Waiting

15

Arie POV

I remained in the driveway longer than I should have.

The porch light still glowed warmly over the front steps where Summer had stood only moments ago, laughing as her father caught us in our ridiculous attempt at sounding refined. I could still hear it—her laughter, bright and effortless, spilling into the night as though grief had loosened its hands around her heart for just a little while.

And I could still feel her.

The soft pressure of her arms around my neck.

The brush of her lips against my cheek.

The warmth of her hand in mine.

I touched my cheek without thinking.

There was now one thing that was certain: there would be no turning back, no leaving her alone.

She was mine, but more importantly, I was hers, and there was no way I could live on without her.

I had stood in wars that shattered kingdoms. I had walked through plagues, famines, massacres, and endings too numerous to name. I had torn souls from tyrants and saints alike without trembling once.

And yet one girl with honeydew eyes and a love for the evening light had reduced me to sitting in a parked car like a fool who had forgotten how to function.

I smiled despite myself.

Then—

“So… are we going to sit here all night,” a familiar voice asked dryly from the being who suddenly appeared beside me, “or are we actually going to do our job?”

I turned sharply. I had been so distracted that she had been able to slip past my senses without me noticing.

Rue sat in the passenger seat, one boot propped against the dashboard, silver eyes gleaming with amusement. Her dark curls were gathered loosely back from her face, several springing free around her temples in a way that somehow looked deliberate without trying. She wore her usual expression of composed elegance sharpened by mischief, and the low celestial glow beneath her brown skin made her look almost molten in the darkness of the car.

Only Rue could appear in my passenger seat uninvited and still manage to look as though I were the inconvenience.

“There are many souls in the worlds that still need collecting,” she continued. “Release did not pause because you got caught smiling in a mortal girl’s driveway.” She scoffed amusingly as she mockingly wiggled her brows at me.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Then one corner of her mouth lifted.

“Oh, this is bad,” she said as she sarcastically rubbed her hands together. “You look happy. Happy is not something I’ve ever seen from you. I’m worried. And kind of afraid.”

I said nothing.

Rue squinted at me like I had become suspicious.

“No,” she said, leaning back slightly. “I do not like that at all. I have known you for thousands of years, and this”—she gestured vaguely at my face—“is deeply unsettling. You look happier than I have ever seen you, and quite frankly, it creeps me out a little.”

“Rue.”

“Arie.”

I exhaled, started the engine, and pulled away from Summer’s house before I answered. The tires rolled softly over the quiet road, and the town passed in sleepy pools of porch lights and shadow.

Rue let the silence stretch for exactly three seconds.

“So,” she said as she mockingly pressed both hands palm-to-palm, “are you going to answer my burning questions?”

My hands tightened on the wheel.

“No.”

Rue laughed.

“No seriously, who is she?”

“She is not your concern.”

“That,” Rue said, turning in her seat, “is the worst possible answer.”

I shot her a look.

She only smiled wider.

“You are protective already,” she said. “Interesting.”

“Rue, just drop it.”

“Oh no, I’m not dropping anything. You, my friend, are acting in a way that I have never seen in all of my existence,” she stated. “So just do us both a favor and get to the point. WHO is she?”

I kept my eyes on the road.

“Damn it, Rue.”

“No, Arie. Man the f**k up and spill.”

“Do not start.”

That only encouraged her stubborn, bullheaded nature.

“Then tell me who she is.”

I said nothing.

Rue studied me for a moment. Slowly, all tension and seriousness left my lieutenant’s person before she asked more quietly, “Arie… who is she?”

I said nothing.

Rue rested her cheek against one hand and watched me in open delight.

“Let me guess,” she said. “She is beautiful, entirely unaware of what she has done to you, and now you are behaving like one of those insufferable boys in mortal romance films who forget how to breathe when a female says their name.”

I kept my eyes on the road.

Rue gasped softly. “Oh, that was a good one, wasn’t it? She did say your name in a sweet, sexy voice?”

“Rue.”

