Page 74 of Angel's Temper

“What if she uses it against me? Maybe not today but one day,” he wondered aloud.

Rhode met his anguished plea with a sympathetic silence, before responding with, “And what if the sea rises?”

“Don’t do that,” Brass barked. “Don’t ask those asinine questions. You know what I mean.”

“Fine. I won’t if you won’t.”

Brass whirled on him. “Are we children now? This isn’t a game to me. This is my life!”

“Yes, it is,” Rhode conceded. “So go and fucking live it.” His words took on a harsher tone, one Brass had not heard him use since they’d fought in combat together before the Fall. “Some of us would give what’s left of their dark souls to have the mere chance for what you have, what you’re throwing away.”

“And what do I have?” he asked more calmly.

The waning light of the setting sun cast a sparkling brilliance across Rhode’s tense features. Still, there were shadows. Brass suspected there always would be.

“You have someone who’s only ever required the truth from you. Somewhere in this impossibly tiny town, your soul’s other half exists—and she’s alone.” He cast a weary glance toward the vast expanse of empty field around them. The faraway look in his eyes spoke of more than snow-covered grass. “We all fought. For every soul in the Empyrean, we fought. Has your mate ever given you a reason to prove she is also not worth fighting for?”

Brass leaned back against the bench and watched as the final rays of light sank below the horizon. Once the shadows had fully descended, he pulled his hand from his pocket and ran his thumb around the raised edge of the sundial he’d given Molly.

The sundial she’d tossed back at him.

What had Molly proven to him? Certainly, her tenacity when it came to owning and operating a business on her own. Her everlasting marathon toward greatness, whether it was perfecting a souffle or working around a perceived flaw. She’d gone as far as to secure a lucrative deal with a local baker just to supply her patrons with the very best baked goods, regardless of her faith in her skills. She’d proven her infuriating kindness toward strays, whether they be benevolent chefs with a doting uncle complex or a maniacal witch-turned-wiry hound.

And then there was her ability to ignore her better judgment, despite what life had taught her, and hold out a hand to him, of all people, when he needed it most. Repeatedly.

“Fuck.” Brass groaned as he pulled at the frayed ends of his hair. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to get past all this. What I feel for her, what she means to me, it’s far more significant than any curse. I feel changed in here,” he said, poking at the cavern where his heart cried out. “It feels far more elemental than any magic. No, it feels essential, indestructible, but I don’t know for sure. How can I know?”

A firm hand settled on his shoulder. “That’s just it. You can’t, because it’s not up to you. Fate has a hand in it, yes, as it does for all of us, but the answers you seek can only come from Molly, and only if you actually talk to her.”

“I have. I’ve tried.”

Rhode pegged him with a glare. “Use your words, Brass. Several, in a row, all at once. Repeat as necessary until she loves you back.”

“I know how to— Wait, what did you just say?”

Had Rhode just said loves? The emotion was so foreign to him, yet instantly settled into the darker parts of his soul, working to mend the damaged bits and testing the new concept. Could Molly ever love him back? To accomplish that, it would mean he’d have to love her first.

Do I?

The thought humbled him, not for the enormity of all it entailed, but for the absurdity that he hadn’t realized it sooner.

Holy shit. He loved Molly.

“I love her,” Brass breathed, stunned by how simple it all was.

Rhode looked to the sky in exasperation. “Thank the mages, he’s finally figured it out.”

“The mages have nothing to do with this,” Brass assured him as he leaped to his feet, heart thrumming with anticipation of what he must do. “I’m through banking on what-ifs and maybes.”

Only Molly’s certainty mattered. He just prayed that once he finally told her everything, it would be enough to include him in it.

Chapter 32

There were certain drawbacks to being an empathic siphon, Molly quickly learned. Chief among them being that, when everyone around you was basking in their post-holiday happiness that snowballed into the ramp-up for their Valentine’s Day merriment, she felt it all. It was as if the giddiness of every single one of Grandma’s sugar cookies had been crammed into a capsule, shot with a champagne cocktail of cheer, and then chased with boink-inducing bonbons. And try as she might, she’d not been able to summon Saulé again to ask for advice. That was, if one could even summon a goddess anymore. It wasn’t like Valdis had left her instructions on the finer points of her ancestral heritage.

Seriously, did nobody ever think to write these things down?

So, instead, she did the only thing she could under the duress of nursing a betrayed and broken heart while getting up close and personal with everyone else’s: she cooked.

---