put out for him either.”

“Marlowe!” she cries out, her mouth dropping open in shock. “That’s uncalled for.”

“Is it?” I snicker.

“He was a sick man. I cared for him and we fell in love. He died. That’s the end of the story. I don’t know why you’re making this into something bigger than it has to be.”

“Don’t you know? Weren’t you the one who gave me the cold shoulder treatment for weeks because you thought I’d slept with hundreds of women?”

“But this is different,” she protests.

“No. It’s not. You were jealous at the thought of other women having laid claim to my body. I’m jealous because I now know another man laid claim to your heart,” I grit out.

A tear slips down her cheek, and immediately, I regret my tone.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” she whispers. Her voice is muffled, as if she’s trying to keep the sobs at bay.

Pain strikes in my chest.

“I knew you’d react like this.” An audible sob. “I knew you wouldn’t…like me anymore.”

“Minnie,” I whisper and get down on the floor next to her. “Please don’t cry. I don’t like it when you cry.”

“Then why are you making me cry?” she asks in a small voice.

“Because I’m a fucking bastard who deserves a good whipping. And I’m also filled with an insane jealousy that’s making me act like a prick.”

She sniffles and wipes her nose with her sleeve.

Odd, but even that bit doesn’t seem as repulsive as before. Instead, I only want to punch myself repeatedly for making her feel like this.

“He’s gone. You are not. You’re here with me, and I choose to be here, too,” she says in between sobs. “I’m in constant danger of being caught, yet I still choose to be here. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

I stare at her, anger roaring inside of me and threatening to spill over.

I want to rage at her and ask her why she didn’t wait for me like I waited for her—even without knowing she would come.

But there’s also that part of me that wants nothing more than to console her.

A battle ensues inside of me and I wonder which side will win. My egotistical side that cannot accept that she’d give her heart to another man, or my other, dormant side, that wants her regardless of it?

I’ve never given much thought to women before or imagined how the one for me would be like—I never even thought there would be someone to match my idiosyncrasies as well as Minnie does. But if there’s one thing I cannot fathom is being secondary in someone’s affections.

I want it all or nothing.

I’m ready to tell her that, but as the tears keep spilling down her face, I find that the words will not come out.

A chasm opens in my heart at seeing her hurt, and I realize I’d do anything to comfort her. Even lie.

I tentatively touch her and bring her closer to me. Wrapping my arms around her, I hold her to my chest in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

It seems like forever before her tears finally subside. But now her eyes are red and swollen, and I feel even more like a prick for doing that to her.

“We won’t talk about it anymore,” I declare, though it’s another lie. Of course we’ll be talking about it again, but when she’s not as distraught and when I’ve had some time to gather my own thoughts.

We spend moments in silence, and I just hold her.

Guilt rams into my gut at the way I behaved, yet the jealousy is still there, lurking, ready to poke its ugly head and destroy this moment again.

I fight against myself, struggling to push those feelings away.

Minnie’s right. She’s here now. In my arms. That Lucien dude is dead and buried. I should focus on the present, not on the past…

I tighten my arms around her.

If Lucien had still been alive, he’d officially be dead again.

Flashes appear in my mind as I think of all the ways I’d kill him—torture him for daring to look at my Minnie, never mind make her fall in love with him.

What does he have that I don’t?

My eyes widen as another realization dawns on me.

She stated in no uncertain terms that she loved Lucien. But she’s never said the words to me. She’s never indicated that she had any deeper feelings for me other than affection.

I scowl.

“Please tell me you’re not mad at me, Marlowe,” Minnie whispers. “I don’t like it when you’re upset with me.”

“I’m not,” I lie. “I’m not mad at you, Minnie.”

She leans back and gives me a sad smile.

I school my features so she doesn’t see how troubled I am by her confession. Instead, I choose to change the topic.

“Why are the sentinels after you?”

Her brows go up at my question.

“Because I did something bad,” she replies. “I’m a wanted criminal.” She lets out a dry laugh.

I narrow my eyes at her. Yeah, right, Minnie a criminal. That’s the most laughable thing I’ve ever heard.

“Minnie, I’m a criminal, too. Why would you be afraid to admit that to me of all people?”

She tilts her head as she studies me.

“Because I wanted to live in this illusion for a while longer. I wanted to be normal, to experience normal things… I wanted to be with you,” she admits in a soft, vulnerable voice.

My heart squeezes in my chest.

Well, that’s certainly a little appeasing—just a little.

“And you will be with me. Don’t think for a moment that I’m going to let anyone take you from my side.”

She chose me. That’s enough for me to know I’m never letting go of her. I don’t care if that fucking Lucien comes back from the grave. I’ll just kill him again.

