Page 112 of The Girl Who Only Died Once

It’s not something Chloe had heard of, of other demons helping the college, but it shouldn’t surprise her.

Ambra would’ve eviscerated them. Tore them apart, made them suffer.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve been told that the gunshot wounds are rather painful,” Chloe says, and that breaks the fury on his face, just enough for a bit of incredulousness to cross the new features. “Ambra got shot by it, it nearly killed her.”

“I had to get another body from it,” he replies, indignant, like she forgot that she also shot him across the arm. “Yes, they are rather painful!”

“So it wasn’t a good death,” she finishes, and the expression calms, just a bit. “She caused so much pain, she died in pain.”

This mollifies him, his gaze going inwards, and she uses the silence to eat more of the pizza, even though each swallow hurts her throat.

“I’ll recover,” he says, slowly, and she nods at him. “In about a day I’ll be fine. It’s not that difficult for me to heal.”

“Good,” Chloe replies, and a knot she didn’t know existed unravels inside her chest, even as he stares at her, visibly disquieted in the small room.

It’s a wholly complex amalgam of emotions hanging in the air, and she knows, she just knows, that she’ll have to untangle it somehow, but with the exhaustion she can’t.

It’s dark outside, wherever they are, and the moment she sets the plate onto the meager side table, her eyes drag.

“She also hurt you,” Killian says, finally, after a long silence. “She got around my shields and almost killed you and all the humans in the room.”

Chloe nods, unable to piece out the emotions, but her gut tells her that she should be far more careful than she actually is.

“I cannot fully take away your pain,” he murmurs into the dark, “but I might be able to help.”

Chloe breathes out, blinking. “Do you mean taking my soul? Like…Necromancers?”

“Yes,” he whispers, and she shivers. “Just enough to grant you relief.”

Chloe stills herself, and his hand is hot against her ribs.

“You won’t be in danger of dying,” he says, low, “only Necromancers truly tempt us to that point. This…” he hesitates, like weighing his words, “would only take a small part of your soul, easy to grow back. You wouldn’t miss it.”

“You know what, I don’t think I’m there yet,” Chloe says frankly, and he huffs out a small laugh at the sudden break in tension, his hand gentling. “I can deal with some discomfort, I’ve had far worse.”

“Fair,” he says, humor coating his voice. “You’re the one who broke out of Toronto, shame on me to think you couldn’t handle some bruises.”

“Thanks,” Chloe says, then sighs, her eyes gritty.

“You need sleep,” he whispers, when she doesn’t respond beyond that, before he shifts from his chair, rolling up the nearest scroll to him.

“Don’t knock me out,” Chloe attempts as a joke, but it falls flat.

He doesn’t smile.

27

Hours after she crawled into the bed, after he teleports to the other room, her mind still willfully awake, the bed dips next to her.

The new body is an unfamiliar weight, but she doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Killian all the same.

“You should absolutely be asleep,” he mutters, like that’s the pressing issue of the day.

As if Chloe hadn’t been cursing herself with her continued consciousness, her eyes hurting, her head pounding, her limbs like angry lead.

“I don’t know how long this lasts,” she confesses instead, and her throat still aches from the temporary lack of air, from the choking. “They said some sleeplessness, I don’t know how long it’ll be here.”

He makes a disgruntled noise, somewhere in the back of his throat, before he shifts closer, closer still, but not touching. So close the air between them is charged with the possibility, of the potential of closeness.

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