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Only Alec had. He’d stood in the hall of his ancestors and kissed Magnus full on the mouth under the eyes of all the Nephilim assembled there. It had been the most profound and lovely surprise of Magnus’s long life.
In this moment, he didn’t care about the world. He cared about what he and Magnus were making between them: the heat and the friction that made him want to die, to drop to his knees and pull Magnus down with him.
Magnus didn’t think he’d ever been more touched by a speech someone had made while zipping up their pants.
It was a great explosion of overwhelming emotion: fear for Alec, and love and relief, and a painful desperate joy. Alec, my Alexander. You came for me.
Alec thought he could be all right just standing in that doorway, watching Magnus smiling to see him, for the rest of his life.
Alec pulled him even closer. Into Magnus’s ear he whispered, “I would never let you go.”
He took Alec’s face in his hand and kissed him again. He had kissed Alec so many times before, and he could never get used to the way Alec responded to him, the way he responded to Alec. Every time, it felt new. Magnus never wanted to get used to it.
Magnus had always had a wanderer’s heart. Over the centuries, he had adventured in so many different places, always looking for something that would fulfill his restless hunger. He never realized how all the pieces could fall together, how home could be somewhere and someone. He belonged with Alec. His wandering heart could rest.
