18. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
The Price of Secrets
Sundar
The text before me—part of Marcus Blackhorn’s collection from the estate we appraised weeks ago—swims with accusations disguised as facts. When I first recognized the sketches of Aubrey’s bracelet in the minotaur scholar’s notes, I thought perhaps I was mistaken. But three sleepless nights of research have only confirmed my fears. Each carefully penned word feels like another judgment:
“The Bracelet of the Devoted activates only in the presence of true love, creating an unbreakable shield of protection around its bearer and their mate. When genuine soul-deep connection exists, the enchantment manifests as a visible golden aura, binding the lovers in both magic and devotion…”
Marcus’s research is meticulous, spanning centuries of documented cases. The bracelet has never failed to activate when true love exists. Never.
Yet here it sits on my desk, as dormant as the day Aubrey first brought it to me, despite weeks of passion and tenderness between us. Despite the way my heart races when she smiles. Despite how my very soul seems to recognize hers.
I slam the book shut. The office feels suffocating. Books and scrolls litter every surface, each one offering the same damning evidence: if our love was true enough, the bracelet would have activated by now.
“Blessed gods,” I mutter, pressing my palms against my eyes. When did I become this creature, obsessing over magical validation like some lovesick adolescent? I am centuries old. I have guarded temples, fought wars, survived the fall of empires. Yet here I sit, letting an enchanted piece of jewelry make me question the most real thing I’ve ever felt.
Worse, I’ve let my fears poison what Aubrey and I have built. The hurt in her eyes this morning when I dismissed her concerns… I’ve been so focused on protecting myself from potential rejection that I’ve created exactly the distance I feared finding.
Speaking of Aubrey…
I check my phone. Her lunch break ended forty-five minutes ago. She always sends a quick text if she’s running late. Today: nothing.
Something primal stirs in my gut—the same instinct that kept me alive through centuries of temple raids and betrayals. I try to dismiss it as overprotective paranoia. She’s probably just upset with me—rightfully so—and taking extra time to clear her head.
But the silence feels wrong. Everything about today feels wrong.
I move through the shop with predatory grace, my muscles coiled tight as I approach the back door. The alley beyond is eerily quiet. No traffic sounds from the main street. No bustling from the nearby restaurants. Just… silence.
Then I catch it—a scent that makes every scale on my body rise in alarm. Sweet and cloying, like rotted honey, with an undertone that speaks of ancient venom and malice. A scent I would know anywhere.
Nalini’s knockout mist.
My cobra hood flares fully as I taste the air with a forked tongue. There—beneath the sickly sweet venom, I catch traces of Aubrey’s familiar perfume.
The combination ignites something dark and savage in my chest. Nalini has always been precise with her venom, able to exhale it into an invisible mist that leaves her victims helpless and unconscious within seconds.
And she’s used it on Aubrey.
A sound escapes me—something between a hiss and a roar that would have sent temple raiders running for cover in centuries past. My tail moves with deadly purpose as I surge back into the shop.
The vault door barely registers as I enter my security code, rage making every movement precise and controlled. Beyond shelves of cursed objects and dangerous relics, I find what I need: a small box of aged teak, its surface worn smooth by centuries of handling.
Inside lies the Wayfinder Stone—an artifact I’ve kept hidden since my days as a temple guardian, knowing its ability to locate an object’s true owner could be catastrophic in the wrong hands.
I press Aubrey’s bracelet against the stone’s weathered surface. It warms instantly, pulsing with a deep emerald light that points northeast. My heart constricts—northeast covers miles of city sprawl, abandoned warehouses, and gods know what else. Nalini could have taken her anywhere in that direction, and every second I waste could be—
No. I can’t let my mind go there. But I know what Nalini is capable of. I’ve seen her venom work, seen how it can stop a heart if the dose is too strong. And Aubrey is so terribly, beautifully human. So fragile compared to what Nalini and I are.
I leave the shop in a hurry. The stone thrums against my chest where I’ve secured it, its directional pulse my only guide. I move through the streets at my full speed, my serpentine form allowing me to slip through shadows and narrow passages that would stop others. Any humans who glimpse me will see nothing but a dark blur. Let them wonder. Let them gossip about the monster racing through their city. None of it matters except finding her.
But with each street I cross, each minute that passes, the possibilities torment me. How long was Aubrey unconscious before I noticed? How long has Nalini had her? The venom’s effects on humans aren’t always predictable—some recover in hours, others never wake up at all.
And that’s assuming Nalini wants her alive.
I’ve let my fears of inadequacy create exactly the opening Nalini would exploit. She always did know how to use my doubts against me.
But she’s made one critical mistake.
She thinks she’s dealing with the same naga she knew long ago—the one bound by tradition and propriety. The one who let her walk away because ancient customs demanded it.
That naga died the moment I met Aubrey.
The Wayfinder Stone’s pulse grows stronger as I approach the industrial district, where abandoned factories loom like ancient temples against the afternoon sky. My tongue flicks out constantly, tasting the air for any trace of Nalini’s venom or Aubrey’s scent. The stone draws me toward a sprawling complex of weathered brick buildings, their windows either broken or boarded over.
This far from the city center, the silence feels deliberate. No birds. No distant traffic. Even the wind seems to die at the property line. Nalini always did have a gift for warding magic—for keeping prying eyes away from her domains.
A flash of memory hits me: Aubrey just yesterday, perched on my counter and swinging her legs as she teased me about being too serious. “You know that frowny thing you do with your face? It’s kind of hot, but maybe we could try smiling once a decade?” The way she laughed when my tail caught her waist, pulling her close…
I should have told her then. About the bracelet. About my fears. About everything.
I was a fool to take her for granted, if even for a moment.
The stone’s pulse leads me to a heavy metal door, its surface marked with rust and old graffiti. Beyond it, I sense the hollow vastness of an underground loading dock—the perfect lair for a naga who prefers to keep her secrets buried deep.
My fangs descend fully as I approach. If Nalini has harmed one hair on Aubrey’s head, there won’t be enough pieces left of her to fill a matchbox. The thought should disturb me—this level of violence, this consuming rage. But all I can think about is Aubrey’s smile, her warmth, how she makes everything in my centuries-old existence feel new again.
I place my hand on the door, feeling the subtle vibration of protection spells. Nalini expects me, then. Good. Let her sense my approach. Let her taste my fury in the air.
I am done being careful. Done being proper. Done letting ancient magic and older fears dictate what I can and cannot have.