“She said your name like you’ve never heard it before, and now you’re done for.”

I exhaled through my nose.

Rue’s grin turned positively wicked.

“Should I start planning your emotional collapse now, or do you want to surprise me with the timing?”

I should have kept silent.

I meant to.

Instead, my answer came before I could stop it.

“She is my mate.”

Rue went completely still.

The teasing vanished from her face at once.

For a long moment, she only stared at me.

Then, very softly, she said, “Seriously?”

I kept my eyes on the road.

“Yes.”

Her hand rose slowly to her chest.

“After all this time, they are finally completing their promise?”

“Yes.”

She let out a breath that sounded half a disbelieving laugh, half prayer.

“Oh, my friend. This is wonderful, but she’s a mortal. How is that supposed to work?”

I swallowed.

“Rue, no one can know yet. Not even her. I need your silence. I promise when it’s time, you’ll be the first.”

Rue looked at me sharply. “Arie, you don’t even have to say that. You know you have my silence.”

I nodded once.

That should have ended her bombardment of questions.

It did not.

“What is she like?” Rue asked.

I exhaled slowly, a smile slowly creeping to the corner of my lips. “Warm. Kind. Curious. She loves sunsets. She loves the stars. She holds her own light and is too good for this world.”

Rue’s expression softened, and because the truth had already escaped me, I added, “For the first time in all my existence, something inside me stopped screaming.”

Rue turned and looked out the windshield for a moment as she smiled to herself.

“Well,” she said lightly, “that is either the most romantic thing I have ever heard or the most alarming.” Then she tapped her chin with her index finger. “Possibly both.”

“Likely both.” I had to agree with a laugh.

Rue laughed softly, then settled deeper into her seat.

“She sounds extraordinary.”

“She is,” I said immediately.

Then the smile faded just enough for her to study me more carefully.

“You’re frightened.”

It was not a question.

I kept my eyes on the road.

“Yes.”

“Of her?”

“No.” I swallowed. “Of ruining it.”

That made her lock in.

“What’s the catch? With them there is always a catch.”

I exhaled slowly.

“Orion told me everything,” I said. “About her. About what she is. About how long this has been in motion.” My grip tightened on the wheel. “And he made one thing very clear.”

Rue waited.

“She will have a choice.”

Rue’s whole body stilled.

“What?”

I nodded once.

“She may embrace her destiny, become what she was created to be by my side, and she’ll receive her eternal light. Or she may still choose not to love me, fall for another, and live her life as a mortal. Lost to me forever.”

Rue leaned her head back against the seat and stared at the ceiling of the car like the universe itself had personally offended her.

“No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”

I almost smiled.

“No, truly,” she continued, one hand lifting as if she were arguing with invisible beings in the sky. “The Fates spend centuries—centuries—braiding bloodlines and aligning stars and designing the impossible, and then at the final moment they decide, what? Let’s create a soap opera drama in real life and let’s make this worse?”

“That was my reaction.”

Rue dropped her hand and looked at me in open offense on my behalf.

“She is your mate,” she said. “Your equal. Your eternal match. The answer to all this endless suffering thanks to them, and they still gave her another potential love?”

“Yes.”

Rue shook her head.

“That is offensive.”

Her indignation was so immediate, so sincere, that some of the pressure in my chest eased in spite of myself.

Then her expression changed.

Not hard.

Just sharper.

“There’s someone near her already.”

It was not a question.

Something primal tightened low in my chest before I could stop it.

“Yes.”

Rue noticed.

Of course she noticed.

“Who?”

“A werewolf.”

Her mouth flattened instantly.

“Of course he is.”

“He’s an Alpha.”

Rue exhaled as though that made an unpleasant thing worse. “That’s worse.”

I glanced at her. “You know of them?”

“I know enough to be cautious.”

That answer unsettled me more than I wanted it to.

Rue folded one leg beneath the other and looked out through the windshield for a moment before speaking again, lighter at first, though I could hear the seriousness beneath it.

“I’ve crossed paths with spirit-wolves before,” she said. “Not many. Just enough to know it’s bad news.”

