Waltzing into Damnation

by Rita Stradling

Heading back to my room, I shrug on the backpack I packed last night.

  No one stops me or even asks where I’m going as I pass the sentries at the gate to Leijonskjöld Slott. I simply press my thumb to the keypad and walk out of the grounds. A light breeze keeps the day from getting anywhere near warm as I walk down the familiar roads from the Slott toward Kullaberg nature preserve.

  Dodging traffic and the towns altogether, I take my time walking the fifteen miles, and it’s well past lunchtime as I head down the rocky paths into the nature preserve.

  Squeezing my hands into fists, I make my way down the overgrown paths I only faintly remember from years ago.

  The ocean greets me, lapping gently against its shore. Hikers wander about, climbing up the rocks and jumping around.

  I almost don’t want to look over to the rocky outcropping at one end of the preserve, but I force my gaze over.

  Empty.

  Immediate disappointment and relief war within me, making my stomach do gymnastics.

  I wander through the preserve, greeting the people I pass with as much of a smile as I can muster.

  Grabbing a spot on one of the craggy outcroppings, I pull out my lunch and wait.

  “He’s not coming,” I mutter to my salami and Swiss sandwich.

  What am I even thinking, that he’d come here every day for almost a year when I couldn’t complete the journey a single time?

  The whole thing feels so anti-climactic, and now I need to either get going to walk the ten miles back to Leijonskjöld Slott or find somewhere else to be.

  I’m about to push my way off the rock and take the walk of depression back to the road when someone lands beside me on the rock.

  I startle, almost falling off the rock altogether.

  Chuckling, Andras grabs my arm before I can slide off.

  A smile sits on his full lips. He wears a T-shirt, and from his sleeves peek out a beautiful design of thousands of ravens. With all the feathers, the tattoo almost looks like black angel wings. Andras cut his dark hair short, only making his full, lush features more prominent. And the grin he gives me is just so darn pleased with himself. “You came here looking for me.”

  “Um . . . no,” I say. “I came here for a picnic.” I gesture to my mostly consumed sandwich sitting on a napkin. “Which you almost ruined.”

  When he laughs at my stupid and obviously false claim, I can’t help joining him.

  “I come here almost every day—and I’m not ashamed of that.” The look he gives me has a little bit of challenge in it.

  I find myself admitting, “Well, maybe I came halfway here once or twice . . . or every single day.”

  Jumping down from the rock, he comes to stand before me—pausing just a second—to check my expression, before walking up between my legs.

  He’s regained his color, a deep bronze—unlike how bloodless and pale he was the last time I saw him. In his strong, bold features, I can see the angel he once was. I have a hard time believing that even when he was an angel, he was ever without the spark of mischief brimming from his hazel eyes. That mischief is positively crackling as his hands wrap around my legs and he asks, “Why did you make it today?”

  “Well . . .” Swallowing down my nervousness, I admit, “We promised each other twenty-four days, and we only spent, like, five together.”

  His dark brows go up as a smile lights over his lips. He steps in even closer, his jeans brushing against my inner thighs. “You want to spend nineteen days with me?”

  “Except . . . neither of us is obligated to anything, ever again. And at the first sign of lying or manipulation or anything demon-like whatsoever, I’m gone, and you’re not going to fight it.”

  The smile slides off his face, replaced with a very serious look. “Of course.”

  “You’re going to have to earn my trust, as a human, because the only Andras I really knew was demon Andras . . . and I would never be giving him this second chance. No claiming or possessiveness. No being pushy. And I’m not going to cut my hair, ever, no matter what you like. And nineteen days is all I’m proposing—okay? It’s a ‘for now’ thing.” I rake in air, as I got all that out basically in a single breath.

  And the smile goes right back onto his mouth. “A lot can happen in nineteen days.”

  “Yeah, a lot can happen in just one moment.”

  Slowly, his hands go to my hips, all the while his gaze is on mine, asking me permission.

  Little fireworks explode in my belly as I nod slowly.

  Lifting me up, he helps me slide off the rock, and I wrap my legs around his hips. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and his lips are so close to mine, but he doesn’t close that little bit of distance.

  Clearing my throat, I add, “And no taking a bullet for me again, okay?”

  “That one, I can’t promise.” He sighs. “I took that bullet because I almost destroyed the world as a demon. I had that one chance to reverse some of what I did, and you were the only one who possibly could.”

  I nod slowly. “I get that—but I’m talking about future bullets.”

  “Raven, I’d rather wait for you up there than down here.”

  “I still don’t get it,” I whisper.

  His fingers squeeze gently into my hips. “What?”

  “How could I have taught you to love? I’m just this messed up shell of a person.” My voice breaks on the words.

  His hazel eyes stare into mine for a very long time. “At first I wanted you for your passion and conviction. And then I obsessed over you because when I was with you, I learned to smile for the first time in my existence, to laugh and rest. With you, I felt peace after an existence of war. But I only wanted you to feel happy with me. I desired to possess your love and passion. I craved it so much, I was willing to die for it. But it was a selfish want. I tried to recreate what we once had, and when that failed, I was so consumed with anger that I did terrible things to you. I gave into my demonic nature, but upon my victory over you and Stephen, all I felt was misery. For the first time in centuries, I learned what it was to regret. And slowly I realized that I no longer wanted to win your love. I just wanted you to be happy and safe—even if that meant never knowing your passion again.”

  Trust in love. True love, not lust or possession—trust enough to let go.

  Reaching up, I brush an eyelash away from his cheek. Tears course down my face, but I can’t even feel embarrassed. “I hope this isn’t a mistake.”

  “I don’t care if it is,” he whispers back, kissing my wet cheeks.

  “Well, here goes nothing.”

  And, I kiss him.

  The end.