Chapter 8 #2
Daciana wraps the sheet tighter around herself, and the act cuts through me. She’s trying to shield herself. From me.
I cross to her closet before I can think better of it, and I pull out a simple dress. The fabric is soft between my fingers as I bring it to her. “Here.”
Daciana stares at the dress, then at me. There’s a flicker in her expression: one of surprise, maybe, or uncertainty. It’s such a small thing, bringing her clothes, but it feels enormous. Intimate in a way that has nothing to do with what happened between us in this bed.
I want to care for her. I want to be the one who thinks of these small comforts.
“I need privacy,” Daciana says quietly.
“Of course.” I head back to the door, and it takes everything in me to actually step through it.
I stand in the hallway, counting my breaths. Inside, I hear the rustle of fabric, soft footsteps. When Daciana calls me back in, she’s dressed, her hair still loose but her posture more composed. She is shaken, though. I see it in the way she clasps her hands together to stop them from trembling.
Daciana moves to the small table by the window and sits. I remain standing, tension coiling in my shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Daciana says.
I’m taken aback. “What?”
“Last night. It shouldn’t have happened.” She won’t look at me. “I didn’t mean to initiate anything. I know I crossed a line.”
“Stop.” The command comes out sharper than I mean it to, and she flinches. I soften my tone. “You didn’t cross a line, Daciana. I was right there with you. I wanted…” I break off, jaw tight. “Don’t apologize for that.”
Daciana presses her lips together and looks away, toward the window where dawn is just beginning to break. “You have meetings with the candidates to be your mate today.”
“I’m not going to choose any of them.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
“Why aren’t you asking what’s really on your mind?” I finally say.
Daciana glances at me, and I see the fear there. The questions she’s afraid to voice.
“How long have you been having those dreams?” I ask softly.
Her breath catches. “What do you mean?”
“The nightmares. The dreams about Elara. How long?”
Daciana is quiet for so long, I think she won’t answer. Then: “Since the day I first saw you.”
Everything in me goes cold and hot at once.
“I usually wake up,” Daciana continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I took sleeping herbs last night. I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t…” She stops, swallowing hard. “I saw you in it. You were there, trying to reach her.”
“What did you see?” The question comes out rough, but I need to know.
As she begins describing the vivid details of the different dreams, details even I didn’t know, breathing becomes difficult. Every word is a knife sliding between my ribs.
When Daciana finishes, she looks at me directly. “You’re not surprised, are you? Who is Elara? Why is she in my dreams?”
“Have you had nightmares like this before you met me?”
Daciana hesitates, then nods slowly. “In one, my skin was darker. Tan. I had red hair. But it’s the same. I’m running, and I’m pregnant, and then I die.” Her hands twist in her lap. “I don’t understand what’s happening. What do you have to do with this?”
I take a step toward her, but she stands abruptly and puts the chair between us.
“Something is going on,” she says, her voice wavering. “And I need you to be honest with me. Please.”
The plea in that last word nearly undoes me. I sigh, suddenly feeling the weight of centuries. “The women you’ve been seeing in those dreams—they’re you.”
Daciana scoffs. “I’ve never been pregnant. And I know what I look like.”
“You’re seeing glimpses of your past lives.”
She stares at me, and the color drains completely from her face. “What?”
“Past lives. You’ve lived before, Daciana. Multiple times. And each time—”
“You’re crazy.” She backs away another step, disbelief hardening into something colder. “Past lives? You think I’m gonna buy that?”
“Daciana—”
“I knew something was off about all this.” Her voice rises, edged with hysteria. “You trying to keep me by your side. There’s only one reason you would want to get close to me, and that’s Astra. This is about the Kingdom, isn’t it? About securing your claim?”
“No. That’s not—”
“I’m done.” Daciana moves toward the door, her whole body rigid. “I’m leaving. I don’t want any part of this.”
Panic surges. I watch her slipping away, see the walls slamming down between us. Not again. Not like this.
“Wait.” I move to block her path, desperation making my movements sharp. “Just wait. Please.”
“Move, Kieran.”
I make a split-second decision. The worst decision. The only decision.
I release the magic suppressing our bond.
The effect is immediate and devastating. Daciana’s eyes widen, her hand flying to her chest as if she’s been struck. She staggers backward, catching herself against the wall.
“What—” Daciana gasps, her knees buckling. “What have you done to me?”
“Nothing.” The word comes out ragged. “We’re fated mates, Daciana.”
She stares at me, shock written across every feature. Then, denial floods in. “No.” She shakes her head violently. “No. We can’t be fated mates. I would have felt it. I would have…” Another wave hits her, and she chokes on a sob. “You’ve done something to me. What did you—”
“The bond is mature,” I explain, watching her suffer and hating myself for it. “Fully formed. Our souls are entwined; that’s why it’s hitting you so hard.”
When she looks up, her eyes are swimming with tears. “What have you done?”
“I’ve been suppressing the fated mate bond.” The confession tastes like ash. “Since the moment I first saw you. Months ago. That’s why you felt nothing when we met.”
