24. Chapter 24
24
Chapter 24
Bronwen
The scream that ripped through my throat startled me awake, a cold sweat clinging to my skin. I clutched the blankets tightly, my chest heaving as I tried to shake the remnants of the nightmare.
Disappointment flooded me. The night before last, for the first time in weeks, I had slept soundly. No nightmare. No new victim that I had to live through. I didn’t know why, but the night full of sleep felt like a gift. Now, it was gone, and the return of another nightmare felt like a cruel reminder of my failures.
I pushed the covers back and swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cold wooden floor biting against my feet. The room was dim, the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. My mirror caught my eye, its surface reflecting the disheveled mess I had become.
With a sigh, I stood and made my way to the washbasin. I splashed my face and began the familiar routine of preparing myself for the day.
I left my room and padded softly down the hall. The scent of wood smoke greeted me, leading me to our small sitting room rather than the kitchen. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, its golden light dancing across the stone walls.
My steps faltered as I saw them—Papa and Mama sitting close together on the worn loveseat by the fire. His arm was draped protectively over her shoulders, and her head rested against his chest. They were speaking in low voices, their words indistinct but filled with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
Mama’s laughter, soft and melodic, broke through the quiet. Papa leaned down to press a kiss to her temple, his expression uncharacteristically gentle. It was a rare sight—one that I cherished even as it left me feeling like an intruder.
I hovered in the doorway, uncertain whether to interrupt. My parents had always been a team, their love a constant in our lives. But seeing it so openly displayed, in the quiet intimacy of the morning, was something else entirely.
Mama noticed me first, her gaze lifting to meet mine. Her smile widened, warm and inviting. “Good morning, Winnie. Did you sleep well?”
“Good morning,” I replied, stepping into the room. “Well enough.”
Papa’s eyes shifted to me, his usual sternness softened by the glow of the firelight. “Come, sit with us,” he said, patting the space next to him.
I hesitated for a moment before crossing the room and sinking into the space next to him. Papa wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into his chest. I stiffened briefly, but the familiar scents of leather and pine washed over me, soothing the tension in my shoulders. With a quiet sigh, I let myself lean into his warmth, my hand unconsciously curling against his chest as the fire’s glow danced across the room.
The next few hours passed uneventfully, but the weight of anticipation hung heavy in my chest. As the afternoon stretched on, I grabbed my cloak and headed outside. The air was brisk, carrying the sharp chill of the season. As I made my way to our spot, the sun’s weak rays pierced through the sparse canopy, warming my skin just enough to stave off the cold.
He was already there, leaning casually against a tree at the edge of the clearing, his dark coat blending into the shadows. The sunlight glinted off his hair, and his expression was somewhere between smug and amused as I approached.
“You’re late,” he said, straightening as I stepped closer. His voice carried a lightness, but there was an edge to it—as if he’d been waiting longer than he wanted to admit.
“Did you bring the journal?”
He smirked, holding it up. “I did.”
I rolled my eyes, adjusting the cloak tighter around me. “You could’ve picked somewhere warmer for us to meet.”
“I’m not the one who needs to worry about the cold,” he replied, his tone teasing. He turned the journal over in his hands, his fingers brushing the aged leather. “Shall we?”
With a nod, I settled on a fallen log near the pond. August crouched beside me, his presence a reminder of the strange partnership we’d formed, and handed me the journal. As I opened it, the faint scent of aged leather and ink drifted up, mingling with the crisp air.
“Have you looked at it already?” I asked, glancing at him .
“Of course,” he replied, his tone casual. “But it’s not exactly a quick read.”
“What does it say?” I asked as my fingers brushed over the markings.
“It’s a mix of old dialects, some magical script, and a few things even I don’t recognize. But this—” he pointed to a passage near the center of the page. His fingers grazed mine causing me to jerk my hand away. “—mentions Carrow.”
I followed his finger, my heart skipping at the name. “Can you translate it?”
“Not all of it,” he said, his brow furrowing. “But enough to know it’s important.”
He nodded towards the journal. “This mentions a curse.”
“A curse? I thought he wanted to be immortal?”
“He did. He was at one point. He was fae, which are immortal beings. He upset the wrong witch, and they cursed him with a slow, painful death. A very old fae to now become mortal being forced to feel what it was like to be hundreds of years old until his body eventually gave in.
