Wrath held me tighter, his chin now resting on my head. Tension hadn’t yet left his body—if anything, he was coiled tighter than before.
He also hadn’t uttered a single word since we broke the curse.
A bead of sweat rolled from my hairline down my neck, and I shivered. Wrath shook slightly, burying his face in my hair, and I realized it wasn’t sweat, but tears. I mustered enough energy to wrap my arms around him, holding him as he wept.
“We’re all right,” I croaked. “It’s all right. It’s over.”
His mighty wings flapped, and within the flames of the inner feathers there were a thousand tiny gold flecks. My focus slid from the gold flecks to the silver tips. The colors of each of our amulets were aspects of his wings. I’d always wondered about that. Once, I’d thought it meant one was blessed by the sun goddess and the other by the moon goddess. How wrong I’d been.
Wrath inhaled once, then exhaled slowly. He pressed his lips to my forehead and placed me on my feet. I couldn’t stop staring at the fiery wings. They reminded me of my magic, but there was not a sense of familiarity to them. This was his magic through and through, and yet I was drawn to them like a moth to a flame. I went to touch a feather but drew my hand back and gave Wrath a sheepish look. “I forgot fire will likely burn me now.”
Sadness crashed into me again as I inadvertently sought my magic. A rift in my center split further at the emptiness that was there; it was the place where Source once curled up, waiting for me to tap into it. Now there was nothing. It felt as if I’d lost a limb—my body still reached for it, confused when it grasped nothing at all. I blinked until I was able to control any tears from falling. Despite my loss, I was happy I broke the curse. I wanted redemption for the role I’d played as a vengeance goddess. But even through the good, I still mourned my loss. Felt it acutely. I’d never again know what it was like to wield fire magic.
“Touch them.” Wrath watched me closely, sensing my mood. “I am able to control my wings. And even if I wasn’t, you’re my wife. They will not burn you; they’ll simply feel warm.”
Tentatively I reached out, curling my fingers through the magical feathers of flame. Wrath was right—it didn’t burn. It was similar to placing a hand in a warm patch of sunlight, soaking in the rays. Or running my fingers through the water of a summer sea.
This, at least, was like my magic. Comforting, yet capable of massive destruction. Even though the power wasn’t mine, it felt like some small part of me carried on in him.
“The wings depicted in your throne room are ebony,” I said. “I didn’t expect to see these.”
“I’d had the stained glass changed to what I’d last seen.”
I thought of the scene I’d witnessed from Sursea’s memory stone—of how the wings had turned the color of ash when she’d drained away his magic. I was glad we’d won. That we’d defeated someone so driven by hate through the power of our love.
My lips tugged upward as I stroked another feather and the flames teasingly fluttered against my skin. I dragged another finger along the outer edge of his wing, and the same sensation rolled down my back. My attention shot to my husband, immediately noting the devious expression he wore.
“What was that?” I asked as heat slid down my spine, similar to a feather lightly caressing me. My skin tingled pleasantly for another few seconds where the magical feather had touched.
“I might have forgotten to mention an ability I’d lost when my fire magic was taken.”
Another feather of honeyed heat meandered along my neck, gliding across my collarbone before descending to lovingly stroke the wound the Blade of Ruination caused.
The feather slowly spread outward, tracing circles along my breast. Any lingering hollowness or grief dissipated as the flicker of heat rolled across the tight bud, causing a new warmth to unfurl from my belly downward.
“Devil curse me.” My fingers dug into Wrath’s shoulders as that wicked bead of delight moved to my hips, then curled around my inner thighs.
“I’d rather not, my lady. I’ve had enough of curses.” Wrath’s chuckle was deep and sensual as that feather fluttered against my thigh and I swore under my breath. “Lust isn’t the only one who can manifest desire. Only this isn’t yours.” He nipped at my earlobe before kissing the sting away. “It’s mine.”
What had begun as a gentle, featherlike feeling turned into a finger of heat. Wrath grinned as he walked us back toward a shelf of books, slowly pinning my arms above my head. His glorious wings spread wide, covering us in our own private, fiery blanket of white-hot passion.