31. Max

31

MAX

T he fresh scent of briney water clouded my senses, the taste of the air salty and sweet on my tongue.

"I thought we'd meet sooner than this," a deep voice sounded behind me, "it's been a long time."

I spun around, my head dizzy with confusion, my thoughts slower than usual, like they were carving their way through molasses.

"Lucifer?" I blinked several times, taking in his appearance. He looked worse than I'd ever seen him, his hair a mussed mess, his beard an uneven shadow, his eyes rimmed with red and colored in the soft bruising colors that came from weeks—maybe even months—of little to no sleep. There was a greenness to his pallor that made him look sickly, and his frame was more skeletal than I remembered.

If I didn't know better, I'd think he was seriously ill, maybe even dying.

The starkness of his appearance was so not Lucifer-like that I found myself holding my breath, a renewed sense of fear licking against my neck.

The still, iridescent surface of The Styx framed the landscape, and with a few deep breaths, I realized this was a dream. This was where we'd met the one and only other time I'd pulled him into a dream-walk.

I cleared my throat, feeling more disoriented than I usually did in one of my dreams. "What are we doing here?"

"You tell me." He arched a thick, dark brow, somehow looking just as menacing and in control as ever, despite his appearance suggesting otherwise. "You brought me here. I have no control over this realm, it is all you."

I nodded, then licked my lips, feeling suddenly parched. For a moment, I considered scooping up a handful of the mesmerizing water, sipping from it in deep gulps—but I knew this was no ordinary river, and I had no clue what kind of power it could wield over me, even in a dream.

"It's peaceful here," he said, his face relaxing a bit. "Things in my realm have not been this…soft in a long time."

The tension in his shoulders deflated, his posture looking almost human in its ease.

"It's getting worse?" I asked, even though I knew the answer, could feel it in my bones, in the strange static in the air that enveloped us all when I let myself linger on it for too long.

We were running out of time. I knew this was true in the same way I knew the lines and curves of my own hands.

He didn't answer, but I read the depths of his confirmation, of his fear, in his silence.

I needed to work faster, to fight harder. A cloying feeling in my gut told me that we had days until it was too late, not weeks, not months.

My jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as I tried to swallow my frustration. We'd been flitting away time, pushing off the inevitable. All this loss, all this pain—it would be for nothing if we didn't even get a chance to fix things. To set things right.

We'd been sequestered at The Lodge, playing house for months in this perfect little snow globe of peace. It allowed me to gloss over reality—to not see the way the realms were crumbling around us.

Even the clueless humans on the news knew that something big was coming—stores had been depleted in preparation for some climate catastrophe, an unknown apocalypse that everyone could sense, even those without supernatural power.

The world was crafted almost entirely of fear now, and that was a dangerous thing.

People did terrible things when they were afraid.

I studied him as he moved closer to me, my brain rapidly filling in the gaps and pieces as I quickly oriented myself to this reality. "You've been missing."

"Not missing." An arrogant look eclipsed his expression—apparently, he lost none of his confidence, even when unwell. "I've known where I was all this time. I've been missing, perhaps, to those by whom I didn't want to be found."

I bit back the snarky retort clawing at my tongue. "We're getting close," I said instead, even though I had no idea if it was really the truth, "most of the council is dead. I expect we'll have the stone soon."

For a moment, he said nothing, his dark, unreadable eyes studying me in that way of his. It took all of my willpower to meet his stare, unblinking. Lucifer had a habit of looking at me that felt like I was being sliced through with a blade. He carved and probed, shaping me into bits that he seemed far more able to interpret and dissect than even I was. It was uncomfortable at the best of times, downright painful at the worst.

"You're ready," he whispered, and a flash of something, disappointment maybe, or regret, flashed across his face—there and then gone. "Your power, I can feel it, even here where my own is weakened."

My hand curled into a fist, my fingers tracing over the cut Saif had made—the cut that had somehow still not fully healed.

I took a deep breath, and nodded. "My Uncle—Sayty's twin," Lucifer stilled at the sound of her name, "he found me, performed some kind of spell. I think he transferred some of his power to me, or broke whatever binding spell my mother had put on me when I was born. He said it would hopefully be enough," I cleared my throat, my mouth dry, "to complete the ritual, I mean, not to keep me alive."

Lucifer didn't move, he wasn't even breathing, but I could feel his fragile desire for me to continue.

The meeting with Saif came back slowly at first, then all at once, until I couldn't get the name off my tongue fast enough. "Michael."

Whatever Lucifer was expecting me to say, it wasn't that—the name of his brother dripping with accusation.

He took a step back, lips parting slightly as if the breath had been stolen from his lungs.