“He traveled to Joveryn and found a witch to find a way to reverse what was done to him. And trying to reverse a curse, well, it always has its consequences.”
The word “curse” felt like a blow, reverberating through my mind. A curse. My fingers brushed over the faded ink on the page, the spidery script mocking me with its incomprehensibility. This journal was supposed to hold answers, not more riddles. I clenched my fists, the rough edges of the leather digging into my palms as a wave of frustration surged through me.
“How does this help us?” I snapped. “It’s all just . . . fragments. Words that don’t mean anything without the full context. We need something solid, something we can use.”
August’s gaze flicked to me. “Patience, Winnie,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “The answers are here. You just have to be willing to dig for them.”
I glanced at him, suspicion flickering in my chest. “Why are you helping me?”
He smirked, his gaze meeting mine. “Why do you want to kill him?”
My attention was drawn back to the journal. “I have my reasons.”
“And when you decide to share your reasons with me, maybe I will share mine.”
“This doesn’t help me find him.”
“We have an entire journal to search through. Something is bound to give us a hint eventually.”
I let out a breath as I scanned the area. My eyes came to a halt at the blood-soaked ground on the other end of the clearing. The rain had washed away most of the blood, but a few spots remained.
A flicker of satisfaction surged through me, quickly followed by guilt. The soldiers’ deaths had been necessary— hadn’t they ? But the memory of their faces, their screams, intruded like an unwelcome guest. What kind of person felt triumph in that?
August shifted beside me, his gaze following mine. “How does it make you feel, Winnie? Knowing you defeated three warriors.”
I shot him a look, heat rising in my chest. “I don’t owe you an answer.”
His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice a low murmur. “No, but it doesn’t take away my curiosity. ”
His breath raised the hairs on my neck, sending a small flutter through my belly that I desperately tried to ignore. The conflicting sensations of fear and fascination tangled within me, leaving me unnerved. Why was he beginning to have this effect on me? I turned to him, my eyes shifting for a second to his lips reminding me of the feeling of them on mine only days ago. I wanted to say something to ease the tension, but the words caught in my throat. His deep brown eyes, which usually felt like two endless pools of darkness peering into my soul, now shimmered with an otherworldly warmth. The sunlight revealed caramel hues streaked with flecks of gold that seemed to dance and swirl, mesmerizing me despite my best efforts to look away.
“Tell me, Winnie,” he paused for a moment, his gaze lowering, “Did you dream about me last night?”
That was enough to have me almost fall off the log as I tried to put some distance between us.
“Gods, August, are you that vain? I do not dream about you,” I snapped, though the heat rising to my cheeks betrayed the unease his question sparked.
He titled his head and smiled. “Not like that . Though I don’t think Lowen would satisfy you anymore if you ever dreamt of me.”
Him bringing up Lowen caught me off guard. Was he . . . jealous ?
“Then what did you mean?” I asked.
“I meant the nightmares.”
I crossed my arms. Why did he have to phrase it like that, as if he knew exactly how to get under my skin? “Of course I did.”
“And the night before? ”
“No,” I admitted reluctantly. “Though I had just assumed I’d gone through all of your killings.”
It was a refreshing change to go from a few hours of sleep to uninterrupted relaxation. Though the peace caused me to sleep far later in the day than I ever had. I may have slept through the entire day if it wasn’t for Papa slinging my door open and practically flipping me out of the bed to spar with him.
“It’s been forty-two days. You are far from the amount that I’ve killed.”
“Then why did it skip a night?”
“I have a theory.”
I waited for an answer. Had he found a loophole? A way to get me out of this torture?
“I fed on you, and we both got a good night’s sleep for the first time in weeks.” His words hung in the air like a challenge. My breath hitched as I processed the implication, my mind reeling with the mixture of anger and confusion.
Him feeding on me brought more than I could handle with it. It made me lose control, something I had to have. Especially around him.
But the thought of not having to die every time I closed my eyes? Tempting.
He smiled as he leaned a little closer to me, as if he could hear the conflicting thoughts I was having. He brought his hand up and toyed with the strings that kept my cloak wrapped tightly around my neck, his fingers grazing the soft fabric in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.
