Chapter 4
SNOW
Auren swiped his scythe through the glowing Soul hovering in the air—a man struck while riding his bike at night.
Auren had felt the call while at the base with Vesperin, the Star beneath his eye warming, his scythe responding with its own glow.
He left after kissing the back of her hand, promising to return.
As the Soul departed to the Stars, Auren paused.
Odd.
Snow fell slowly, dusting the road and his white cloak—too gentle and serene a scene for the sudden, sharp tension cutting through the air.
He cocked his head, studying the lonely highway on the outskirts of Solar City.
Though he had reaped Souls all over Earth, most calls drew him to Solar City, as if some part of his Soul had known his other piece had been here all along.
He had felt the prick of a single death to the unrest of mass casualties, like a low whistling tea kettle. He knew the draw of impending tragedy, the way his muscles would lock up in anticipation of the call of a Soul, like a hound scenting fresh meat.
Auren knew all of those feelings intimately, as a Soul Searcher for centuries.
What he did not know was the strange buzz in his ears, like a thousand bees were swarming him.
Dead, barren tree limbs stretched across the cracked road.
The overturned bicycle lay at the treeline.
The body was still there, but no Soul was left within.
Blood streaked the corpse’s neck, sluggishly oozing from the deep wound.
Seconds ticked by as frigid air gusted, cutting through his cloak. He did not shiver.
The unrest coiled inside him, tightening until he could hardly breathe.
The forest pulsed with shadows, stretching like hands toward him.
Auren ripped out of his trance as the buzzing faded. He slashed his scythe through the air, thinking of Vesperin, and the portal shimmered before him. Auren let his eyes linger on the trees and shadows before stepping through the portal.
Atlas watched the Soul Searcher from the shadows and smiled, knowing Auren Neris felt the call of what was to come.
It thrummed through the corporeal, perceived only by those with atavistic senses:
Utter wrongness.
Though it was winter, the birds had long since gone silent.
Snow crunched beneath the Soul Searcher’s white boots, melting on the blade of his scythe as he stared into the treeline—straight at Atlas.
Auren vanished into a portal cut through the air, and Atlas followed, letting his shadows carry him into the heart of the place where his love lay.
The scenery changed to that with which he was intimately familiar—cold concrete walls, exposed pipes and beams lining the ceilings, a Christmas tree still lit even though it was New Year’s Eve, and a singular bed pushed against a wall.
From the shadows, everything appeared faintly distorted, as though viewed through a veiled curtain.
The bed was empty.
Atlas stilled.
He reached inward for the Nova and found the missing piece. He followed that sense of acute absence until it led him to the one who held the other piece. She was close. Too close to be anywhere but here, yet he saw her nowhere.
Just as Atlas started to let himself be pulled away, the bathroom door opened, revealing clouds of steam and pale flesh wrapped in a fluffy white towel.
The lights in the base were low, and Vesperin stared at the ground, ensuring she didn’t trip over anything. Always so careful and gentle, his love.
At the sight of her, Atlas’s urgency dissolved. She was safe.
Atlas settled in for a long evening of watching, ignoring the tug of other tasks, but she compelled him like no other. She drowned out every whisper of fate.
She smelled of soap and toothpaste and something intrinsically Vesperin, like cherries and fresh blossoms.
Atlas watched as she gathered clothes, glancing toward the couch where the doctor had fallen asleep when he was meant to be keeping watch—she had not been left alone since her escape.
Atlas nearly smiled, if it were not so important for Lucien to sleep.
Sleep was where Atlas’s gift found him: prophetic dreams.
The doctor’s glasses were askew, head at an odd angle on the couch. His breathing pattern was even. Vesperin seemed to recognize the deep sleep Lucien was in, for she let the towel fall.
Atlas stared.
Her nude body was as pale as moonlight. The lines of her ribs showed as she bent to pull up an innocently plain pair of underwear with a small bow in the center, covering her from his gaze.
She turned, and he saw the outline of her small breasts, her pink nipples pebbled with the chill that blanketed the room.
Atlas knew what happened next, had seen it in the threads of fate that morning.
A shimmering line cut through the air near the kitchen. It widened, and the Soul Searcher stepped through, scythe twirling before resting the end on the ground like a staff as the portal sealed shut.
Auren pushed his hood back.
