Chapter 38

38

BLAZE

W here the fuck is Treyton going?

I watch with furrowed brows as the irritating Spring Prince ducks out from our burrow. Kassandra is fast asleep in my arms, but Aleksander is still awake, his eyes flinty and his mouth firm.

We exchange an eloquent glance, and I shift slightly, allowing Kassandra to fall into Aleksander’s lap. He immediately bands his arms around her, holding her close, and I blow out a breath.

“Protect her,” I growl, crawling out of our makeshift cave.

“With my life,” Aleksander vows.

I curse as I straighten. The burrow was not meant for a male my size, and my back muscles scream in protest. I stretch, lifting my arms above my head, and then search the Forest for any sign of Treyton.

But I see nothing.

Maybe he’s just going to take a piss. He has no reason to wander off.

And yet a tiny voice in the back of my head warns me that danger is approaching.

I don’t understand why I even care. I hate Treyton. It’s a type of loathing that ascends all common sense or reason. I want to strangle him with my bare hands. Bathe in his blood after I slit his throat. Break bone after bone after bone until he can’t even walk.

The bastard killed thousands of my citizens.

And not just my citizens…

No, the virus has expanded and is now ravaging populations across the globe.

How many fae have died because of him? How many will die? Kassandra can’t help everyone with the black virus, and even if she could, I wouldn’t let her. Gaia only knows the consequences. She lost her voice because of the black virus. Her hearing.

What else will she lose?

Anger thrums through my veins, and I find myself stalking forward with a new purpose in mind—destroy Treyton once and for all. I won’t allow him to hurt her again.

I don’t care that he’s her apparent mate.

I don’t care that he’s sorry.

Sorry doesn’t bring the dead back to life.

I know self-loathing—I’ve seen it time and time again in the mirror—and Treyton wears his on his sleeve. It’s etched across every line on his face, visible in the shadows underscoring his eyes. The male is a fucking wreck, but it’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough to make up for what he did.

Until recently, I never cared about the lives lost in this senseless war. Didn’t give a single shit about the black virus and the fae it impacted. Why would I, when I knew the virus wouldn’t affect me?

I suppose I’ve grown callous over the years. There’s not a lot that can penetrate my armor. But now that I have Kassandra, everything has changed. I find myself wanting to protect the fae under my protection. I wonder what their story is, if they have family or friends, if they’re loved by someone. Those thoughts never once crossed my mind only a year ago, but now they’re all I can focus on.

If I lost Kassandra, I would lose my damn mind.

How many other fae felt the same way about someone I killed? How many lives have I destroyed because of past transgressions?

I suppose Treyton and I are similar in that respect. We’ve both done stuff that we’re not proud of. Stuff that Kassandra would be horrified about if she ever discovered.

The revelation stills my legs, and I freeze, scrubbing a hand down my face.

How can I hate Treyton when my own sins are just as daunting? Just as damning? I haven’t yet revealed my “truth” to Kassandra—at least, not all of it—and I have a feeling she’ll be appalled. Disgusted.

Just like she is with Treyton.

A strange combination of sympathy and empathy weaves together and coils around my heart. I find myself thawing, at least slightly. I don’t forgive Treyton, but maybe… Maybe I understand him.

Still want to kill the bastard though.

Or maybe just torture him.

I slice my ax back and forth through the foliage, clearing a path, but I don’t see Treyton.

Maybe he went the other way.

Or maybe he’s already back?—

I pause when I reach the edge of a clearing.

For a long moment, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. It appears to be a massive pendulum swinging steadily. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

But then I notice the shoes. The stained shirt. The ruffled pink hair.

“Fuck!” I shout, racing forward.

Treyton hangs, still and lifeless, from a thick tree branch. The noose around his neck causes his head to tilt at an odd angle.

For a moment, my first thought is—am I too late?

But I refuse to allow that thought to fester as I reach for Treyton’s legs, supporting his weight.

“Fuck! You motherfucker! What the hell were you fucking thinking?” I roar, using my free hand to slice at the rope with my ax.

Treyton falls, but I’m there to catch him, helping him to the ground.

His face is blue.

Fuck.

I don’t know what to do, so I slap his cheek hard enough to leave a mark.

“Don’t you dare fucking die on me. Do you hear me? I can’t bring your dead body back to Kassandra. I fucking refuse. So wake the fuck up and face me, you coward!” As I speak, I work on loosening the rope from around his neck.

He doesn’t even stir as I remove it and toss it aside. There’s a red mark across his flesh where the rope dug into his skin. The sight causes bile to churn in my stomach and rise up my throat.

“Hey!” I slap his cheek again. “Wake the fuck up. Gaiadamn it, Treyton!”

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

“Motherfucker. You owe me for this,” I hiss under my breath as I place my mouth to his and breathe air into his lungs. When I force my lips away to begin chest compressions, I dramatically spit on the ground beside his head. “Can’t believe I fucking kissed you. I hate your guts.”

But yet I continue to press down on his chest as I will life into him.

He needs to live, dammit.

Kassandra will never recover from losing him.

She may hate him, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s her mate. I don’t understand why Gaia gifted Kassandra someone as plain and stupid and irritating as Treyton…but it’s not my job to question the goddess. For some indecipherable reason, she deemed Treyton worthy of Kassandra, and I need to learn to accept that.

Sort of accept it.

At the very least, I can’t kill Treyton, no matter how badly I want to.