“N—no.” I pushed his hand away, my voice faltering as I fought to regain control over my racing thoughts.
“Winnie, I—” His eyes darted sharply to the woods, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant.
Before I could react, he wrapped his arm around me, and the world blurred as he moved us swiftly into the shadows of the woods. In a single motion, he had me pinned against a tree, his hand pressed firmly over my mouth. The solid pressure of his body against mine left no room for escape, and my heart pounded in my chest.
“Someone is coming,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but edged with urgency.
His eyes held mine for a moment, warning me to stay silent. The weight of his hand over my mouth, combined with the intensity of his gaze, sent a mixture of irritation and fleeting fear coursing through me. I grabbed his arm, my nails biting into his skin, and he seemed to understand the unspoken message. Slowly, he lowered his hand, though his body remained pressed against mine.
The voices grew louder, drifting through the trees with a commanding edge. August’s gaze was locked intently on the direction of the voices, his body tense and unmoving. My curiosity surged, and I wriggled free from his grip, and turned to follow his line of sight.
“I know I heard someone,” a gruff, authoritative voice muttered, the sound sending a jolt through me. It was deep and laced with suspicion, each word deliberate as though the speaker was accustomed to issuing commands.
A second voice responded, softer but no less resolute. Their footsteps crunched through the underbrush, growing louder with each passing second. My pulse quickened as I strained to make out their silhouettes.
Finally, a figure emerged through the haze of trees, a Legion soldier with a graying beard and a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His eyes scanned the area, narrowed in focus. Another man stepped forward behind him, his broader frame partially obscured by the shadows. The air left my lungs in a rush as recognition hit me like a blow.
Adar.
My brother’s familiar features came into view, his sharp jawline and bright green eyes hardened in a way that made my stomach twist. His presence was a jarring collision of relief and dread.
I instinctively stepped back, colliding with August, who stood unwavering behind me. His body tensed, a protective edge radiating from him that both annoyed and unsettled me. My mind raced, grappling with the shock of seeing Adar here, of all places, and the consequences that might follow.
August’s gaze flickered to mine briefly, his eyes calculating. He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispered, “Stay quiet, Winnie.”
The older man crouched at the blood-stained ground, his knees creaking audibly as he leaned closer. His gnarled hands hovered over the crimson stains, fingertips brushing the dirt as if searching for some hidden truth. A string of curses escaped his lips, low and bitter, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. His face twisted in frustration, the lines etched deeply into his weathered skin revealing a lifetime of duty and suspicion.
Adar’s head turned in my direction, his sharp eyes scanning the treeline with an intensity that made my breath catch. August tucked us further behind the tree as I struggled to stay silent. The cold air seemed to cling to my skin, every inhale sharp and shallow as if even my breathing might give me away.
I wanted to move, to run, to do something—but my body refused to obey. My heart slammed against my ribs, its rhythm loud enough that I was sure Adar could hear it. The underbrush crunched beneath his boots as he stepped closer, the sound like thunder in the oppressive quiet of the clearing.
Adar’s gaze swept past me, lingering for a heartbeat too long before moving on. I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms to keep my focus. But the weight of his presence was suffocating, his every movement a reminder of how close I was to being discovered.
I turned my head just enough to catch August’s expression. His body was taut, like a coiled spring ready to snap. His gaze flicked to me briefly, his eyes hard, before returning to the clearing.
The sharp snap of a twig broke my thoughts, and my eyes shot back to Adar. He crouched low, inspecting the bloodstains on the ground with a furrowed brow.
A wave of guilt crashed over me, threatening to drown out the fear. I wanted to call out to him, to explain everything, but the weight of my secrets pressed down on me, locking the words in my throat. If he knew—if he found me here—it would all unravel.
Adar straightened, his gaze drifting once more toward the trees. His jaw tightened as he took a cautious step forward. My knees threatened to buckle as I fought the urge to bolt. The shadows shielded us for now, but the distance between us felt impossibly small.
I swallowed hard, turning back to August. My voice was barely a whisper, trembling with urgency. “Get me out of here.”
Without a remark, a playful smile, or any type of torture he loved to give, he nodded and scooped me up.