Page 29 of His Infernal Purr
“And?” I prompt gently.
“And I think… I want to know more. About the options. Not for right now, but… eventually.” He looks up at me, uncertainty in his eyes. “If that’s still something you want.”
I shift to face him fully, taking his hands in mine. “Finn Hughes, I have lived for millennia. I have commanded legions, controlled territories, wielded power beyond human comprehension. And in all that time, I never found anything worth keeping forever until I found you.”
His eyes widen slightly, that adorable blush deepening. Even after months of hearing me express my feelings (once I finally admitted them aloud the morning after defeating Valefar), he still reacts with endearing surprise.
“So that’s a yes?” he asks with a small smile.
“That’s a yes,” I confirm. “Whenever you’re ready—be it years or decades from now—we’ll explore the options together. There’s no rush.”
He leans forward to kiss me, a gentle press of lips that still sends electricity through my entire being. “Thank you. For being patient with the whole mortal-trying-to-process-potential-immortality thing.”
“I have extensive experience with patience,” I remind him dryly. “I once waited three centuries to exact revenge on a rival who stole my favorite soul collection.”
He laughs, the sound still my favorite in any dimension. “Well, I promise not to make you wait quite that long for an answer. But I do need time.”
“Time is something I have in abundance,” I assure him. “And now, so do you.”
The promise hangs between us—not just of extended life, but of shared existence, whatever form that might take. It’s a conversation we’ll continue to have, weighing options, considering consequences. But the important decision—that we intend to face eternity together—has already been made.
Our quiet moment is interrupted by a familiar scratching at the window—a shadow raven, one of several I’ve trained to carry messages between dimensions. I rise to let it in, retrieving the small scroll tied to its leg before it dissolves back into darkness.
“Business from home?” Finn asks, using our private euphemism for Hell.
“Just the quarterly report from my territories,” I explain, scanning the contents. “Everything remains in order, though apparently there’s been another attempt to breach the eastern boundaries of the Obsidian Plains.”
“Anything serious?”
“Nothing my lieutenant couldn’t handle.” I roll the scroll back up, setting it aside. “The bureaucracy of Hell continues unabated, with or without my physical presence.”
This is another aspect of our new normal—my occasional remote management of my hellish holdings, conducted primarily through messenger ravens and the small portal I maintain in what was once a storage closet but is now my office. I return to Hell physically only when absolutely necessary, and always briefly.
Finn stretches, yawning widely. “Speaking of physical presence, I believe you promised me a massage tonight. These hellhound vaccinations were murder on my back.”
“Did I?” I ask with feigned innocence. “I don’t recall making such a promise.”
“It was strongly implied,” he insists, already heading toward the bedroom with expectant look.
“Well, if it was implied…” I follow, already planning to turn the massage into something considerably more interesting.
Later, as we lie tangled together in our custom bed, Finn’s breathing evening out as he drifts toward sleep, I find myself reflecting on the strange path that brought us here.
A curse meant to humiliate me instead led me to the one being in all the universes who sees me—truly sees me—not as a fearsome Duke of Hell, but simply as Morax. Who loves me not despite what I am but inclusive of all that I am. Who has shown me that power can take forms I never considered, that strength exists in gentleness, that a small veterinary clinic can be more fulfilling than commanding legions.
“What are you thinking about?” Finn mumbles sleepily against my chest. “You’ve got that intense staring-into-the-void expression.”
“I’m contemplating the ineffable mysteries of existence and the curious workings of fate,” I reply solemnly.
He snorts. “So, the usual light bedtime thoughts.”
“Indeed.”
He props himself up on one elbow, suddenly more awake. “You know what I was thinking about earlier, while vaccinating hellhounds?”
“How fortunate you are to have me in your life?” I suggest.
“Besides that,” he grins. “I was thinking about how, if Valefar hadn’t cursed you, if I hadn’t found you in that alley… we never would have met. Our worlds never would have collided.”
