Rans’ arm tightened around me. “He gave it to both of us. Nigellus must have been pouring power through to you the whole time, to keep you alive when I was as good as dead. Darryl Bright’s animus is in both of us now. In a very real sense, your father gave his life to save you, Zorah. And that is the instinct of every parent when their child is in danger.”
I tried to control the hitching jerks that wracked my chest as I took in his words. I tried. It was useless, though. Turning my face to hide it in the space between Rans’ neck and shoulders, I clutched at him as the tears came anew.
My father had watched the woman he loved fall prey to a madman’s gun, and been unable to do anything to stop it. Twenty years later, with an enemy’s weapon leveled at his daughter’s chest, he’d flung himself into the path of a bullet rather than see the same thing happen again.
The bitter irony burned like hellfire. That bullet probably wouldn’t have killed me—even if the silver had pierced my heart. But Darryl Bright hadn’t known that. He’d only known that his daughter was in danger, and he had to act. From his point of view, he’d saved me, and in doing so, he’d gained his best chance of being reunited with his dead wife in the afterlife.
Even if I hadn’t already been crying too hard to speak, I wouldn’t have been able to bring myself to ask if they were together now. Nigellus had claimed my father’s animus through the soul-bond he held. I had no way of knowing if that meant he’d lost his chance at an afterlife, and in the end, neither did Rans.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
I wept bitter tears against Rans’ neck, my body jerking in time with my sobs as I tried to fit my father’s final, selfless sacrifice into the framework of our troubled relationship. Rans held me close. He made no sound, no effort to shush me or tell me not to grieve. After a time, though, I thought I could feel an answering hint of dampness against my scalp, where his face pressed against my hair.
TWENTY
AS WAS INEVITABLE, exhaustion eventually overcame grief. We slept, and woke many hours later to the comforting depths of night’s darkness. My stomach rumbled, and I hoped with something like desperation that blood would be enough to sustain me for now, because succubus or no, I couldn’t face the idea of seeking out anything else.
We’d barely moved from the position in which we’d fallen asleep. That made it easy for Rans to press my lips against his jugular in a clear directive.
“Feed, love,” he said. “I’ll find someone to drink from later.”
I did, tasting the metallic rust of my dried tears on his skin, and feeling new tears prickle behind my eyes. The hours of rest had gone some way toward dulling the razor’s edge of fresh grief, but I had a feeling I’d be shedding a lot more tears at random moments over the coming weeks and months.
A shower also helped place a little more distance around the previous night’s events. Once we were both clean and dressed in fresh clothing, I felt able to face Guthrie—assuming he hadn’t taken up my earlier suggestion to go out and celebrate.
He hadn’t. Though he, too, was showered and changed, we found him in the penthouse’s cozy office, just where he’d said he’d be if we needed him. At our approach, he looked up from whatever he’d been doing on his laptop and raised an eyebrow at us.
“Morning, you two,” he said, and then paused. “I suppose one a.m. qualifies as morning, anyway. Did you sleep?”
“We did,” Rans replied. “Thank you for the bed. And... everything else.”
Guthrie gave him the faint twitch of a smile. “Room’s always available, asshole. Good call, hitching yourself to my granddaughter, by the way... because now I guess I’m stuck with you.”
Rans tried on an answering half-smile, though it struggled to lighten his wan expression. “All part of my cunning plan, of course.”
Guthrie eyed us, taking in the pale cast of Rans’ face and the smudges under his eyes. “You look like you need a neck to drain. I’d suggest the guy who lives downstairs in Unit 7B. He has awful taste in music, and plays his damned stereo at all hours of the day and night.”
Rans let out a small breath of amusement. “Perhaps in a bit.”
With a nod of understanding, Guthrie turned his full attention to me. “How about you, Zorah? How are you doing?”
My chest ached.
“I lost my dad,” I said truthfully. “I mean... I guess I lost him a long time ago. Maybe that should make it easier, but... it doesn’t, really?”
“No,” Guthrie said. “I don’t imagine it does.”
I took a deep breath. “Though—in other news, my grandfather and the guy I’m desperately in love with are both safe. That’s... pretty huge, in my world.”
Guthrie’s face softened. “I suppose it is, at that.” He sobered. “So—I’ve got no idea if this is presumptuous or not. But, if you want me to, I can help you with your dad’s final arrangements. Do you know if he had a will?”
A couple of tears spilled over, and I swiped them away with the ball of my thumb. Rans curled his fingers around my free hand and squeezed.
“Yeah,” I said unsteadily. “I can use all the help I can get right now. He was an accountant—not to mention OCD as hell. I expect he’s got papers signed, sealed, and notarized in a safe deposit box somewhere. Chicago, probably.”
“We’ll get it figured out,” Guthrie assured me, and
