Page 85 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

“Let me.” I wrapped my hand around Wally’s, guiding it up Ian’s quivering body and resting the tip of the blade a hair below the tough bone of the sternum.

I probably should’ve thanked Ian for his nefarious plot. It brought Wally and I together. Had this meddling mage not attempted to slaughter the entire Collective of Seattle, I doubted I’d have the fortune of truly crossing paths with Wally and having him in my life.

Instead, I led Wally’s hand forward, cutting deep into Ian’s chest and puncturing his heart in one swift, fluid motion. His breathing wheezed as his chest tightened; the life left the mage’s eyes.

We ended Ian’s life. While I would’ve most certainly preferred extending the mage’s death, dragging it out for days or weeks—years—I considered myself content in this momentous moment with Wally, one I’d relish forever.

Forever with him, if he allowed it.

29

29

Walter

I buzzed with a euphoric pleasure wrapped in Bez’s warm embrace. He kept his firm biceps tightly wrapped across my chest and stomach, my back pressed against him, and his tails holding my legs at length with his during the flight. I lost myself in his comfort, but there was so much to consider as we flew back to the motel, so much more than what I’d just done.

Bez wanted to escape the city, which would be wise, but I had affairs to settle. I wanted us to lay low until we could resolve things with the Collective and leave Seattle once and for all. I needed to check on my familiar. Needed to visit Al. Needed to resolve the last remnants of Ian’s treachery and all the fallout tied to it, from stolen artifacts to dead mages all the way to a treacherous chancellor. I couldn’t resign myself to think about Ian.

Ian.

It was strange how I didn’t dwell on it. Not really. Guilt didn’t consume me like I’d expected. I prepared for it, anticipated it, and weighed the outcomes of living with the guilt of killing him, but I knew full-well in the end that I couldn’t allow him to walk away after everything he’d done. Where I expected remorse to strike, I only found a calm clarity as we soared through the night sky. It was peaceful, taking in the crisp night air as we zipped by the illuminated city. A part of me knew I should’ve let him go into the Collective’s custody, let them dole out their punishment which, given everything he’d caused, would’ve surely been death. I couldn’t, though. Not after what he did to Bez.

My Bez.

“Where’s your head?” Bez asked as we descended to the motel, landing in front of our room door.

“Nowhere,” I said, immediately rushing inside and checking on my recovering familiar. He’d need a name. A name befitting an emperor scorpion, a friend, a protector who’d helped me when I was at my most desperate.

“That little beehive of a mind is swirling; I can see it in your eyes.”

“It’s nothing.” I adjusted my heavy shirt, sticky with sweat, grime, and blood. My blood. Ian’s blood. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

“The absolute worst. Never in my long existence have I met one as bad as you.” Bez grinned; the soot and blood on his face didn’t take away from the cute curl in his lips or the minxy mischief in his eyes.

“This is serious,” I said. “You don’t think I’m going to start killing people regularly, do you? Because that wasn’t my intention. I’m not like a sociopath or anything. Although, I suppose if I were, I would say I wasn’t, right? But I’m not. Someone doesn’t just wake up a murderous sociopath. It doesn’t work that way.” I bit my lip, wondering if I’d need to read up on this, what the healthy reaction to murder was, if such a thing existed. “What if there’s some subtle allure to murder, which creates an addiction, and I’ve gone and—”

Bez stepped in close, a single clawed finger lifted as if to tell me to hush both in words and my squirrely mind. His bare muscles were covered in as much filth as my tattered shirt. “I assure you, you’re the furthest thing from a cold-blooded killer.”

“And I’m not okay with you killing indiscriminately either. Just want to throw that out there. I’m not saying sometimes your reasons aren’t justified…hmm, wrong word. Valid? No. I don’t want to endorse killing. It’s just—”

Bez chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. “I rarely slaughter without cause. Though, my whims may occasionally be fickle.” He paused, inspecting my face, which had scrunched. “But I’m a work in progress. Moving forward, I’ll be more discerning with my kills.”

“Or maybe not kill people moving forward.”

“Might as well ask the sun not to shine, Walter.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “You act all nonchalant about brutality and murder and violence in general, and honestly, there’s probably some cathartic pleasure that comes with that, but I don’t want my base nature to be murderous or yours. I know you’re more than the devil who delights in destruction the world paints you as.”

“I don’t take joy in murder. I take satisfaction in it. Carnage and agony were all I knew in Hell. Pain and death were the first things I was graciously introduced to when I arrived in this world.”

I tensed, arms flexing in Bez’s hold. He hadn’t shared what happened to him when he first arrived in our world, but I knew there must’ve been some devastation behind it, as with so much in his sordid past. I didn’t want that for him anymore. No more pain, no judgment, no closing himself off from others. All I wanted to give him was what he deserved—which was everything.

“If you desire me to be more discreet and display more reservations when handling obstacles, I will.” Bez ran a hand up my arm, rested it momentarily against my shoulder, and then raised my chin until our eyes met. I lost myself in his gaze; crimson irises illuminated the beautiful pinks of his eyes. “But know this, Wally, I will never let harm come to you. If someone threatens you, I will end them. If someone wrongs you, I will end them. If someone hurts you, I will savor their death because you mean the world to me.”

I kissed him, incapable of holding back a second longer. A salty, metallic taste hit as our lips smacked, mixed with dirt, but I didn’t care. I wanted the taste ofhim, to tell him a thousand things, but mostly to feel him.

I pulled away, pressing my forehead against his. “There are still things I need to do, prepare for, finish.”

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