Slowly. Painfully.

She’s stuck with me now, for as long as I live—and seeing how she can live forever, I suppose I’ll have to find a way to do so, too. I’m not about to die like fucking Lucien and leave her to find another man.

Nope.

No way.

Absolutely never.

And if I do have to die… Well, I suppose I should find out how to kill her too.

I can’t believe that killing her is once more on the table, but I’m not going to allow her to ever move on. Besides, she’s already wanted anyway. It would be a rather poetic death. We’d be like contemporary Romeo and Juliet but with a dash of supernatural sprinkled in the mix.

I smile to myself. Yes, that sounds agreeable.

If I die, I’m taking her to the grave with me.

Minnie shakes her head.

“It’s not that easy. You saw what they’re capable of, and sentinels are among the weakest beings that will be sent after me. Soon, it will be soldiers. And if that fails…” She trails off, her expression troubled. She gulps down. “If that fails, they’ll send Commander Azerius after me, and there’s absolutely no one in the entire universe who can defeat him.”

“Commander Azerius? Didn’t your brother mention him?”

She nods.

“He’s the master executioner. One way or another, I will meet my end under his sword.”

“Now wait a moment. I’m not about to let anything happen to you,” I tell her roughly.

Only I am allowed to kill her, and only before I’m about to die myself.

“You’re sweet, Marlowe. But there isn’t anything you or I can do. We can only enjoy this little time we have together and?—”

What the fuck?

“No. I refuse to accept that.”

“And yet it will happen all the same. Do you think I haven’t tried? I’ve been on the run for so long, always doing my best to stay under the radar. But they always track me down. Always. And then I have to run again.”

“Then I’ll run away with you,” I state confidently.

That sound like a good plan. We’ll run away and get married. I’ll finally get to fuck her and once our time runs out, we can pull a Bonnie and Clyde.

Minnie’s lips pull up in a sad smile.

“I’d never endanger you like that.”

“Minnie,” I start, doing my best to keep my emotions in check. “If I have to chain myself to you to prevent you from leaving me, then I’ll fucking do that. So don’t you even try to tell me you’ll leave me because I will not let you.”

In this life, or the next—if there is a next.

“But—”

“No buts. You belong to me. You are mine. Is that clear? I’m not going to let anyone take you from me.”

“But, Marlowe, surely you can see that this is beyond you?—”

“I don’t care.” I shrug. “I don’t care who’s after you. I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t care about anything other than the fact that you are mine. I’ve chosen you as my person and no one is going to take you away from me.”

“These are powerful beings, Marlowe?—”

“I don’t care,” I repeat. “If they’re so powerful, then I’ll just have to be more powerful,” I state as an idea forms in my mind. “I’ll become one of those demons if need be. I kill. They feed on souls. It’s not that much of a difference already. Then I’ll be able to protect you.”

Hmm, that’s not a bad idea. My, my, but I’m teeming with good ideas today.

“Don’t even joke around with that!” she exclaims in outrage. “Demons are awful, wretched beings, Marlowe. Your soul would be damned for an eternity?—”

“I’m already damned, Minnie. What’s a little more damning going to do to me?” I mutter drily.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” she chides.

“Oh, I’m taking this very seriously. I just found out my fiancée,” I say pointedly, “is being chased around by supernatural beings. Seeing as I’m just a puny human, I’ll need to acquire some supernatural powers of my own to protect you. That seems like the logical course of action to me.”

“Marlowe!” she cries out. “Please be serious. Demons are not a joking matter. And even if you became one—which you will not—you’d just put yourself in danger. Demons are hunted. Just like in that show. They’re a pest to be controlled.”

“So? I’ll just become the king of demons. Like Crowley,” I say and flash her my most charming smile.

She smacks my chest and gets up, the blanket falling from her body.

“No. You will not.”

“Yes, I will. You’ve got to admit, it’s the best plan so far.”

“No,” she repeats staunchly.

“Didn’t you talk about acceptance until now? Why are you so against demons?”

“Because they’re evil. They’re malevolent beings and there’s not one ounce of goodness in them.”

“So?” I shrug. “I’m not that good myself either.”

“You are. There’s good in you, Marlowe. And becoming a demon would only taint that.”

“Minnie,” I say and get up.

“No, Marlowe. You will not become a demon for me. Promise me.”

“No,” I reply. “I cannot promise you that.”

“You must, Marlowe,” she continues, an anxious edge to her voice.

“Why is that so important to you?” I frown.

Her lips flatten as she looks at me, her features tight with worry.

She takes a deep breath and meets my gaze. There’s conviction there, one that’s shadowed by sadness.

“If you were to become a demon, I’d be forced to kill you,” she states in a low, sorrowful voice.