Chapter 33

Elanor

The usual cold seeping through my bones, freezing the tips of my fingers and toes, has been replaced by a comforting warmth. The strain in my shoulders has gone, and so did the pain in my middle.

This feels wrong, terribly wrong.

It takes me a moment to recognize the feeling swelling in my chest. Fear.

I wiggle my toes, confirming I can move them just fine, and feel every tingle. My heart beats rapidly as sensations return to my body.

The mattress hugs my body, supporting my weight, and the sheets caress my skin as if made of a thousand feathers.

Stretching my arms, no longer imprisoned in chains, my hands go to my chest as I slowly emerge from slumber.

My eyes snap open when my fingers reach bare skin on my neck. The collar is gone.

My chest rises rapidly as I scan the windowless room and memories trickle back in. There’s barely enough light streaming through the door, but it’s enough to confirm I’m no longer in my cell.

It wasn’t a dream. This time, I got out.

Vesta is here with Calen—and another Fae, although I can’t remember her name.

A subtle headache forms behind my eyes as I replay last night in my head.

Rensyl. Yes, she helped us.

Tears well up in my eyes as I realize I’m safe and this wasn’t another of Airdan’s tricks.

I can’t bring myself to leave the bed just yet, so I count the seconds in my head, needing to make sure this is not another illusion.

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

A shudder shakes my body and I screw my eyes shut. Airdan’s illusions all felt so real.

Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.

Although, not quite as real as this. I bunch up the sheets in my palm, feeling their softness. I’m safe. Forty.

Forty-one. Forty-two.

Another three hundred and forty-two seconds pass before I notice the tug inside me. The bond is there, pulsing regularly, unrestrained. Its echo carries safety and reassurance, although it’s also mixed with a different kind of fear.

I let out a heavy breath, steadying myself as curiosity overpowers the angst in my heart. I get up, my legs still a little wobbly, and make for the door. I’ve managed in far more dire states, and if memory serves, I’m not going far.

As soon as I open the kitchen door, my hands go to my eyes. Natural light streams from a round skylight in the middle of the room, its brightness blinding me.

I blink furiously, willing my eyes to adjust faster, and when they do, my breath hitches in my throat.

Sunrays hit the side of Azran’s face. He’s passed out on a chair, his head resting on his arms, crossed on the table. His back rises and falls with each ragged breath, but he’s here, alive.

His presence alone makes the space shrink on itself. A small oven stands against the wall opposite the entrance, wood cabinets framing its sides. The walls are bare except for a small bookcase in the corner next to an aged leather armchair. The skylight as the only source of light in the room makes for the perfect safe house, rendering it completely undetectable to the outside world. The only visible exit is the front door, smaller than most doors and designed to fade into the wall. That, and another door next to the bedroom’s. A washroom, I presume.

A used rug whose pattern has long been worn out by boots adorns the wooden floors. Apart from that, it looks like no one ever took the time to decorate this place. It’s been stripped to the bare minimum. No avalanche of embroidered pillows on the bed or the armchair, no pop of color, and an overall complete absence of style. I love it.

A piece of paper on the counter catches my eye. Careful not to wake Azran up, I tiptoe around him and grab the note.

“The Myra. Dock two.

Cal

*ointments and bandages are in the cupboard”

I swallow the lump in my throat as I put the note down. My mouth is so dry, I almost choke.

Turning around, I bump into a chair, stubbing my knee on its backrest with a grunt. I repress the curse forming on my lips as my eyes snap to Azran’s limp body, still sleeping.

I let out a breath and rub my leg vigorously before making my way to the other side of the table, noticing the pitcher of water and the food.

I freeze a few feet away from Azran, my purpose long forgotten by the bond exploding in my chest. How will I ever get used to this? To him, so close to me?

My heart strains like the organ can’t contain my feelings. Back in the dungeons, after I was thrown in the cell next to his, I was barely lucid except for the one thought looping in my head; the regret and hope that he knew what I never told him.

The bond pulses so strongly I worry it will wake him up. I can barely stay upright under its force as it screams to be let out, just as I want to scream it to the world. It’s not a desire anymore, but a primal need to touch him, hold him, and be held. I need his touch like I need air. I need to feel his gaze all over me and find the same necessity in his hazel eyes.

Tears well in my eyes once more as the hope of a life alongside him is born, however fleeting.

Resolve steadies my mind as I make for the bedroom. I’ve fought for just about everything I’ve ever had in this life. Why stop now?

I find a blanket in the small chest at the foot of the bed, the only other piece of furniture in this room, and head back into the kitchen.

After placing the blanket over his shoulders, I plop down opposite from him and help myself to several glasses of water, unable to refrain from drinking too much.

Nausea strikes moments later as water fills my empty stomach, but I stay there, watching over him, making sure his breathing remains regular as memories overlay reality. I’m back in the cage, my hands burning through the metal as Azran screams my name over and over. I taste the blood on my tongue, feel the heat under my fingers, and get lost in the rage shaking me to my core as Death answers my calls.

I’m still not sure how I managed to summon her, I only know she was listening, willing to show me how to destroy the world and grant me incredible power.

I used to be scared of the darkness within me, but Airdan rid me of that fear. It’s a part of me, granted by Death herself, the origin and the end, my bearer.

I’ve never felt more powerful, and yet a new fear is born, or rather an old fear rekindled and reinforced through the bond. What if he’s changed his mind? I can’t shake the look of pure madness I saw in his eyes back at the castle, and the way he wouldn’t meet my gaze once we escaped. What if he leaves?

The old demons are back, ready to jump at the opportunity to instill more doubt in my heart, but I won’t let them. Not this time. I’ve wasted too much time already.

A rush of pride courses through me, relegating the fear to a corner of my mind. He wouldn’t abandon me. Not after standing up for me the way he did in front of Cal. I saw it in his eyes. He was ready to kill his only family to save me.

He is my family now.

Azran stirs in his sleep and I jump to my feet.

I kneel by his side as his crimson eyes flutter open.

My lips part, but no sounds comes out.

He winces in pain as he lifts his head to rest his back on the chair. Only then does his gaze meet mine for a mere second, and what I see in it crushes the hope just born. The heartbreak in his eyes is almost palpable as he avoids my gaze.

A crack appears in my mental resolve as I stand and fill a glass with water. I bring it to his lips with trembling hands, unable to settle the panic in my heart.

Only his pain erases my own. He’s in a much worse state than I ever was. His head bobs weakly to his chest as he tries to pull himself up, bracing a hand on the table.

“Wait.”

My voice doesn’t feel like mine when I reach for him to help him stand.

He doesn’t respond so I wrap my arm around his chest and help him to the bedroom without another word. It’s a miracle we make it without tumbling to the floor. He sits on the mattress with a hiss and I let him go.

I’m about to step back when his chest leans forward dangerously, and I catch him before he collapses.

Ever so gently, I remove his torn shirt from his back and lean him back on the bed before tucking him in as best I can, my movements slow and weak.

I don’t get another glimpse at the hazel lingering in his eyes, as he keeps them closed the entire time, but once I’m sure he can’t fall off the bed, I retreat to the kitchen.

“No.”

His croak barely reaches my ears, but I freeze. His eyes are still closed, his suffering painted across his torn face.

Does he want me to stay or leave? I’m about to ask when his breathing deepens. I guess I won’t know until he wakes up. If he wakes up.

I silence the treacherous voice in my head and, with the last of my strength, go to the kitchen and swing open the first cupboard I see. I find the ointments on the first try.

“Yes!” A cry tears from my throat as I snatch the small vials and jars. Thank Death for labels.

Back in the bedroom, I do my best with the limited instructions that were left. I pour several drops of a dark liquid in his mouth and place a greyish salve on the deepest cuts on his chest.

When there’s nothing else I can do for Azran without waking him to turn him over, I use some of the salve on my own wounds.

I return to the kitchen, trembling from exhaustion and worry. Although my body didn’t break under his weight, my heart shattered in a million pieces.

Pulling a chair out, I plop down at the table and force myself to eat. I know my body needs fuel, although my heart is not in it.

By the time I’m done chewing on bread and cheese, my balm-covered cuts are radiating a soft heat.

I stare at the ointments for several minutes before mustering the strength to rise, the vials in hand. I open the cabinet in front of me, having forgotten which ones the medicine came from, and almost drop the small containers when my eyes land on Nahtar, propped against the back of the cabinet next to Azran’s two-bladed sword.

I blink several times and my mouth drops open. Putting the vials on the counter, I reach for my weapon, and relief floods me the second my fingers find its familiar hilt.

My power responds instantly and a dark fire runs down the blade. I close my eyes, allowing myself to savor this moment, the strength in my grip, and the energy flowing through me. With Nahtar in hand, my connection to the spirit world awakens, and it’s like my father is with me again. I can feel his strength and picture his bearded face smiling upon me, even after everything that’s happened.

Whatever energy Nahtar instilled in me vanishes the moment I let go of the blade. Pain in my joints and chest return, and so does the exhaustion.

My eyes dart around the kitchen, debating returning to the bedroom or sleeping in the armchair.

I give it about two seconds before I make for the bedroom. I didn’t sleep on soiled ground and wet stone for weeks to refuse a warm bed, with my mate in it.