"You never told me you were a twin, that you had a brother, that the two of you were part of the original ritual—the one that," I gestured absently at the oddly serene setting around us. As dangerous as hell was, it was often still painfully beautiful. "Created this place."

"I—" he dropped his gaze, angling his body towards the river, "I haven't heard that name in many years. My connection to him was severed for as long as I can remember. For a while, I searched for him. But I've long assumed that he was dead. I'm not even sure he survived the original ritual."

"He might be," I said, "Saif couldn't find him, just an amulet."

His eyes narrowed at that, considering. "An amulet?"

I nodded, not having much more to offer him. I hadn't had time to really study it, and Saif was still—well, I wasn't sure if he was alive or dead, or if he'd be stuck in whatever coma he was in forever. The thought of losing another member of my family as soon as I'd found them was too bleak to linger on right now.

"As for my place in the creation of this realm," Lucifer started, "you have to understand that I was not myself for a very long time—my memories, my power, they were all corrupted, fed to the magic that requires us to bleed for it. To survive. I only know what I've been able to piece together over the last few years—it's truly not much more than you know yourself." A sad grin tugged at his mouth. "I suppose we are alike in that way—both strangers to ourselves."

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but I also wasn't sure that it mattered, not anymore.

He was lost in his own thoughts for a few moments, until it almost seemed like he'd forgotten I was standing here with him entirely.

"Where have you been?"

He flinched, as if startled by my presence or the question. "I was looking for someone, for something."

"And you couldn't tell Samael or Serae or me?" I didn't bother disguising the frustration in my voice. I'd done nothing but fight for this man and his ritual, for the chance to die, in order to save the realms. I was done acting like he was my superior, like someone who's good opinion I valued. I knew what I was to him—a lamb he was diligently preparing for slaughter. "Do you need to keep the secrets that you keep, or is it just part of the whole," I gestured absently, "mysterious devil persona you're trying to protect?"

His brow twitched before he flattened his expression again. Always in control. "Serae didn't need to know, and Samael had business of his own to attend to. We've been busy, and revealing our whereabouts and plans is very often the fastest way to negate them in this realm. "

"Business that's bigger than preventing the literal death of everyone across the realms, you mean?"

Lucifer's jaw grew more rigid, if that was possible. It was the only revelation that he was growing frustrated with my insolence. "We all have different roles to fill, Max. Sam and I—" he cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable, "we're limited here, but we've been trying to find other options, another way."

"Did you find one?" I had to ask, but I was far beyond expecting some last-minute plan to save me. Any vestiges of hope I had for that died during my meeting with Saif.

His eyes met mine again, and I softened slightly. I wasn't the best at reading this man—I wasn't sure that anyone had ever found it possible to read him—but there was regret there, hesitation.

"I—" he sniffed, his posture stiff and uncertain, "I've been trying to find Azrael. I'd settle even for his scythe at this point. I thought I could wait, that I'd have a better chance when I could move more freely through the realms, that dissolving the barrier might force him out of hiding. But his power would be of greater use to me now."

He'd mentioned that name to me before. Azrael was the guardian of The Styx, and he'd been missing for a long time.

I was getting fucking sick and tired of these missing ancient old dudes.

"Did you find him?" I asked, reading the answer already in the sharp edges of his demeanor.

He shook his head, his lips twitching into a barely-perceptible frown.

"What do you need him for?"

Michael, Azrael, the stone, the nexus—we were all just chasing ghosts, it seemed.

Everything felt like echoes of "what ifs" and rituals, all of us grasping at straws, desperately hoping to clutch something or someone that might save us as we were inevitably shoved off this impending cliff.

There were no heroes though. My stomach sank with the weight of that realization.

That was the truth of it, wasn't it? We were all just equally lost—children playing at a game of gods.

"Azrael is connected to the realm of the dead, I was hoping that if I could find him, he might—" Lucifer let the words trail off, sinking between us.

"Sayty," I said, my chest tightening at the thought. "You want to find him so that you might reach out to my mother."

He loved her. Or at least he had long ago. As much as someone like him was capable of an emotion so big.

"I'd give anything to see your mother, yes, even just for a moment," there was a gravel in his voice, a slip of emotion that was rare for him, and I was reminded of our last dream-walk, of the ways this world ate at the edges of his shields. His eyes met mine. "But I was hoping to find him sooner." He paused, shoulders sinking slightly. "For you."

"For me?"

"I thought he might be able to intervene somehow—that after the ritual, when you're in the in-between, that he—it," he shook his head, hands in tight fists at his side, like he was angry at himself for betraying the fact that he cared, like compassion was a weakness, "it was a foolish hope, but I—" his gaze cut to me again, furtive, apologetic, "I had to try."

