Agave Kiss

answered in the future: how many more children, and where we’d buy our home so our friends could visit. Chuch and Eva would bring Cami. Booke, too, might find his way here eventually, on his way back from the world tour. Someday, Jesse and Shan might have kids, and hopefully they’d bring the whole family.

I wouldn’t be opening a consignment shop with Shan, but that was fine. She had her own dream to pursue, a bigger one than she’d dared entertain before. I didn’t doubt that she could achieve it either. Someday, she’d have her own clothing line, her own cosmetics, and she was going to school to make it happen. I believed in her; and Jesse would support her all the way.

“Do you ever regret giving up—”

Chance stopped me with a kiss, which answered all my questions and then some. No. He wanted this life . . . and me. “The apartment’s fine for now, but I’d like to buy a house within the next six months. We need to put down roots.”

How well he knew me. The shop had been my first attempt to do exactly that, but the bond had been damaged. Now I needed more to make Mexico wholly my home. The baby had changed everything in a beautiful, shattering, unexpected way. Chance and I planned to take classes together, so we could both become entirely fluent in the language, which would help in forming relationships. Since I had a jump on him and could speak functional Spanish, I’d help him along, and in return, he intended to teach me to speak Korean, which would make Min happy. I wanted our child to speak all three languages—to have a better start in life than I had. Chance would help make it possible. He’d built an empire from nothing. He was fierce and savage and determined . . . and mine.

Mine.

The sunset was gorgeous, a fierce and furious dying of the light over the distant mountains. I loved the crisp night weather and the sunny days, the cheerful people at the local farmer’s market, and the tourists who used to wander into my shop. With Chance beside me, this Chance, devoid of inhuman luck, life could be whatever we made of it. No hidden curses, no secret pitfalls. Just him and me, together.

“It’s hard to believe it’s finally over,” I whispered into his shoulders.

“Sometimes I wake up . . . and I think I’m dreaming. That I’m still there, and you’re still here, and I’m so afraid you won’t wait that I can’t breathe.”

My heart twisted as I reached up to cup his cheek. “I made up my mind in Sheol. It’s you or nobody. Always. I don’t want anyone else.”

His lovely mouth quirked at one corner. “Yeah, well, that Nephilim demon, or whatever he was, sure made it clear you had options.”

“In dying, Kel brought you back to me. So I can’t blame him for wishing. And without his help, there’s no way I could’ve ever beaten Barachiel.”

He nodded at that indisputable fact. “From the glimpses I got from my father’s realm, you were steadfast. It was . . . heartening when I felt like giving up hope.”

“If I had to, I would’ve undone my work on the loom every night for twenty years, waiting for you.”

“Thank you, love.” He squeezed his arms about me, and then let go. “Would you go for a drive with me?”

I thought about that. My stomach was steady, and I wasn’t hungry. I had no immediate needs. But I feared surprises instead of longing for them, as in my life they’d often brought bad mojo. “Do I get to know where we’re going?”

Chance shook his head, smiling. “I’d prefer to show you.”

“Then c’mon.” I decided not to argue.

Thanks to gated parking and a warm climate, the Mustang started with a purr when Chance turned the key in the ignition, even after long absence. He ran his hands happily over the wheel, so human and here that my whole body panged with gratitude and longing. Some folks said people couldn’t change, but both of us had, just enough. He was still the man I’d always loved, even after I left him, but without the icy control and endless distance. He’d learned to share himself and I’d learned to trust us both.

The gate attendant waved as we eased out into traffic and down the mountain. Chance took the road that led toward Atizapan and the cuota—toll road—which could take you either to Queretaro or Toluca, depending. He went west, toward Toluca, which would also take us past Interlomas, an upscale development, and eventually Santa Fe, another fashionable suburb popular with American expats. But he surprised me by exiting at Huixquilucan; though I wracked my brain for anything at this stop, I couldn’t imagine where we were headed. The mystery deepened, but Chance didn’t volunteer any info. In fact, when I tried to ask, he deliberately turned the volume up on the radio. I shot him a look, but he ignored that too.

Which clearly meant he had something up his sleeve.

I sat back and watched the darkness. He chose roads seemingly at random, worrying me further. We weren’t headed toward town at all; Chance was driving us out into the wilderness. I hoped his phone had reliable GPS in case he got turned around. The way became precarious, littered with stones, and an unpleasant recollection flared—last time we’d gone somewhere like this together—and the loss it presaged. Mostly, I tried to keep a lid on the horror of Sheol and Greydusk’s sacrifice, but sometimes the memories couldn’t be quelled. I regulated my breathing, telling myself it would be all right. Chance wouldn’t bring me out here to torment me.

He stopped the car at the edge of a jutting promontory, overlooking a valley below. It was bathed in moonlight, heavily forested. All around us, cacti bloomed in the rocky soil, agave blossoms so fiercely yellow even in the dark. It was a remote and wild place, but in some ways it perfectly represented my kinship with this country. Like Mexico, I was not easy to love.

“Do you know why I brought you here?”

I shook my head, gazing up at the massive twinkle of the stars. Within the city proper, you lost sight of these. Instead you saw planes and other lights; the sky never seemed to darken entirely. Here, the stars acquired a religious significance, as if we were standing in a holy place, lifted toward heaven. This was a mountaintop where monks might feel at home.

Then he went to one knee, drawing my attention down. My breath caught, and I just . . . I couldn’t believe it. Intellectually, I knew what came next, but my brain was frozen, looping incredulity that overlaid my delight. He flipped open a small box, but instead of a ring, it contained his silver coin, the one he used to roll along his knuckles. Chance presented it to me with a flourish.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“You’re my luck now, love. I want you to have the formal keeping of it.”

Tears welled up in my eyes because this felt like he was handing me his soul. With trembling fingers, I plucked the coin out and curled my fingers around the smooth, cool metal. “I’ll keep it safe,” I promised.

Yet he still didn’t rise, which meant he wasn’t finished. A second box, this one blue velvet, came out of his pocket. When he snapped it open, I already knew what it contained, but the beauty of the ring astonished me. It shouldn’t have, I supposed, because Chance always had exquisite taste. He’d judged my preferences perfectly from the platinum shine to the princess-cut diamond, surrounded by sapphires.

“Corine, you were my love first . . . and then my lifeline. You didn’t abandon hope that we could be together—that we should be—even when it must’ve seemed impossible. For those reasons . . . and many others, I’m begging you to be my wife. Become Corine Yi and start a new adventure with me.”

“Yes, please,” I whispered, afraid to reach for him, because it seemed likely I might wake alone and in tears.

As if he sensed my trepidation, he took my hand and slid the engagement ring onto the fourth finger of my left hand. To my delight, it fit perfectly. Chance folded to his feet then and pressed a kiss against my knuckles.

Oh, gods, he loves me so much. He does. And there was no question how I felt about him. I didn’t feel unworthy. Yes, I’d done terrible things, and the stains would never wash off my soul, but I had done them for the best of reasons. Maybe friendship and affection didn’t excuse bad deeds, but for Shannon Cheney and Ian Booke, I’d do them again. My chief regret was that I hadn’t been able to save Kel, but he made his choice to die a free man. After such a long life, maybe it had been time.

I’d tell myself that anyway.