I alternate between breathing air into his lungs and pushing on his chest hard enough to bruise. I’m just grateful the dumb fuck didn’t break his neck.

Why the hell would he do this?

How could he leave Kassandra like that?

I can’t imagine ever willingly leaving my little beast. But maybe Treyton’s trauma goes deeper than I could’ve imagined. He forces a smile daily, but how often is that smile a mask designed to shut out the rest of the world? To hide his true feelings and the deep hurt I see emanating from his eyes?

“Wake. The. Fuck. Up.” I continue to press down on his chest.

If I happen to break a rib or two, can you blame me? It’s the least the bastard deserves.

Desperation wars with anger deep in my chest.

He better wake up.

I refuse to bring his dead body back to my little beast.

Fuck him.

Fuck him to the deepest pits of?—

His eyes snap open, and he begins to cough, the noise raspy and full of pain.

I fall back on my haunches as Treyton curls in on himself, coughing and crying, silent tears running down his cheeks.

I brush a hand down my face as I debate my next words, but all I can settle on is a simple, “Why?”

Why would he do this to himself?

Why would he leave Kassandra? I know her. She may act like she hates him, but I’ve seen the way her expression softens whenever they’re together. The way her eyes glow and a budding smile blossoms on her face. My female doesn’t hold any darkness inside of her, only light.

Treyton doesn’t answer as he continues to shake and sob. I don’t comfort him, but I also don’t pull away. I just sit there, waiting, watching, thinking.

“I didn’t…” His words descend into a coughing fit. “I didn’t mean to. The music…”

“What music?” Has he lost too much oxygen? I read about that before. Does he need to be brought to a healer?

I suddenly wished I paid more attention all those times I was trained to be a battle medic. Those classes would’ve certainly come in handy right about now.

“You didn’t hear the music?” He turns towards me, his face pale, his eyes rimmed in red.

The abrasions on his neck remind me of a ruby necklace against his tan skin.

“What fucking music?” I repeat.

“I heard music…” He begins to cough again.

I reach into my pack, grab a canteen of water, and pass it to him. He takes it eagerly and swallows mouthful after mouthful, a grimace of pain distorting his face with each swallow.

“Careful,” I say gruffly, frowning.

He hands me back the empty canteen with a muttered, “Thanks.”

And then silence stretches between us, accompanied by an acrimonious tension that has me gritting my teeth together.

When I feel as if I’m going to explode, I manage to bite out, “Explain yourself.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Treyton wipes at his cheeks. “I heard the music… And then I heard the voices…”

“The voices?”

“They were talking to me. No… screaming at me would be a better descriptor. I don’t know what came over me. I just knew that I needed to do what they instructed me to do.”

A ripple of unease rushes through me, and I study the Forest with newfound intensity. I’ve always known that the Forest of the Damned housed monsters of untold origin, but this is something else entirely.

Somehow, the Forest was able to fuck with Treyton’s mind.

Make him hear things that didn’t exist.

Do things he would probably never do.

My unease amplifies as I move to my feet and extend a hand for him to take.

“Now that the storm’s stopped, we need to wake the others and get out of here.”

Treyton shakily places his hand in mine, allowing me to pull him to his feet. He wobbles, oddly resembling a newborn calf, before he manages to steady himself.

“Why did you…?” He frowns, as if unsure if he wants to finish that question.

Even still, I can hear it plain as day.

Why did you save me?

I don’t have an answer for that.

Why did I save him? For Kassandra? It isn’t as if she would blame me for his death. And my life would certainly be easier without him in it. One less fae to fight for her affections.

And yet…

I didn’t hesitate to save his damn life, and I have a feeling I’d do it again.

“How much farther do you think we have?” he asks instead, his voice raspy.

“Hopefully not a lot.” Because I don’t think we’ll survive any longer in the Forest.

“Blaze…” Treyton’s soft voice causes me to pause and slowly turn to face him.

He swallows convulsively, a muscle fluttering in his cheek, and rocks back on his heels. I fold my arms over my chest, waiting to hear what he has to say. It only takes him a tick to get his thoughts in order.

“I don’t want you to tell Kassandra about this.”

“I promised her no more secrets,” I snap.

“And I don’t want to keep it a secret.” Anger briefly flares in his eyes before something akin to resignation subdues it. “But it’s not your story to tell. I didn’t… I didn’t want to do it. It was like the magic was forcing me to.” He scrubs a hand down his face with a haggard breath. “I’ll tell her what happened, but later. I don’t want to worry her.”

I hesitate, juggling his words, before deciding that he’s right. This isn’t my secret to tell.

“Okay.” I nod stiffly. “I won’t tell her.”

He noticeably sags in relief. “Thank you?—”

“But you fucking owe me. Not only for keeping this quiet, but also for saving your life.”

One of his eyebrows lifts, some of his usual arrogance returning. “Do you want a reward or something?”

“A medal would be sufficient.”

“And would you like that medal engraved?”

“Good idea. How about…Prince Savior?”

Treyton’s second eyebrow joins the first. “Prince Savior?”

“I saved you, didn’t I? So I’m technically a savior of princes.” I cross my arms over my chest with a smug smirk.

“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”

“Who said I’m joking?”

Treyton rolls his eyes, but I see his lips begin to quirk at the corners.

I may not have forgiven the bastard…

But he’s growing on me.

Like mold.

Or cancer.