It took him a moment to see her.
When he did, he drew in an audible breath. Vesperin’s hair fell over her shoulders, covering her breasts in sheets of white silk as she turned, one foot raised, poised to step into her leggings.
At once, they both stammered apologies:
"Auren! Sorry. Oh, god. Wait, let me—" Vesperin reached for a blanket draped over the edge of the bed, hugging it to her chest.
"Apologies, Hunter. I did not know you were"—Auren’s gaze flickered once, then snapped to the wall—"otherwise engaged. I will leave." He moved to cut his scythe through the air.
"No." A pink blush colored her cheeks. "I’ll go change. I’ll only be a moment. Don’t leave, Auren—please."
Atlas observed Auren’s restraint with interest. Even as a Celestial, Atlas could not tear his eyes from her. She said the Soul Searcher’s name with such wanton curiosity, half-nude and freshly washed.
The bathroom door shut behind her after she gathered her things. Atlas watched as Auren sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, and groaned.
Auren sat still on the bed as Vesperin curled her legs beneath her, fingers worrying at the blanket in her lap. She was dressed, thank the Celestials. The clean, fresh scent of soap clung to her, testing his control.
They were leaving for Lunar City tomorrow, New Year’s Day. The world outside this haven was awash with fireworks and painted white with snow.
Somehow, the Soul Searcher knew what his Soulbond was going to ask before she spoke.
"I need to go to Kit’s grave—for closure.
I can’t leave here without seeing it one last time, not knowing when I’ll come back, if I’ll ever even be able to come back.
Solar City is my home, and Kit’s grave was the place where it all changed.
When he died—no, when I thought he died, that was the beginning of the end.
I need to go, Auren, and you’re the only one I can trust to take me. "
Out of all the responses Auren could give, he chose one:
"Why?"
It seemed to shock her.
"Because… you respect me. That’s not to say the others don’t.
They do, in their own ways. I know Lucien respects me, but he wants to keep me safe more than he wants me to be free.
Cyrus confuses me," she said slowly. "He’s wild, unpredictable. I can’t trust him to let me act on my own. And Rhyden is—"
She promptly closed her mouth, as if she had nearly said too much.
Auren had noticed the tension between them.
He waited patiently, refusing to press her.
She thought him to be respectable, gentle.
He was, but there was a part of him that wanted to do as the others did.
Hide her away here, let her never see the light, and get to know her in this strange haven they had carved from concrete and steel.
However, Auren would not. Patience and gentleness would be his path to her.
"Rhyden is dangerous," Vesperin finished quietly. "So I’m asking you, Auren. Please, take me."
The others would have his head for this. But he wanted her to have her desires, wanted to be the one to grant them to her, so this distance between them—that grew shorter with every day—might finally be crossed. So that they might finally connect in the way that they were meant to.
Auren had never loved another, none but her. He’d never lain with another, never known another’s flesh the way he dreamed of knowing hers.
If he was to have her fully, he would be patient and kind and respect her.
Because respect was the basis of love.
Their voices stayed low, as Lucien still slept on the couch.
"I’ll give you anything, Auren."
"Anything?" She stiffened, and he murmured to her gently, "I won’t take from you. The others take enough. I only ask you allow me to kiss your cheek, nothing more. I want—" The white leather of his gloves groaned as he made a fist. "Please, allow me this?"
It was a small thing to ask.
She shifted closer, her knee brushing his thigh. Her hand raised, brushing her curtain of white hair away from her face—he remembered vividly the way the strands had shrouded her breasts from him. Auren’s throat tightened.
"You can kiss me anytime you want. You don’t have to ask, Auren."
He removed his right glove and laid it on his lap, letting his bare fingers brush over the shape of her face. When his lips brushed her cheek, she made a tiny sound, so he did it again, loving the way her skin was so warm beneath his lips, how the scent of her was so overwhelming this close.
Auren pulled away. "I will take you, Vesperin. You have learned that some things are better not done alone. I am proud you have asked me this. Remember my vow to you, my scythe answers your call, as do I."
Vesperin dressed warmly after Auren told her to.
When she stood before him, hands clad in the incubus’s gifted mittens, the hem of a too-large sweater poking from beneath a borrowed jacket, she tipped her chin up. "I’m ready. Let’s go."