Finale

make it any easier to come clean. And I didn’t know if I could. Those wintry hands, closing
off my throat, my voice . . .
    Patch slipped into bed beside me, dragging me against him. I felt his breath on the back of my neck, the warmth of his skin touching mine. His knee fit perfectly in the crook of my own. He
kissed my shoulder, his black hair falling over my ear.
    I—lied—to—you,
I confessed to his thoughts, feeling as though I had to push the words out through a brick wall. I tensed, waiting for the cold hands to seize me, but
to my surprise, their grip seemed to weaken at my confession. Their chilly touch slipped and faltered. Buoyed by this small step forward, I pushed on.
I lied to the one person whose trust means
more to me than anything. I lied to you, Patch, and I don’t know if I can forgive myself.
    Rather than demand an explanation, Patch continued a trail of slow, steady kisses down my arm. It wasn’t until he’d pressed a kiss into the inside of my wrist that he spoke.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly.
    I rolled over, blinking in astonishment. “Don’t you want to know what I lied about?”
    “I want to know what I can do to make you feel better.” He rubbed my shoulders in tender circles, giving me a certain reassurance.
    I wouldn’t feel better until I came clean. It wasn’t Patch’s responsibility to lighten my burden—it was mine, and I felt every last pang of guilt as though they speared
me with an iron blade.
    “I’ve been taking—devilcraft.” I hadn’t thought my shame could grow, but it seemed to swell inside me by three sizes. “All this time I’ve been taking
it. I never drank the antidote you got from Blakely. I kept it, telling myself I’d take it later, after Cheshvan, when I didn’t need to be superhuman anymore, but it was an excuse. I
never intended to take it. This whole time I’ve been relying on devilcraft. I’m terrified I’m not strong enough without it. I know I have to stop, and I know it’s wrong. But
it gives me abilities I can’t get on my own. I mind-tricked you into thinking I drank the antidote, and—I’ve never been more sorry in my life!”
    I dropped my eyes, unable to bear the disappointment and disgust that would surely rise in Patch’s face. It was awful enough knowing the truth, but hearing myself say it aloud cut to the
core. Who was I anymore? I didn’t recognize myself, and it was the worst feeling I’d ever experienced. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost myself. And as easy as it was to blame
devilcraft,
I
had made the choice to steal that first bottle from Dante.
    At last Patch spoke. His voice was so steady, so full of quiet admiration, it made me wonder if he could have known my secret all along. “Did you know, the first time I saw you, I thought:
I’ve never seen anything more captivating and beautiful?”
    “Why are you telling me this?” I said miserably.
    “I saw you, and I wanted to be close to you. I wanted you to let me in. I wanted to know you in a way no one else did. I wanted you, all of you. That wanting nearly drove me mad.”
Patch paused, inhaling softly, as though breathing me in. “And now that I have you, the only thing that terrifies me is having to go back to that place. Having to want you all over again,
with no hope of my desire ever being fulfilled. You’re mine, Angel. Every last piece of you. I won’t let anything change that.”
    I propped my weight on my elbow, staring at him. “I don’t deserve you, Patch. I don’t care what you say. It’s the truth.”
    “You don’t deserve me,” he agreed. “You deserve better. But you’re stuck with me, and you might as well get over it.” Scooping me under him in one agile
movement, he rolled on top of me, his black eyes all pirate. “I have no intention of letting you go easily, something to keep in mind. I don’t care if it’s another man, your
mother, or the powers of hell trying to pry us apart, I’m not easing up and I’m not saying good-bye.”
    I blinked my wet lashes. “I’m not letting anything come between us either. Especially not devilcraft. I have the antidote in my purse. I’ll take it right now. And,
Patch?” I added with heartfelt emotion. “Thank you . . . for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
    “Good thing,” he murmured. “Because I’m not letting you get away.”
    I sank back on his bed, happy to oblige.

C HAPTER

32
    S URE ENOUGH, WORD OF MY REQUESTED