Page 26 of His Infernal Purr
“Don’t you dare waste energy on that now,” he scolds. “Just… hold still and let me help you.”
I comply, watching him work with a strange warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with my injuries. No one has ever tended my wounds before—in Hell, showing such weakness would be an invitation to further attack. Yet here is Finn, caring for me with the same gentle determination he shows his animal patients.
When he finishes, he sits beside me on the bed, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. “That’s the best I can do. Will your… demon healing take care of the rest?”
“Yes,” I assure him, reaching for his hand. “By morning, I’ll be significantly improved.”
He nods, then suddenly his composure cracks, and he’s blinking rapidly, turning away to hide the moisture in his eyes.
“Finn?” I question softly, concerned.
“I thought he was going to kill you,” he admits, voice thick. “When he had you pinned… I was about to do something really stupid with this.” He holds up the spray bottle of holy water-lemon juice, laughing shakily.
“Your ridiculous concoction would have done nothing,” I inform him, though there’s no rebuke in my tone.
“I know. But I couldn’t just stand there and watch him… I couldn’t…”
I pull him carefully against my less injured side, wrapping my uninjured wing around him. “I appreciate the sentiment, even if your plan was tactically unsound.”
He laughs against my chest, the sound suspiciously wet. “That’s me. Tactically unsound but well-intentioned.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, his heartbeat gradually slowing to a normal rhythm against my skin.
“He was right about one thing,” Finn eventually says, voice so quiet I almost miss it. “I am temporary. Compared to you, anyway.”
The statement pierces me more painfully than any of Valefar’s physical blows. It’s the fear I’ve been avoiding confronting—the inevitable math of our situation. Finn’s human lifespan measured against my immortal existence.
“Finn,” I begin, not entirely sure what I’m going to say.
“It’s okay,” he interrupts, pulling back to look at me. “I’ve thought about it. A lot, actually. You’ll outlive me by… well, forever. And that sucks, but… I’d rather have whatever time we can have than nothing at all.”
I study his face—this remarkable human who faced down demons for me, who tends my wounds, who accepts my alien nature with such grace. In his features, I see courage and kindness and a depth of feeling I never encountered in all my millennia in Hell.
“There are… possibilities,” I say carefully. “Options that could be explored. Ways to extend a human lifespan or… other arrangements.”
His eyes widen slightly. “Are you talking about making me immortal? Or… a demon?”
“Not precisely,” I hedge, uncomfortable with discussing possibilities I’m not certain of myself. “But there are various states of existence between fully mortal and fully demonic. It’s… complex.”
“Huh.” He absorbs this information with surprising calmness. “That’s… something to think about. For the future.”
“The distant future,” I clarify. “These things require careful consideration.”
He smiles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to rush into eternal damnation or anything.”
“It wouldn’t be damnation,” I correct, somewhat offended. “It would be transformation. Very different concepts.”
His smile widens. “My mistake. Wouldn’t want to rush into eternal transformation.”
I’m about to elaborate further when he yawns widely, the events of the day finally catching up to him.
“Sleep,” I urge, shifting to make room for him beside me. “We can discuss metaphysical transformations another time.”
He settles carefully against me, mindful of my injuries. “Promise you’ll still be here in the morning? Not suddenly deciding to check on your territories in Hell or something?”
“I promise,” I assure him, wrapping my uninjured wing around him like a blanket. “My territories can wait. You cannot.”
He makes a small sound of contentment, nestling closer. “Good. Because I’d have to come after you with my spray bottle, and nobody wants that.”
