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“But I made a mistake a long time ago, and I’ve been trying to earn my way back ever since.” “Way back to what?” “To God, to faith, to believing in something bigger than myself.
“Sometimes shame is a lesson. Most of the time, it’s just a way for us to hate ourselves for the things we want.”
“Oh, right. So we’re trapping Marchosias, a Marquis of Hell, who is definitely not an angel, inside an angelic elevator box.” They arched an eyebrow. “Great,” they piped. “Awesome. Perfect. Sounds like a foolproof plan.”
Love hadn’t saved her. Sacrifice hadn’t saved her. Christ hadn’t saved her. For years, Colin had tried to find truth in God’s plan, desperately searched his heart for grace and forgiveness. But faith was a hard, mean, vengeful thing at times, and losing her had calloused him.
“So we’re letting a witch play animal control in my house? She’s seriously going to trap the ghosts, phantoms—whatever—and keep them? Like, in an aquarium? In a trash bag? How the hell do people cage a non-corporeal being?”
Colin wondered about loneliness, how houses longed for occupancy and hearts yearned to be held.
“You loved him,” he said. “I loved who he allowed me to see,”
Grief, and betrayal, and fine-tuned desperation were learned, lived, and endured.
The truth ached in his chest. How badly he’d craved them, how his desire for them had suffocated his lonely heart. Wanting and being wanted had been unimaginable, yet Bishop was there, crawling into his lap, sliding their thighs around his waist. They were there, prying at his lips, mouth still candle-hot and tinged with magic. There, surrounding him, holding on to him. “Be scared of me,” they rasped, breathing hard against his chin. “But don’t be afraid to touch me.”