Daciana gasps again as yet another wave hits her. “Why?” The question is bitter, anguished. “Is it because you didn’t want to be with me?”
“No.” The word rips out of me. “Daciana, let me help you—”
“No!” Daciana’s voice is strained, barely controlled. “You’ve helped enough!”
“I want you.” The confession tears free, desperate and raw. “I want you more than you could ever understand. But being with me…” My voice fractures. “Being with me has been a death sentence for you.”
Daciana is crying now, silent tears streaming down her face as the bond inundates her. And I stand here, useless, watching her suffer because of choices I made. Choices meant to protect her that have only caused more pain.
“Every lifetime,” I continue, my voice hollow, “you die. The same way. And I’m never fast enough to save you.”
Daciana sinks to the floor, her entire body shuddering. The bond is battering her, years of suppressed connection flooding through all at once, and I curse myself for doing this to her. But she needed to understand. She needed to know.
“How many?” Daciana whispers.
“I’ve lost count.”
Daciana looks up at me now, and the devastation in her eyes nearly brings me to my knees.
I move before I can think, crossing the space between us and lifting her into my arms. She’s trembling so hard, I feel it in my bones.
I set her in the chair and drop myself down in front of her, my hands gripping the armrests on either side of her body. Not touching. Not daring to touch when she’s looking at me like I’ve shattered her world.
“I was trying to keep you safe, Daciana.” I look her in the eyes as I speak. “In every lifetime, I have met you, fallen for you, built a life with you, and then lost you. No matter what I’ve done, no matter how hard I’ve tried, I have never been able to save you or our child.”
The words scrape my throat raw. I lower my head to the edge of her knees, and my eyes burn with unshed tears. I blink hard against the pressure building behind them.
“I couldn’t do it anymore,” I whisper against the fabric of her dress. “Watching you die over and over again. Being born with the memories of us. Every moment we shared. Every time I held you while you died.” My voice cracks. “I thought if I stayed away from you in this life, you would survive.”
Silence. Just Daciana’s ragged breathing and the hammering of my own heart.
Then, her voice, so small it nearly destroys me: “So, all this time, I’ve been a substitute for your first love.”
My head snaps up. “No!”
She flinches at my vehemence, and I gentle my tone even as panic claws at me.
“No, Daciana. You are a different person every time. Different name, different face, different life. I am the only one who stays the same. The only one cursed to remember.”
“Last night…” Her voice shakes. “Who did you sleep with? Elara or me?”
The question cuts straight through me.
“You.” I reach up, cupping her face in my hands before I can stop myself. Her skin is so soft, so warm. “You, Daciana. When I looked at you, when I touched you—it was you. Only you.”
She stares at me, searching my face for lies. I let her look. Let her see everything I feel, written across my features.
“I need time,” she finally whispers. “To understand. To figure this out.”
“You can take all the time you need.” The words hurt to say, but I mean them. “But if you think you’re pregnant, you have to tell me.”
Her hand flies to her stomach protectively, instinctively. “Why?”
“If you’re pregnant, we have four months.” I swallow hard, pushing myself to continue. “In each life, you’ve died in your fourth month of pregnancy. The pattern never varies.”
She goes pale, her fingers splaying across her stomach now. “Why is this happening? Why are we tied to each other like this?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’m looking into it. I think…” I hesitate, then push ahead. “I think we were cursed.”
“Cursed?”
“It’s complicated, and I’ve only just found out myself. I’m still gathering information.” I keep my voice steady, trying to anchor her when everything is falling apart. “The gypsy witches—I’ve sent for them. They may have answers.”
She wraps her arms around her stomach, curling inward. The gesture guts me.
“What does this mean for us?” Her hand suddenly goes to her neck, fingers pressing against the skin there. “There’s no mating mark. But you said the bond was mature.”
“Even without the mating mark, we’re as good as mated since we’ve marked each other so many times across lifetimes.” I rush the words out. “However, the mark is important. And I will not give it to you.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.
“Daciana, I just want you to have one life in which you’re happy. That’s all I want.” My throat tightens, but I keep going. “I’m willing to watch your happiness from a distance. But I won’t”—I pause—“I won’t watch you die again.”
“I need time,” she repeats, her voice stronger now but still brittle.
“I understand.”
“I will not be acting as your liaison for a while.” She won’t meet my eyes. “I need space from you.”
Each word is a blade to my heart, but I nod. “Of course.”
I make myself get to my feet. Make my hands release the armrests. Make my legs carry me toward the door. Even though everything in me is screaming to stay, to hold her, never to let go.
My hand closes around the door handle.
“Kieran.”
I spin around, hope flaring so sharp that it hurts.
But she doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at me with those devastated eyes, and I realize she has said my name like a goodbye.
I step into the hallway and pull the door shut behind me.
The ragged sob that tears from her throat reaches me even through the wood, and something inside me shatters. I turn and press my palm flat against the closed door, my forehead resting on its cool surface.
She’s crying because of me. Breaking because of choices I made.
I’ve been trying to save her for lifetimes, yet all I’ve done is cause her pain.
My hand falls away from the door, and I walk down the hallway with the sound of her weeping following me like a curse.