Page 92 of The Fake Divination Offense
Bel lifts his head, eyes brightening. But he seems to force himself to dim a bit. “I really won’t take up much—”
“It’s got plenty of space for your clothes and shoes. And those body chains.”
He smiles, wide and pretty, cheeks flushing. “You like them, huh?”
A part of him might not believe I want this, might be concerned about the validity of our relationship as long as the dynamic is unbalanced by needing to protect him, but I’ll take every opportunity I can to prove I’m all in.
I grab his hips, dragging him into me, the book smashingbetween us. “I likeyou. And I want you to spread your stuff all over my apartment. Clothes, shoes, jewelry, makeup, books, whatever you got. Do your worst, Reynolds.”
He shivers in my arms. “Gods. It’s so weird hearing someone call me that. I—” He drops his eyes to the book he’s still holding.
Hand on my chest, he pushes back to free some space, then flips the book open to a page near the middle. It’s a journal, or maybe a scrapbook; I spot a few ticket stubs, some scrawled notes, a ribbon.
But the page he opens to has a photo, and he turns it to me.
It’s Bel in his demon form, his rose-gold skin gleaming, sun-kissed in what looks like a park, or maybe a backyard? He’s younger, his face plump, his hair long enough to brush his shoulders, his mouth open in a gap-toothed, laughing smile. He’s with two human girls, one a little older than him, one younger, all squished together mid-giggle, the older girl holding the camera in a dogpile selfie. Even with him in his demon form and them as pale-skinned humans, they look like him in the nebulous way relatives do; a similar nose, a similar bone structure.
“That’s Mila.” Bel points to the older girl. “And Jemma. My cousins.”
I gently touch the edge of the photo. “You look happy.”
“I lived with them when I was growing up,” he says to the picture. “I was two when the adventure party captured my parents, but I was still a descendant of Galaxrien, so they wanted to keep an eye on me. Rather than ship me off to protective custody immediately, they put me with my only other living relative: my mom’s sister. Pretty sure she only agreed to take me when the adventure party paid her, becausewow, did Aunt Orla hate me.”
I scowl, and Bel looks up like he can hear it.
He shakes his head helplessly. “My dad corrupted her sister. I told you—he swept my mom up in his extremist promises to resurrect a demon lord. Aunt Orla was terrified I’d do the same thing to her kids, but she was a single mom and needed the extra income.” He shrugs. “Mila and Jemma didn’t hate me, though. They knew what I was—the adventure party had me do illusion magic backthen, too, saw off my horns and hide my tail. My genetics aren’t exactly subtle. But I got to be me sometimes.” He looks fondly at the picture, the kind of fondness weighted with longing.
“They’re who you’re talking to?” I ask. “When you say tokeep dancing?”
He wipes at his cheek, but when he looks up again, his eyes are clear. Probably through sheer force of will, and he smiles the same way, pushing it on his face whether it wants to be there or not.
“When the adventure party had me leave,” he continues quietly, like talking louder is asking too much, “I was fifteen. I barely got to say goodbye—the Galaxrien cultists had just tried to do a ritual in the middle of the town we were living in. I don’t know where Mila and Jemma are, if they were able to stay once I left. They’re safe, though; Ilbryen told me that much. I can’t contact them. It’s better for them to not be associated with me. I… I just want them to know I’m still thinking of them. That I miss them.”
My heart cracks. I want to offer to find them for him. I could get the info out of Ilbryen.
But he’s right. As long as the cultists are after him, as long as he’s a descendant of Galaxrien Vossen, he’s in danger, and so is anyone who knows the truth about him.
Andthat’swhat’s more heartbreaking than anything. That he’ll never be truly safe. That he’ll never be as free as he makes me feel.
In that moment, I swear to myself that I won’t just keep him safe—I’ll find a way to get him out of this threat permanently. Whatever it takes.
Bel’s eyes tear, and he sniffs hard before snapping the journal shut and staring at the middle of my chest.
“If things get dangerous,” he whispers, then huffs and shuts his eyes. “I know you’re supposed to keep me safe, but I can’t lose you, Orok.”
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
He does, red stains immediately coloring his cheeks, and I hear the echo of what I said, of me telling him to keep his eyes on me this morning.
I smile, wordlessly letting him know I caught the connection.
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
He nods.
“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe,” I say, and as he’s sucking in a breath to argue, I add, “and to keepmyselfsafe, too. You won’t lose anyone else you care about, I promise.”
He looks dubious. It’s an impossible promise.
