Nevermore (The Never Sky #2)

Chapter 42

42

I drifted in and out of consciousness, my mind a hazy blur, reality and dreams blending together in a feverish sort of way. Time lost all meaning as I lay there, sweat-soaked and shivering, the poison coursing through my veins like molten fire.

Faces swam in and out of focus above me. Jasper’s worried, weathered eyes, Harlow’s gentle hands on my brow, Willard’s gruff orders, Archer’s soothing murmurs as he coaxed bitter broths past my cracked lips. They moved around me like ghosts, their voices muffled and distant, as if reaching me from across a great divide.

“… getting worse… we need to find the antidote…” Archer’s words, tight with barely suppressed panic.

“… Thorne would know… time…” Harlow’s reply, heavy with fear and indecision.

“… running out of time…” Jasper’s somber assessment, his hand a comforting weight on my shoulder.

The world tilted and spun, colors bleeding together in a sickening kaleidoscope. I squeezed my eyes shut against the dizzying onslaught, a low moan tearing from my parched throat. Cool hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing over my feverish cheeks. I leaned into the touch, desperate for any shred of comfort, any anchor in the storm. But when I opened my eyes, the hazy outline of Thorne was fading away. My heart had hoped he’d come, but in reality, he couldn’t.

I longed for his strong arms around me, his low voice murmuring reassurances in my ear. For the way he’d sat at my bed to make sure I could sleep beyond the nightmares. I ached for the safety I felt in his presence, the unshakable knowledge that he would protect me.

And Quill, my sweet girl. Memories of her danced through my fevered dreams, her bright laughter as we raced through the rain-soaked meadow, the scrunch of her nose as she battled bath time, the fierce love in her eyes as she declared me to be her chosen family.

I could hardly breathe, each attempt grew more and more difficult as Wisteria tried to end me. Hot tears leaked from beneath my lids, carving tracks down my face.

“You’re going to die, aren’t you, Fingers?” Archie asked, swiping a sweaty lock of hair from my face.

I blinked beyond my tears.

“I hope it doesn’t hurt. Oh gods, what if it hurts?”

I couldn’t tell him how numb I’d become. How the only pain I felt was the crack in my heart. I’d failed.

Had I been able, I might’ve jumped at the crash downstairs. Instead, my eyes rolled back. The breaths were too hard to take.

“Where the fuck is my wife?” I heard the roar, but couldn’t make myself stir. Not as the next crash sounded. Not as someone fell to the floor. Not as strong arms lifted me, and my head lolled back.

“… cloak… godsdammit.”

Words. Focus Paesha.

“… dare die on me.”

I knew that voice. My anchor. My path.

Pain.

I felt pain. Jarring me. Breaking me. Waking me. Killing me.

It surged through me in waves, not just rattling my body, but splintering something deep inside me, cracking open places I didn’t know could hurt. It wasn’t just pain; it was despair, raw and relentless, scraping at my ribs, peeling me apart. Every breath was a battle, ragged, shattered, like trying to gulp down fire and smoke like breathing wasn’t something I deserved to keep doing.

I tried to move, to claw my way back to him, to find his face, even just for a second, to burn it into my memory before everything slipped away. But nothing in me worked anymore. My limbs hung useless, dead weight, hollow. All I had left was the awareness of his heartbeat, pounding fiercely under my ear where he held me close. It was so strong, so alive, and I felt the bitter ache of it.

His arms tightened around me, a silent plea, as if his grip could stitch me back together, as if he could force me to stay with him through sheer desperation. I wanted to whisper his name, to reassure him, but my lips stayed numb. My thoughts turned sluggish, and again I couldn’t tell if Thorne was real or some fevered hallucination born of the ache in my chest. I had called for him so many times in my heart, in the nights when the loneliness had felt too wide, too deep. Maybe this is just my mind’s way of giving me a final kindness before everything went dark?

The air was thick, choking, the sharp tang of incense and perfume mingling with something darker, more sinister. Voices swam at the edges of my awareness. Disembodied sounds, fragments of life happening somewhere far away from me, life I would no longer be a part of. But Thorne kept walking, his breath sharp and broken, his words spilling out like something vital, like every syllable was the only thing keeping me tethered to him. To this world.

“Stay with me, darling. Please.”

I wanted to tell him I was sorry. That I tried. That he had been enough. But no words would come, just the sound of my heartbeat slowing, fading into the heavy silence between us. I was slipping. And no matter how tightly he held me, I couldn’t find my way back. The world flickered in and out like a dying flame. Moments of sharp clarity punctuated the void, but they were fleeting, slipping through my grasp before I could hold onto them. His voice, though? It cut through. Thorne’s voice. The path. Always him.

“Please!” His words were a ragged sob, torn from him in desperation. “You have to help her. You know you do.”

The weight of his plea pressed against my heart, an ache deeper than the pain, deeper than the darkness. A murmur responded to his frantic words, low and measured, but I couldn’t make out the voice. It came from the shadows, indifferent, detached. It didn’t care about me the way Thorne did. Nothing did.

“… deal… will die…” His voice broke on that last word, shattered like glass, raw and jagged, like saying it made it too real. His breath hitched, his chest heaving beneath me as if he was trying to breathe for the both of us.

The other voice cut through the haze, deeper, more commanding now, but still blurred at the edges. “There’s a price. You know that.” The tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t compassionate either. It was just… final.

