Astaroth resisted the urge to laugh. Whatever Mariel had expected from their conversation, it probably wasn’t this. “Do you want it to be over?”
“I don’t know.”
Astaroth didn’t know either. This was deuced awkward, and guilt still churned in his gut over how he’d trained Ozroth, but it also felt good. Like a broken bone had been set back in place.
Your memories will return when you’re ready to seize the life you want. The moment he’d apologized to Ozroth, he’d regained that segment of memory.
His course was clear. There would be no going back to who he had been.
“I suspect I’ll be apologizing to you for a long time,” Astaroth said. “Not that you’ve got to accept it, or even care. And I promise to help find out about your mother, if you let me.” He hesitated, then asked a final question. “Are you happy here?”
Ozroth looked toward the door of the restaurant, and his expression softened. “Yes, I am.”
“Even losing your immortality?” Astaroth pressed.
“Especially losing my immortality.” Ozroth’s mouth curved in a small smile. “My life may be shorter, but it’s so much brighter. Why would I want to go back to what I was before?”
Why, indeed? With fresh Earth air in Astaroth’s nostrils and laughter echoing from some raucous group nearby, it was tempting to remain. To squeeze as much brightness as he could from this colorful world.
Ozroth had never wanted a career in politics though. He hadn’t been born to it the way Astaroth had. The demon plane was already short a bargainer in Ozroth; if Astaroth never returned, they’d be short another bargainer and a powerful voice for change.
No, Astaroth needed to return to power, and he needed his immortality to do it. Just because a new story had started didn’t mean his responsibilities had ended.
There wasn’t room for loving a mortal in that story.
Human emotions couldn’t be reshaped so easily though. Astaroth loved Calladia, and he would keep loving her for as long as he could.
And if his heart ached at the thought of their inevitable separation?
Well, as Elwenna had known when she’d given her child up, sacrifices had to be made for the species.
Time for Astaroth to make one.
THIRTY
Calladia eyed the door nervously. With logistics for the upcoming Hybrid Rights Campaign hammered out, most of the group had dispersed, but Oz and Astaroth still weren’t back.
“Don’t worry,” Themmie said as she drank her third milkshake. Her wings twitched, and she was practically quivering from sugar intake. “If they’d killed each other, we would have heard screaming by now.”
“How comforting.”
“Unless the kill was quick. Oz could have gutted him and disposed of the body before anyone noticed.”
“Hey,” Calladia said, offended on Astaroth’s behalf. “Why do you assume Oz would win?”
Mariel, Ben, and Themmie gave her matching skeptical looks.
The werewolves had decamped for a rugby game, and the demonesses had returned to their home plane to set plans in motion, so only the four friends were left at NecroNomNomNoms. It felt nice to be with them, though Calladia still felt awkward about the whole sleeping-with-the-enemy thing. Not that she’d outright admitted to sleeping with the demon, but Mariel had given her a series of knowing and judgmental looks that said she knew what Calladia had been up to.
“Oh, come on,” Calladia said, leaning into the argument to cover up her worry. “Astaroth would totally win in a fight. He’s more experienced than Oz.”
“And at least forty pounds lighter,” Ben said.
“He’s an accomplished swordsman.”
“Yeah?” Themmie asked. “Where’s his sword?”
“He’s very good with a stick, too.”
“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?” Mariel asked. “Has he been bludgeoning you with his stick frequently?”
Busted. Calladia’s cheeks grew hot. “None of your business.”
“That is exactly my business,” Mariel said. “I’m your best friend, and the last I knew, you hated Astaroth’s guts. Now you’re hooking up with him?”
Themmie slurped loudly. “Mmmm,” she said. “This is delicious.”
Bless Themmie for trying to distract from the awkward conversation. Calladia shot her a grateful look.
“Maybe I’ll get one, too,” Ben said, looking warily between the three women. The introverted werewolf had been helpful in strategizing an approach for their campaign, but it was clear the emotional undercurrents at the table made him uncomfortable.