Emotion tightened my throat, making it impossible for me to swallow, to speak for a few minutes.

"It's okay." I reached for his hand. He flinched at first, shocked by the touch, but he didn't pull away as I held onto him. "It means a lot that you tried, but it'll be okay. I'll be okay. I won't fight you on the ritual, you won't need to even use the blood oath. I'll do it. Gladly, if it means saving everyone I care about. There is no choice, I know what needs to be done. "

His eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of the blood oath, like he'd forgotten that last power chip altogether.

Odd, considering my assessment of him had been that he devoted all of his energy to stockpiling his power over others, no different than The Guild in that way.

But maybe that thirst for power had less to do with him than I thought.

He wanted power over death, but his reasons were born of something more pure, something that had nothing to do with control.

His fingers tightened around mine, his skin surprisingly cool and soft to the touch.

Then, he shook his head, something inside of him snapping. He dropped my hand and took a step back.

"No."

"No? No, what?"

"I thought I would be able to. But I can't. I won't let you do it. I—" his brows furrowed, like he was genuinely surprised or confused by whatever thoughts were flashing through his mind, "I can't. I won't lose you too. It was foolish of me to think that when it came time for it, that I could just sacrifice you to combat a greed you had no part in feeding. I've never been that strong. If I lose you both, and now, with no way to get you back, what even is the point?"

"I—" Warmth flooded through me, and I resisted the sudden urge to pull him into a hug, to soothe the flood of thoughts that were so clearly ripping and tearing through his peace. "I don't think there's a choice. I appreciate your hesitancy, I really do." It was nice realizing, for the first time, that I was more than just a pawn to the man who donated half of my DNA. "But there are no other options."

"You don't deserve this world, this life." He straightened, darkness clouding his expression before it became inaccessible to me again. "It should be me who carries this burden, not you."

We were silent for a few moments, lost in our own thoughts.

"I can stop you," he said, the words mumbled so softly I barely caught them, as if he was formulating a new plan he'd only just considered. "The oath. I could keep you from going through with it. I could order it."

I snorted. "I'd likely die anyway. And so would you and everyone else."

He startled again, like the words had slipped out without his knowledge. He turned to me, the lines of his face hard. "You could stop, before it gets to be too much—restabilize the barrier between realms, don't dissolve it. It could work, buy us some more time to forge another plan. Or maybe my power. If I find one of the ancients who can somehow transfer it to you—or my lifeforce. Maybe—maybe I can help. Or if I find?—"

He continued rambling, but I stopped listening to his brainstorm. I knew it was futile. We were out of time.

A small tendril of affection unfurled in my chest, releasing some of the unease and fear that I'd been unconsciously bottling for months.

I hadn't been certain that we could trust Lucifer, that his path forward was the right one for the world—both his realm and mine. I'd been expecting something darker, more selfish, in his motivations. A plan to kill all protectors, or to level all of humanity, perhaps.

I saw now that as prickly as he usually was, I was ultimately wrong about him. He was an asshole most of the time, and I didn't agree with most of his methods. But I saw now how much his decisions were ruled by his own loneliness.

This had never been about my power—about him gaining more, just for the sake of it. This wasn't even about revenge, about taking out The Guild .

He wasn't some pure beacon of good, but he wasn't evil either.

He was willing to lay down his life, to give up his power—while The Guild fought only to steal more.

I reached for his hand again, threading his fingers through mine, and squeezed, cutting off his desperate ramblings. I bit back a grin. Perhaps I'd inherited my proclivity for rambling from him.

The edges of the dream world grew blurry, and I wasn't sure how I knew, but I felt somewhere, deep down, that this would be our last time together—that I wouldn't see him again before the ritual.

"Tell me about her," I said, staring out at the rippling stillness of the river.

His hand tensed in mine, and I was certain that the strange magic of this dream world that softened and opened him up had finally dispersed—but then he relaxed.

"She was naively kind," he started, his voice soft, but betraying no emotion, "deeply compassionate. But she was also no pushover. Strong. Wild. Ambitious." I chanced a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eyes and saw that his own were sparkling as he allowed himself, for once, to get lost in the memory of her. "She was stubborn, maybe even more stubborn than me—something I wouldn't have thought possible before knowing her. Intelligent. Beautiful, obviously, but it was so much more than just beauty, in the way I've always understood and used the term. She redefined it for me—filled it with light. The first time I saw her smile, really smile, I forgot how to breathe. Before her I—I wasn't myself.

"It was like meeting her shaped me into existence somehow, lifted me from a cave I'd been locked in for centuries. When she left," he cleared his throat and paused, collecting himself, "I was certain I wouldn't survive it. The only thing that kept me going was the possibility that I'd escape here one day, that I'd find her. That I'd make things right."

