Page 117 of The Fake Divination Offense
“You’re not leaving?” I ask. The magic wore off his necklace, too, making it visible now, and I run my fingers over it. “Gods, Bel. You can’t leave me.” My voice cracks. No—itshatters, and tears surge down my face, wet his neck and hair. “You can’t leave me. Fuck, please stay.”
“I’m staying,” he whispers. “I’m not leaving you. I’m yours now, remember? You own me.”
My whole body heats. Not just arousal, but burning righteous possession.
“I love you.” His fingertips scratch my scalp again. “Shh, Orok. You’re all right, and so am I.”
He keeps talking, reassuring coos and promises, and I breathe him in, breathe him like a drug.
He’s here. He’s okay. He’s not hurt, no one got him.
But they’ll try.
And I know better now.
I know better than to put my trust in anyone, anybeingwho hasn’t proven themselves when the stakes are this high. When it matters.
My grief redirects. The adrenaline from the dream, the agony of losing Bel. It shifts, contracts, becomes an arrow targeting everyone trying to take him from me.
I keep him in my arms until his reassurances fade to the huffs and moans of sleep.
As gently as I can, I roll Bel to the side, tuck the comforter around him, and slip out of bed.
I strip off my sweat-drenched clothes and swap them for boxers. Bel stays asleep, and I brush a kiss to his forehead before I pad out to the living room.
My research is still spread across the dining room table. All the details and notes and secrets of how to protect him and stop these cultists once and for all.
I flick on the overhead light and sit down to read.
Chapter Fifteen
Morning News: “Welcome toOne Shot, your number-one source for the latest in pro rawball news. I’m your host, Diamanda Blacktalon. While Vaknox of the Lizard People of Tesh continues his divine quest, I’m here today with yet another cohost. This one is—oh. Please don’t make me do this.”
*oooOOOOooo*
“Joining me is… the Red Stalker, Phantom of the Mortal Plane.”
*ooOOooo*
“Right. Anyway, our favorite It couple has been busy! After that outburst at the restaurant—oh my, was that ever scandalous!—we’ve had dinners, dates to the theater—Oroxo was even spotted buying flowers at a farmer’s market. Look at that picture, so domestic! I can’t get enough of the way Orok watches him. Fans everywhere have been going wild for them, and I—”
*oooOOOOoooOOOOO*
“No, it’s not invasive to have these photos! And you’re a ghost, don’t you haunt places? How isthatnot invasive?”
*ooo*
“I’m really starting to feel like I’m not taken seriously as a journalist.”
Falling into a routine is luxurious.
I get to do this with him. I get to wake up every morning and have breakfast with him, Bel more often than not ending up on my lap so I can lick syrup off his tongue. We go to practices andgames, home and away; and when we travel, I do my best not to be overbearing, and he texts me reassurances from the cheerleader bus or, gods, their separate plane—I can’t even pretend to be okay with that arrangement.
Gulus or Ilbryen is with him for those times—their adventure party really is short on resources, if senior members are the only options for our watchdog. Or they don’t trust me yet. Which is fine, considering I still don’t know who among their groupIcan trust.
Regardless, when Bel’s out of my sight, I’m a wreck.
My teammates, while not entirely understanding my sudden-onset travel nerves, pull me into distractions. They never once make me feel less than, never once act like having emotions is weak. Our gameplay is still fluid and cohesive, claiming us so many wins that we lock in our future before we even need to play our final season game:
