Chapter 15

15

It's you. It's you. It's you.

Vega's words distracted him, slowing his defensive moves as he tried to wrangle the dagger from Arlet's grasp. What did Vega mean by that?

"Someone's been practicing," he cooed sarcastically.

Meyer knew the plan: get Vega back to Tolevarre. Bridger would handle holding Arlet off until then. Or at least he thought he would, but Arlet was stronger and faster than he remembered.

Her dagger soared through the air and stuck its intended target.

Bridger's leg.

"And you've slowed down."

His hand shot down to the handle sticking out of the thick muscle of his thigh. Bridger hissed in pain, taking his eye off his opponent for a second too long— rookie fucking move. Arlet's heel met the hilt, tearing into Bridger's thigh before the handle snapped off.

Bridger came down onto his knee and bit his lip to keep from crying out.

Arlet vanished into the dark forest, leaving Bridger to deal with his leg. He inhaled through clenched teeth, and stuck his fingers inside the gaping wound to dig the blade out. Blood coated his hands, dripping down his leg. He looked up at the canopy of massive trees above him, his vision blurred from the pain.

The sound of Arlet's footsteps was covered by the wind dancing through the branches high above and the pounding of his pulse echoing in his ears. "Fuck," he exclaimed, throwing the ruined blade to the ground.

Bridger stumbled forward and fought through the fire in his leg. Being a warrior wasn't just about the fighting—it was about being well-rounded. And sometimes, being well-rounded meant needing to hunt. Tracking came second nature to Bridger. They wouldn't be too far ahead, but his new wound slowed him down.

He followed the direction of boot prints in a wet patch of mud until the sound of a scuffle east of him caught his attention. The voice of his general echoed through the trees. "When are you going to give up, huh? Vega won't survive this curse."

Bridger kicked himself into a higher gear, jogging through the pain to find Meyer and Arlet circling each other. Vega's limp body was on the ground behind them.

"I'm going to kill you with a smile on my face one day." Arlet wasn't letting them get away without a fight, that much was clear. She was a woman on a mission and fought like her world depended on it.

"You don't have it in you, Arlet Videri." Meyer's words made Arlet let out a gut-wrenching scream that sounded a lot like a battle cry.

Before he had the opportunity to reset and strike again, Arlet spun with the grace of a practiced fighter—an ease Bridger spent years training his soldiers to have. Her leg raised above her head in a roundhouse and kicked Meyer across the temple. His head snapped to the side, spit splattering the air, and his bright eyes rolled back into his head.

Meyer collided with the brush underneath his feet .

Arlet's attention turned to him, eyes wide with panic. "Enough, Bridger!" she shouted. "Please!"

Bridger drew his sword and spun it around his wrist as a habit. He laughed, a throaty, hoarse sound. "Please?" His eyes shot to Meyer and then back to Arlet. "Do you think if you ask nicely, I'll forgive you for stabbing me?"

Arlet was stronger than he'd ever seen her, with more determination burning behind her hazel eyes. She placed herself in front of Vega, and Bridger avoided looking at the woman he used to love. He didn't want to feel that tug he felt earlier when those two words slipped through her perfectly shaped lips—like a little heart.

It's you.

It's you.

It's you.

He backed Arlet up as far as she could go before she stepped on Vega, refusing to let his feelings resurface. You have a job to do.

"Don't do this again," Arlet pleaded, her attention focused on Bridger. Could she see the turmoil twisting behind his eyes?

A cough rattled through Vega's chest. Blood splattered out of her mouth and sprinkled her cheeks with crimson specks.

"Oh my gods." Arlet fell to the ground, and Bridger knew this was his chance. While Arlet cradled Vega's head on her lap, Bridger snaked his fingers into her curls, pulling her away from Vega's body.

She kicked, screamed, and clawed. "Bridger, no, please! Please! Let me get her to a healer! Let me save her," Arlet cried, tears staining her cheeks.

He stepped around to kneel in front of her on his good leg. "She's already dead." His voice was ice cold. "No matter what you do or how many times you save her, Vega will always be dead. She died that day in Aeris fifty-five years ago."

"No, no, you're wrong." Arlet wrapped her hands around Bridger's wrist, trying to pry herself free from his hold. "That's the Vega we know, right there. She's so her. Her spunk, her fight—it's really her, and she's about to die again. All this work, everything I've been doing will be for nothing if you don't let us go. Bridger, I know you're still in there somewhere. I know some part of you still loves her."

Bridger kept his hold on Arlet, eyes shifting focus between hers. "Loving her was my demise. It made me weak." Bridger threw Arlet to the ground with an angry force, trudging back over to Vega's bloodied body. With pain shooting through his leg and new blood seeping out of the wound, Bridger leaned down to lift Vega, but his eyes caught a twinkle on her finger reflecting off the full moon.

He knew instantly what it was.

It was the ring he'd given Vega in her second life. The one he forged out of the chip in his sword. The black metal was now a glimmering gem in the center of a gold band.

The promise he made to her in that life was simple.

I will never stop fighting for you. Not in this life or any that follow. My love for you is stronger than any darkness this realm can create. Me and you, forever.

Bridger hadn't seen it in decades.

Arlet scrambled to Vega's side, throwing herself over her best friend's lifeless body.

"Bridger." She caught where his gaze was fixated. "She's remembering you. She's seen you in dreams. It's happening without intervention, without breaking the curse. Her memories are breaking through."

Bridger felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Vega was remembering him before she'd been given her memories back. What the fuck? Was their bond strengthening again? Allowing her memories to travel down the chain linking them together? He ran a hand through his hair, fixated on the ring around Vega's finger as a pang of guilt shot through him—he'd lied when he made those promises to Vega, too scared to fight for what was right. No. He shook his head, pulling himself back into the present to lock his focus on Arlet's terrified gaze. Her eyes were wider than the moon peeking through the trees.

Over his shoulder, Meyer still lay flat on his back—out cold. Bridger's hands shook, his body felt cold, and he could still feel the throb pulsing in his leg like a drum in his ear. He returned his gaze to Arlet, and in a moment of weakness that shocked even himself, Bridger said, "Go."

He turned around and kicked at Meyer's leg, trying to jolt him awake. A moan slipped from the general's lips.

Arlet stood frozen, gaping at him.

"Get out of here before I change my fucking mind and kill you both."

Arlet scrambled to lift Vega and was gone from sight.

Bridger nudged Meyer with his boot a little harder this time. "Get up." Bridger winced at the movement of his leg, the muscle contracting. Fuck, I hate this place, and its no-powers bullshit. His leg would have been long healed by now if they were back in Tolevarre.

Meyer groaned, rolling to his side on the hard ground.

Bridger nudged him again. "Meyer, get the fuck up." Bridger tried to sound more urgent this time as his friend stirred and his hands shot to his head.

Meyer groaned, sitting up in a panic. "Where are they?" His eyes darted around, squinting into the shadows.

Bridger helped him to his feet. "She got away." He did his best to sound annoyed, like he hadn't just let them go. He felt the regret already sinking in, embarrassed with himself that he would so easily let Arlet get under his skin—that he would let this entire trip go to waste over a ring he'd given to a girl who was cursed to die.

"What do you mean, she got away?" Meyer was on full alert, spinning in circles and ready to attack.

Bridger wiped his bloody hands on the front of his suit. "She knocked you out, stabbed me, and then she got away."

Meyer eyeballed him. "What did you do? "

Bridger stood tall, having a few inches on his general's height. "What did I do?" Bridger scowled. "What are you insinuating?"

Meyer rubbed at his temples. "Tell me you didn't let her go."

"I didn't let her go." The lie rolled off his tongue.

Meyer walked the perimeter of the grounds, searching for any trace of the girls. "Gods, Marlena is going to skin us alive."

Bridger pretended to search too, knowing that Arlet was well beyond the portal by now.

"I hope she makes it quick for your sake." Meyer sent Bridger a death glare, his eyes landing on Bridger's wound that continued to drip blood and hadn't slowed at all. "You're going to die before she even finds out if we don't get you back home to heal."

Bridger looked down at his leg again, feeling a little lightheaded as the blood continued to pump out of his main artery. "Now we can say we've both been stabbed by the same woman." Bridger's lips quirked up in a smile despite his current condition, making a joke to pull Meyer's attention away from the lie he had to spin.

Meyer didn't laugh, only sighed. "Let's get you back before you bleed out in another world," he grumbled.

Bridger would take his new secret to the grave, allowing no one but Arlet to know that he'd let her go—that somehow that stupid ring worked against him. She'd gotten inside his head, twisted his emotions, and caused him to have a moment of weakness that would haunt him just like his dreams. Bridger's palms started to sweat, his heart racing in an unstable rhythm.

On the outside he kept his face set like stone, not allowing a break in his well-placed mask. But inside, a furnace of dismay lit, threatening to burn him alive. You're gonna regret this, Dimico.