There it was—the true reason he wanted the realms dissolved, his innate power returned. So that he could find her, reunite. Try again.

I hoped he would. I hoped, in the depth of my chest, that she was alive, somewhere out there. That when this was all over, they'd be reunited. Find peace at least, even if the love that once existed between them was no more than a memory for her.

A steady release eased over me as his words cloaked me, peculiarly warm and filling me with soft rays of hope.

I wanted the people I loved to find happiness, to find love and joy in the messiness of the world—and regular messiness, not the kind crumbling at the edges from The Guild's greed. I wanted that for them all, even if I couldn't be there to witness it.

He'd stopped talking, I wasn't sure when, and we both simply existed next to each other for a while, watching the serene landscape of The Styx.

It had a way of drawing me in. It always had.

My heartrate picked up, my body chasing an idea, a recognition that my mind was slowly catching up to.

I knew these lines of the shore, the rocky landscape, the taste of the air. This feeling of connectedness, I felt it every time I was near this shore, but it wasn't the only one that made me feel this way.

My dreams with Lucifer—they should have been impossible, he'd said so himself. And every time I had them, we met here.

For weeks—no, months—I'd found myself waking from a restless sleep, floating in the depths of Lake Cadaver.

A shocked chortle ripped from my lips at that name.

Of course.

Of course that was the name .

It was where Darius had pulled Claude, Nash, Nika—where he'd ripped a portal with an ease that he shouldn't have been able to master.

Our time at The Lodge had drawn out the shadow magic he fought so hard to repress for years.

Hell, he'd been drawn to the lake long before he even met me.

I didn't breathe as the pieces slowly knit themselves together.

The edges of the dream fractured and tore.

I was vaguely aware of Lucifer yelling my name, of him reaching for me.

It was a futile, panicked gesture, and too late for me to say goodbye.

I woke up, blinking, my head doused in an icy cool, familiar pool of water.

I fought back the urge to laugh, kicking my way to the surface as the waves kissed my skin.

When I broke it, I took a deep breath, lying back in the lake and floating for a few moments.

Erratic splashing pulled me from my reverie.

"Max!" Wade's arms wrapped around me as he pulled us both to the shore. "I went to check on you in the clinic and you were gone."

I blinked as the ephemeral haze between sleep and waking melted slowly from the edges of my mind. "The clinic?"

He hugged me to him, his warmth seeping against me, my skin humming with the sensation of his nearness.

"Ralph brought you back, you were knocked out." He cursed. "We've been waiting for the sedatives to wear off. They were working through your system quickly, you weren't out that long, considering how many darts those assholes hit you with."

Jarrod.

The town .

Our cabin.

Cy.

The threads of what had happened came flooding back, stealing the breath I'd only just found as they stitched together.

I'd kill him.

Rip his soul from his body and tear it to shreds, if such a thing as a soul even existed—if someone as foul as him could even possess one.

I pushed back from Wade, locking my eyes on his. "Dec, Ro?—"

Had Ralph carried us all?

He clenched his jaw, his fingers digging deeper into me as he held onto me.

I knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth, saw the truth, the fury, etched into the indigo wells of his eyes.

"They took them."

My mind went temporarily blank. Then the silence was eclipsed by a dark, unfamiliar rage that boiled low and steady in my gut.

No.

He couldn't have them. He couldn't take them from me too.

"We shouldn't have left. I'm sorry. It was reckless, and we fucked up, Max." Wade studied me, expression filled with an anger that was a mirror to my own. "But it wasn't for nothing. And now we think we might know where they are. We can get a team together in an hour, maybe two, prepare?—"

I shook my head, not letting him finish.

No.

No planning, no waiting. I was done waiting.

This was a desperate, poorly crafted trap that Jarrod had set for me, but it would work as effectively as he'd hoped. Of course it would.

If Jarrod wanted me to come to him, that's what he would get. And he would watch me tear him—and any followers power-hungry enough to get in my way—to shreds.

No more negotiating, no more pretending this ended in anything but death.

I was going after them. Now.

And after I brought them back, we were going to end this once and for all, before anyone had the chance to stop us again. Before there was a chance for second guessing anything.

No more hesitation. The stakes were too high.

I took one last look at the lake, frustrated with myself that it had taken me so long to realize the truth. It seemed so impossibly obvious now.

A perfect mirror to The River Styx.

The nexus.

Power flooded my veins, my body pulsing with it, now that I was finally letting myself embrace it—giving myself over to it.

I was a vessel, if I allowed myself to be. Nothing more.

The puzzle shifted into place.

Now, it was time to collect the final piece.