I frowned. “Spirit-wolves?”

“The dead remnants of bad ones.” Her gaze shifted back to mine. “The kind that let too much of the beast into the center of themselves, so they go rogue in real life and their precious Goddess can’t save them.”

Something cold moved through me.

Because I had seen something in Damien.

Not clearly.

Only enough to feel that something in him was wrong.

Rue’s voice stayed calm, but it lost some of its brightness.

“They’re unsettling,” she said. “Not because they’re loud. Because they aren’t. Most of the time, they still remember how to wear the shape of a man. But underneath…” She tilted her head slightly. “Underneath, there’s usually only hunger, violence, obsession, and whatever twisted idea of what’s theirs they clung to while still alive.”

I said nothing.

Rue continued more quietly, “Some of them circle the same packs even after death. The same places. The same females. It’s insane and vulgar.”

That landed harder than I wanted it to.

The silence between us stretched.

Then I said, “When I saw him with her, I thought it was jealousy.”

Rue looked at me.

“Only jealousy?”

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

“No.”

That one word sat heavily in the car.

“There was something else,” I said. “I do not know how to name it yet.”

Rue waited.

I stared at the road ahead.

“He did not look at her like he feared harming something precious,” I said at last. “He looked at her as though she should already be his.”

Rue went very still.

“And she?” she asked.

“She does not return what he feels.”

That eased something in Rue’s expression, though not enough.

“Good,” she said softly. “Then perhaps fate has not completely lost its mind.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

But the unease in me remained.

Rue saw that too.

“Suspicion is not certainty,” she said. “We do not know what he is yet.”

“No.”

“And we do not make monsters out of shadows before they step into the light.”

That was fair.

Still, I could not shake the feeling.

“If he is one of the affected,” I said slowly, more to myself than to her, “then I would rather know what remains of the man before I decide what to do with the beast.”

Rue’s eyes shifted to me at that.

Curious.

Not mocking.

Just curious.

“You would spare a rival?”

I kept my gaze forward.

“If there is anything left in him worth sparing, I would know it before I judged him.”

Rue was quiet for a beat, then a small, fond smile touched her mouth.

“That,” she said, “is a very irritatingly noble answer.”

I exhaled.

“It is not noble. It is cautious.”

“Mmm.” Rue settled back again. “Whatever you call it, keep your eyes open.”

I nodded once.

“Watch him,” she said. “Do not obsess to the point of stupidity, but do not ignore your instincts either. Let him reveal himself before you decide what he is.”

For a moment, silence settled between us—comfortable, familiar, worn smooth by centuries of shared work and the kind of friendship forged only through endless proximity to endings.

Then, because she was still Rue, she added lightly, “And in the meantime, try not to look so murderous every time another male breathes in her direction. It will make socializing difficult.”

I let out a short laugh despite myself.

“No promises.”

Rue smiled.

“That,” she said, “I believe.”

Then she ruined the quiet completely.

“So,” she said, bright again, “are we collecting souls tonight as Death and his lieutenant, or as a newly mated fool and the female forced to supervise him?”

I sighed.

“Rue.”

“What? It is an important distinction. One version of you is efficient. The other is currently distracted by a girl who likes sunsets and probably has no idea she has shattered the emotional structure of one of the oldest beings in creation.”

I kept my eyes on the road.

“I hate when you sound observant.”

“I am observant.”

“You are annoying.”

“I am both.”

That, unfortunately, was true.

Rue glanced down at the small silver tablet of light that had appeared in her lap—our ledger for the night, shimmering faintly with names, times, and threads ready to be severed.

Her expression shifted, though not fully into seriousness. Rue never became grim unless she absolutely had to. Instead, she read with the same calm elegance she brought to everything, as though impending death were merely another appointment to be kept on time.

“We have three within the hour,” she said. “One elderly male already halfway untethered, one woman in surgery who may or may not stabilize, and one car accident if the mortal driving continues being spectacularly stupid.”

I nodded.