Thorne’s hand clutched mine, trembling. “I don’t care. I’ll pay it.”

The silence that followed felt too heavy, too long.

“Then she will pay it.” Even as I drifted in the nothingness, I could sense it, the weight of the choice looming over us like a storm ready to break. I wanted to scream, to reach out and stop him. Not this way. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even feel the beat of my own heart anymore.

Something cold brushed against my skin, a faint pressure at my wrist, and then a sharp, icy pain shot through me, pulling me back, dragging me toward the surface. It was like being yanked out of water, gasping for air I couldn’t quite catch. My body seized, and I felt Thorne’s arms tighten around me, felt the tremor of his breath as he held on.

“Open your eyes, Huntress.”

My eyelids fluttered open, but the world remained a blur of shadows and hazy shapes. Thorne’s face swam above me, his features distorted by the shimmering air, but I could still see the raw anguish etched into every line. A figure moved at the edge of my vision, a man that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.

Alastor.

He spoke. The words washed over me, indistinct and garbled. I strained to understand.

Cool fingers brushed my forehead, and with the touch came a searing bolt of agony, arcing through my nerves like lightning. I gasped, my back twisting as the pain consumed me.

“You … agree… four broken souls… to me… cost… live.”

I arched again as the pain hit me once more.

“Come on, Paesha,” Thorne growled, closer. Clearer. “Agree.”

Alastor was closer now. “Use your words.”

With monumental effort, I forced my eyes open, blinking against the wavering shadows that danced at the edges of my vision. “Y—yes.”

That single word was all I could manage before the darkness returned with a vengeance.

“Set her down,” Alastor roared through the haze.

“No!” Thorne growled back.

Cold fire exploded around us, yanking me to full awareness. Blue flames erupting from nowhere, engulfing us in an instant. My body, already a battleground of pain, seized with the shock of it, and I could feel the flames curling around me, sharp and biting like shards of ice, but it wasn’t the kind of heat that would burn skin. It was something far worse. Consuming. Burrowing into every crack and fissure inside me, wrenching the poison from my blood with excruciating precision.

Maybe it wasn’t poison. Maybe it was the venom Alastor had warned Archer about. And this was his final moment. Exacting a cost from Thorne for whatever he’d taken. Maybe I was just his payment for thievery.

Thorne’s grip didn’t falter, even as the fire licked up his arms, wrapping around us both like a living thing. His muscles tightened. Hands trembled. His breath came in ragged bursts, and through the haze, I heard the low, guttural sound of his suffering. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t let go.

The flames danced higher, growing more violent, wrapping us in a vortex of flickering blue light. I tried to scream, but the sound was trapped in my throat, swallowed by the fire’s roar. It twisted and surged, carving through me.

“Thorne,” I tried to say, but my voice was nothing more than a strangled whisper. His name tasted bitter, filled with ash and pain, slipping between my lips as I lay limp in his arms.

“I’m here. Focus on me. Focus on the song.”

The song? Something dark and haunting began to stir through the chaos. He hummed a melody, ancient, full of grief, the notes winding through the crackle of flames like a lullaby for the dying. But this was no lullaby. It was an anthem of loss, pulling me back from the edge.

“Listen,” he commanded. “Focus on the melody. Imagine the dance.”

My body spasmed, the fire surging again, and I whimpered, feeling myself slipping. His arms tightened around me, his voice rising over the roar of the flames.

“Focus” he rasped. “The steps. The dance. I need you to dance with me, Paesha. Do it now.”

His words struck something deep within me, an instinct older than memory. My mind clung to the rhythm of his song, the slow, haunting pulse of it. I could see the movements in my mind, the turn of the body, the sweep of the arm, the weightless glide of feet across stone. The steps, not the pain. The dance, not the fire.

The fire twisted around us, fierce and consuming, but for a heartbeat, I wasn’t burning. I was dancing. Dancing in an ocean of blue flames threatening to drown us.

“That’s it. Keep moving with me.”

His song darkened, the melody twisting into something deeper, a mournful cry that reached into my core. The fire surged again, and I whimpered, my back arching in his arms. His pain became mine. His voice, ragged and broken, became the only thing anchoring me to the world. The fire crawled up his arms, turning the skin raw, blistering, but still he sang, his breath hitching with every note. His body shook, but he kept carrying me, never faltering. And I danced.

Alastor loomed in the distance, watching. His shadowed form barely visible through the flames, as if our torment was nothing but an idle curiosity to him.

“Don’t stop,” he growled, his lips brushing my ear. “Imagine the next step. Another turn. Another breath.”

I tried. Gods, I tried. But I was breaking. Shattering.

“Thorne…” I tried to speak, tried to tell him it was too much, that I couldn’t do it anymore. The words dissolved on my tongue.

His arms tightened again, pulling me closer, and I could feel his pain in the tremor of his breath, the ragged edge to his voice. His song was faltering, breaking with the weight of his own suffering, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.

“The dance, Paesha. Focus on the dance. One more step. One more… breath.”

The fire surged one last time, and the world narrowed to the space between us, the heat of his breath against my skin, the raw agony in his voice. Everything fell silent.

The flames dulled to a distant hum, and for a moment, I felt weightless, suspended between life and death. Between the blue fire and the man who had refused to let me fall.