angel before Christian left in a rustle of wings. She didnât make any effort to listen to their conversation, her attention on cradling Mimosa as gently as possible. âYou were a faithful companion,â she told the cat, her throat catching. âI shall miss you.â Someâmortals and immortals alikeâwould call her stupid for bestowing so much love on a creature with such an ephemeral life span, but they did not understand.
âImmortals,â she said to Noel as they neared the southern gardens, âlive so long that we become jaded, our hearts hardened. For some, cruelty and pain are the only things that engender an emotion.â Nazarach, ruler of Atlanta and adjacent areas, was one such angel, his home saturated with screams.
âAn animal is innocent,â Noel said, âwithout guile or hidden motivation. To love one is to nurture softness within your own heart.â
It didnât surprise her that he comprehended that quiet truth. âShe taught me so much.â Nimra stepped through the curved stone archway that led into the concealed gardens Mimosa had adored. She heard Noel suck in a breath when he glimpsed the tangle of roses and wildflowers, sweet pecan and other trees heavy with fruit, pathways overgrown until they were near impassable.
âI didnât know this existed.â He reached out to touch an extravagant white rose.
She knew he felt not shock, but wonder. Like the young kitten Mimosa had once been, Noel carried a touch of wildness within him. âShe will enjoy being a part of this garden, I think.â Her throat felt raw, lined with sandpaper.
Noel followed her in silence as she walked through the tangled pathways to a spot under the sheltering arms of a magnolia that had stood through storm and wind and time. When she stopped, he hefted the shovel and began to dig. It didnât take long to dig deep enough for Mimosaâs body, but instead of nodding at her to lay her pet down, Noel went to the closest bush heavy with blooms. Plucking off handfuls of color, he walked back and lined the bottom of the tiny grave.
Nimra couldnât hold back the tears any longer. They rolled down her face in silence as Noel went back two more times. When he was done, the grave held a velvet carpet of pink, white, and yellow petals, soft as fresh-fallen snow. Going to her knees, Nimra brushed a kiss to her petâs head and laid her down.
The petals stroked against the backs of her hands as she lifted them out from under Mimosa. âI shouldâve brought something to wrap her in.â
âI think,â Noel said, showering more blooms over Mimosa, âshe would prefer this. It is a fitting burial for a cat who loved to roam, donât you think?â
She gave a jerky nod and reached back to tug out several of her primary feathers. âWhen she was a kitten,â she told Noel, âMimosa was fascinated by my feathers. She would attempt to steal them when I wasnât looking.â
âWas she ever successful?â
âOnce or twice,â she said, a watery laugh escaping her. âAnd then sheâd run so fast, it was as if she were the wind itself. I never did find where she hid my feathers.â With those words, she placed the primaries beside Mimosa before blanketing her in another layer of petals. âGood-bye, little one.â
Noel covered up the grave in quiet, and she placed more blossoms over the top, along with a large stone Noel found in the garden. They stayed for long, still minutes beside the grave, until Nimra felt a caress of wind along her senses, gentle as a sigh. Releasing a silent breath, she turned and began to walk back, Noel by her side.
He touched a hand to her shoulder. âWait.â Propping the shovel against one thigh, he used the thumbs of both hands to wipe away the tears on her face. âThere,â he whispered, ânow you are Nimra again. Strong and cruel and
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