Keri Arthur: Mercy Burns

I wrapped my fingers around the cup and drew it close, but I didn’t dare pick it up. My hands were still shaking too much.

“So,” I said finally, meeting his dark gaze. “What do you want to talk about?”

“How about my stupidity?”

“A good place to start,” I acknowledged, desperately battling the urge to smile. He didn’t deserve that yet. After a month of heartache, he owed me the full explanation. And perhaps a bit of groveling. “What particular area of your stupidity do you wish to discuss?”

“The part where I said muertes can’t get involved.”

I picked up the fork and cut into the cake. I had to do something, anything, to stop myself from giving in to the growing desire to reach across the table and silence him with a kiss. The part of me that had hoped for so long suddenly didn’t care about explanations; it just wanted him. But the stubborn part still wanted to hear the words; still wanted to hear him say them before I truly believed. “And why would you want to discuss that? You were very emphatic about it.”

“It was a lie when I said it, and it’s a lie now.”

He caught my hand, gently pulling the fork from it and enclosing it in his warm, firm grip. My breath caught and my heart began pounding so hard I swear it was trying to jump out of my chest. I was suddenly glad he didn’t seem to expect me to say anything, because right then I was totally incapable of speech.

“I tried to forget you,” he continued softly. “I tried to get on with my life and my job, but you’ve invaded every part of me—even my dreams—and there is no me without you. I love you, Mercy.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and savored the words, letting them wash away the loneliness and the fear of the past month. Letting them warm my soul and heal my heart.

Even so, it couldn’t end there. There was one more question I needed to ask.

“What about that whole speech you gave about the power of the muerte being the fact that he has no family—and no loved ones—to fear for? Are you saying that was a lie, too?”

“No. It’s as true then as it is now. But this last month has given me a taste of what it would be like to live the rest of my life without you. And I’d rather live with the fear of losing you than live without you entirely.”

“Are you sure, Damon? Because I’d rather live alone than live the rest of my life with the fear that you’ll walk away again.”

“I’m more sure of that than anything else in my life. Please, say you’ll forgive me. Say you’ll take the risk and become a part of my life.”

I studied him for a moment, aching to say yes but all too aware of the shadow that still stood between us—a shadow he hadn’t yet mentioned.

“You say you love me, that you can’t live without me,” I said slowly, “but I’m draman and that will never change. Where will your allegiance lie if the council issues an order that all draman are to have their powers ripped from them?”

“I doubt the council will order something like that.”

“But if it did?” I persisted.

“I would not let that happen to you,” he said softly, but with such determination it warmed the chill of uncertainty from my bones.

“And the other draman? Do you really think they deserve to lose their powers simply because the full-bloods are so insecure about our position in their lives?”

“I can’t promise that the council won’t vote to cull draman powers, but I can tell you that they’ve set up a scientific study of the coastal cliques in the hope of discovering just what is going on. They’ve also agreed, in principle, to a summit meeting between representatives of the draman and the cliques.”

It wasn’t acceptance, but it was certainly a whole lot more than I’d ever thought I’d see in my lifetime. “You did this?”

“I recommended it. Julio and several other kings backed me.” He shrugged, like it was nothing. Except it was everything, because I had no doubt he’d done it for me, to prove just how much he did care. He reached out and brushed my cheek lightly. “I’ve answered your questions. How about answering mine?”

Love and fear were in his voice, in his expression, and I couldn’t help the urge to tease him. “I can’t say yes. You haven’t promised me a regular supply of chocolate cake.”

A smile twitched his lips. “Oh, I think I can arrange that easily enough.”

“What about children? I want lots of them. Boys and girls—and no favoring the boys, thank you very much.”

“I promise.” He drew me across the table, his breath washing heat across my lips. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” I murmured, my lips brushing his and my gaze on his, losing myself in those dark depths and the love so evident there. “Promise me we’ll fly every single day.”

“Forever and ever,” he murmured, his lips so close I could taste his words.

“Then you’d better come back to my apartment and meet my brother. He needs to approve.”

“He’ll approve. I’m a very lovable sort of fellow when I want to be.”

I laughed at that, and he grinned. Then the amusement twinkling in his bright eyes faded. “Do you promise to be mine, Mercy?”

“Forever and ever,” I murmured, then took his lips with mine and sealed our deal with a kiss.