Chapter 26

26

A fter a few minutes of everyone else getting on enough clothing to be able to tromp around in the frost and Delina keeping the magic curled back up in her hands, Maison sits down next to her on the couch.

Chloe and Gurlien are still in the other room, audibly arguing over some magic theory, but Delina just watches Maison through her eyelashes.

He's obviously steeled himself up.

"This is a good opportunity," he starts, his attention still drawn to her hand. "Don't wince away just because I'm uncomfortable."

"Don't act like I'm going to leave you and get you in trouble if you say no to something," Delina challenges him right back, and he blinks. "You're not being compelled to do things anymore."

"I'm not…" he trails off, then sighs. "Okay, do I want to do this? No. Do I still think it's a good idea? Yes. Happy?"

"Not terribly," Delina answers.

"There's even a big chance you won't be able to compel me to do anything, human willpower is a massively different thing than demon willpower," he continues, crossing his arms. "There's an equal chance to it doing absolutely jack shit to me in terms of compelling."

It still sits poorly with her, so she narrows her eyes at the knot of magic in her hand.

"Then let's figure out some guardrails," she starts. "If I can compel you, if this practice works, then we should decide ahead of time what I can and cannot do to you."

He sits back, like it hadn't occurred to him.

"Like, say, you didn't want to do jumping jacks," Delina continues. "So I know so I don't make you do jumping jacks. You know, establish some rules so I don't make you do something you don't want to do."

His lips part, but he says nothing, staring at her.

"I don't want to just…make you do things, even if this is practice, you need to have some say in things," Delina says, softer, muscling through a strange shyness at the conversation. "Otherwise, you're just terrified and I just feel like shit."

He's silent, his eyes on her, and there's something dawning over his face, something close to wonder. Like his entire view of the world shifted in that brief, little conversation, and now he's looking at her through a completely different lens.

She shifts, and the magic warms in her hand.

"Nobody has ever asked me that," Maison says, after a long moment of silence. "That has never mattered to anyone."

"Well, that's shitty," Delina says, and Chloe tromps through the hallway and down into the basement for something, and she waits for her to be out of earshot. "So what are the guardrails? Give me something to work off of."

"Don't make me hurt anyone," he says, quickly, too quickly, and of course she's not going to do that. "Don't make me blow anything up or rip up magic without repairing it."

"Okaaaay, got it," Delina says. "That seems like the bare minimum."

She gets a hint of a dimple before it disappears. "I don't know, don't embarrass me? I don't care about the jumping jacks."

"Okay, then tell me way before if I'm going to trip on something," she says, and he nods, his shoulders relaxing, and it feels…somehow normal. Like this is a conversation they should be having, far beyond the stakes and the surrealism.

That this is a conversation they should be having regardless. That it would be just as in place as on their comfy couch in Prescott as it is here in the cabin.

"I mean it with the weird demon bond thing, too," Delina continues, softer still. "I don't know how that works, but I don't want…I don't want you to be forced to do something you don't want to do because of it."

He ducks his head at that, as if she couldn't see the emotions flashing across his face all the same.

"If I had known about the bond before, I would have said that before," she says. "I don't like…I don't like the idea that you did things you didn't want to."

She's had just enough time to think about what that might mean for him to really, really need to say that.

He exhales, thumping his head on the back of the couch. "You never made me do anything I didn't want to do," he says, which is a relief, even if she had a sneaking suspicion that he would say that. "I will say this until the end of time, being with you was never difficult."

"Glad of that, but I would definitely tread carefully," she says, letting her eyes drift down to the magic in her hands. "The whole…you had to be with me…it's not a great feeling."

Beyond all the lies, beyond all the faking, it's still awful to comprehend the fact that he couldn't just leave. That he was trapped, no matter how bad he might've wanted to leave.

His hand settles on her elbow, startling her out of the thought, and a spark crackles to his palm, though he pays it no attention. "Delina."

"Yeah?" she asks, still cradling the magic.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice dipping low, and she blinks at him. "I'm sorry for lying, I'm sorry for not immediately telling you the truth. I'm sorry for keeping it from you, I'm sorry about all the little lies I ever told you."

She stares up at him, and he shifts closer with just a spare glance down at the magic in her hand.

"You are, by far, the best thing to happen to me in my life, and I wish I never hurt you."

Words escape her, and she lets her eyes fall away to the familiar lines of his throat, to his chest, until she's staring back down and away.

"I wish…" he trails off, and waits until Gurlien disappears down the stairs into the basement as well, before he gently, ever so gently, lifts her chin up to him.

She freezes, everything warring inside of her.

Of course being this affectionate with him is a bad idea, especially after everything she knows. Of course she doesn't know if she can still trust what he's saying, if she can believe his words. Of course allowing this touch pounds against her heart, floods her veins with how bad of an idea it is.

But now she can see the red reflected in his eyes, can tell without even thinking that his heart beats just as fast as hers. That his feet are cold and his shoulder is just tight enough to ache and that a non-zero amount of his attention is focused still on the magic in her hand, like it's impossible for him to not dedicate a small part of his brain to the threat.

And he's still holding her chin up, despite it all.

Her lips part, and his eyes flicker down to them, louder than anything in the room.

"Delina," he says, and a question lingers in his tone, somewhere behind a trace of desperation.

It's a bad idea. It's all a bad idea. Him being here at all is a bad idea. Her sitting here and feeling the warmth of his touch and the fire in his blood is a bad idea. Her not immediately fleeing from this situation, her not using whatever defense she might have against him.

But instead, she just looks up at him. At his handsome face, creased with worry and a bit of fear as well. Like he's steeling himself up.

She's seen this before, with him. Seen the fear, seen the desperation, seen the want. Seen the almost critical vulnerability in his hesitations, in the barely there tremble of his hand.

It was there right before he kissed her the first time, all the way back in undergrad.

It's definitely a bad idea, but she wouldn't move away right now, sitting on that old floral couch with cabin beams high overhead, not if you gave her all the money in the world.

"I love you," he whispers, barely audible, and it zings over Delina's skin. "I know you don't believe me, but I love you."

And she's not sure if she leans forward or if he leans down, but their lips meet, and then she's not thinking anymore.

His hand gentles on her chin, tracing glimmers of fire, his mouth opening against hers. He's tender, he's careful, he's cautious.

Right until he's not.

She can't pinpoint the moment, but the hair on the back of her neck raises, almost a sense of danger, like catching a glimpse of lightning across the sky, the hint of a storm before it unleashes a torrent. A scrape of the stubble on his cheek, a tension across his shoulders, his tongue darting across her lips.

Her breath hitches, and he freezes, motionless against her. His hand still hot against her chin, his heart still pounding just as hard, before he pulls away, his eyes flashing red.

She doesn't move, and neither does he, still too close to be probable for anything else, until the telltale clomp of feet up the basement stairs sends both of them scooting apart.

"So in theory it'll be safe," Gurlien says, breezing into the room and completely ignoring the flush on Delina's face and the redness of Maison's lips. "According to the—"

"—very limited," Chloe interrupts.

"—research we have, this doesn't cause any active harm on demons that normal mind control wouldn't cause on humans." He gestures for them to get up from the couch, oblivious. "So don't make him harm himself and he'll be fine."

"Were you spending that time checking for the dangers of this?" Delina asks, after probably too long of a beat, and Gurlien nods, insistent. "Uh, thanks?"

Her heart's still pounding in her throat, her stomach still tight.

"Yes, yes, we wouldn't want to lose him as a resource," Gurlien replies, waving his hand, and Chloe rolls her eyes. "Do you want outside or basement? Basement we have the extra traps, but that might neutralize it, and outside has all the variables."

"Outside," Maison finally says, voice a bit distant. "She's probably not going to be in a trap if she uses this in combat."

Gurlien nods, like he had anticipated that. "The magic still there?"

Delina glances down at her hand, where the magic shifts almost restless. "Absolutely."

"Later, you should try it with a bug and we'll see how long it lasts without getting incorporated back," Chloe chimes in, and after the conversation with Maison, Delina's head spins.

It's too fast, too soon, with the touch of his lips still against hers like a brand.

"Don't tell him what you're going to do ahead of time, we want him to try to resist without foreknowledge," Gurlien continues, and Delina locks eyes with Maison, just a bit, at that.

He nods, almost imperceptible, though his eyes are still wide.

So Delina stands, and the magic twists in her hands, almost as reflex, and both Chloe and Maison flinch in surprise. "Then let's do this."