Normal.

Good.

Routine would help.

I needed routine.

“Which first?” I asked.

Rue glanced at the glowing script again. “The old man. Easier transition. He’s been ready for days.”

I followed the next turn in silence, letting instinct and duty guide the vehicle where it needed to go. Night deepened around us, and the town changed shape beneath it—less domestic, more suspended. Porches glowed. Streetlights hummed. Somewhere far off, ocean wind pressed quietly through the dark like a living thing.

For the first time in all my existence, the world itself seemed subtly rearranged.

Because she was in it.

Summer.

The name moved through me again, warm and immediate.

Rue did not look at me, but I knew she felt the shift.

“Oh no,” she said under her breath.

“What?”

“You did it again.”

I frowned. “Did what?”

“That face.”

I glanced at her.

She was still looking at the ledger, which somehow made it worse.

“What face?”

“The one where you vanish into thoughts of her and stop pretending you are functional.”

“I am functional.”

“Barely.”

I exhaled through my nose and looked back at the road.

Rue’s smile returned, softer this time.

“Tell me one thing,” she said.

“No.”

“I have not asked yet.”

“That has rarely stopped you.”

Rue laughed.

“Tell me one thing,” she repeated. “What was the best part?”

I should not have answered.

I did anyway.

“The beach.”

Rue turned her head slightly.

“The beach?”

“She took me to watch the sunset,” I said, my voice quieter now without meaning to be. “She said it was her favorite thing in the world.”

Rue’s whole face softened.

“And?”

I swallowed once.

“And when she spoke about the evening light…” I tightened my grip on the wheel, not from tension this time but from the weight of the memory itself. “She spoke as though she had loved it all her life. As though some part of her already knew it.”

Rue was silent for a long moment.

Then she said, very gently, “Maybe some part of her did.”

That struck deeper than I wanted it to.

I said nothing.

Rue did not press.

Instead, she tapped the ledger once and changed the subject with deliberate mercy.

“Good. Then you have one beautiful memory already. Now try not to embarrass yourself before you collect a few dead people.”

I almost smiled.

“Is that your version of encouragement?”

“Yes.”

“It needs improvement.”

“And yet it works.”

Perhaps it did.

By the time we reached the first address, the old familiar stillness had begun to return to me—not because Summer had left my mind, but because I had spent too long being what I was to ever step fully outside it. Death was not a cloak I wore and removed at whim. It was structure. Function. Nature.

The house before us was quiet, modest, wrapped in porch light and the hush that comes when a family has already begun grieving before the body has technically stopped.

Rue looked at the ledger once more, then at me.

“You ready?”

No.

“Yes.”

Rue nodded as though she believed neither answer and stepped out of the car anyway.

I followed.

The night air was cooler here, carrying the faint scent of pine, dust, and the slow unraveling of mortal breath. Inside the house, beyond plaster walls and dim lamplight, I could already feel the soul flickering weakly against its tether.

Ready.

Tired.

No struggle left in it.

This, at least, I knew how to do.

Rue came to stand beside me on the path, radiant and composed, silver eyes reflecting the house’s warm light.

Then she glanced sideways at me.

“For what it’s worth,” she said lightly, “I am happy for you.”

I looked at her.

She smiled, and beneath all her brightness and teasing and charm was something steady and ancient and sincere.

“You deserve something beautiful too.”

That nearly undid me more than anything else tonight.

So naturally, I handled it with great dignity.

“You are becoming sentimental.”

Rue rolled her eyes.

“And you are deflecting. Again.”

“Come,” I said, moving past her toward the house. “Before you become unbearable.”

Rue followed at my side, laughing softly.

And together we stepped toward the threshold—toward duty, toward the dead, toward the work that had shaped us both.

But even as I reached for the waiting soul inside that small quiet house, part of me remained elsewhere.

On a beach at sunset.

In the sound of Summer’s laughter.

For the first time in all my existence, eternity felt divided.

One part belonged to what I had always been.

And the other—

The other had begun to belong to her.