Chapter 21
Sable
There’s been a shift.
It’s hard to pinpoint how exactly, or what caused it, but I think it has something to do with acceptance.
I’ve got that I’m dead. I know that I’m stuck here—despite not wanting to be. But mainly, it’s Lynx. I realize now I don’t hate him.
I know what real hatred feels like, and that’s not what I feel when I think about him anymore. Rage? Sure. Annoyance? Irritation? Loathing? Absolutely.
Longing?
I suck in a sharp breath, falling back on my senses and using blind intuition to guide me through the forest.
The smell of petrichor fills my lungs with the promise of rain, while the last vestiges of vermillion light stream through the canopy overhead, violet and indigo painting the sky between the gaps in the leaves.
I sense Lynx before I see him. It’s like gossamer slowly drifting over my skin, another layer of warmth against the elements.
My steps come to a halt beside a fallen tree.
Somehow, I know he senses me too. Seeing him like this, unguarded, partially distracted, focused on something other than anger, he looks human—like the type of person who would mindlessly tuck me against his side just to feel me, who’d laugh as we sit on the balcony, sipping our beers, and cheat at Monopoly.
He’s not a demon. Not a murderer. Not an old creature lost in a world that’s moved on without him.
He’s just Lynx.
But he doesn’t look up from the bush he’s wading through or do anything to acknowledge my existence. For reasons I don’t want to give light to, it hurts.
It’s like I’m standing beside Ella and the world seems to notice everyone but me again, as if I’m inconsequential or an unwanted side effect that people close their eyes and wish away.
That sensation goes away as quickly as it came.
He stops and looks up at me, and I remember what it is to feel seen, not looked through or briefly regarded, but noticed from the soles of my feet to the strands of hair that stick up at the top of my head.
It’s so simple—a small act, really—yet the frozen wall inside me defrosts as he stands there, patiently waiting for me to reach his side, face unreadable. Something uncomfortable swoops in my stomach that feels dangerously like moths pathetically fluttering about at something so mundane.
My jaw tightens. He doesn’t feel the same about me. He’s a demon for Christ’s sake. They don’t do flowers or cuddling or chaste kisses throughout the day.
I’ve lived my entire life without it. Survived a childhood not knowing what love really felt like. I should be fine going the rest of eternity the same way.
Neither of us say anything when we fall into step beside each other, slowly walking through the forest with only the dim sunlight to guide our way. In the silence, I feel content. It’s companionable. Two doomed creatures stuck in prison who’ve finally found ground we can both stand on.
It’s shaky, but the foundations are there. If we’re going to be stuck together, it’s a good place to start.
Dusk is leeching the color from the bushes and the flowers dotted around, while the vines sway in the soft breeze that promises another cold night I’ll feel in my bones. But right now, it’s not so cold. There’s warmth where he is.
He carries a shoulder sack he’s made out of spare material that I haven’t noticed before, and he offers no explanation for it, searching the ground and the trees for something I can’t make out. A way to end his curse maybe? Is this how he’s been spending his days?
A heavy lump forms in my throat. “What are you looking for?”
“Evidence.”
“Do me the courtesy of answering in full sentences the way I did for you,” I snap, but it lacks the usual bite. I’m getting tired of everything.
Huffing, he slows to shift a bush to the side and quickly checks under it. “Have you ever heard of a Tor’Oth?”
“Is that one of the orc things from Lord of the Rings?”
“Lord of the what? No, it’s a type of demon.”
Not an orc, then.
“What about it?” Worry lines my forehead. “Is one here?” My eyes dart between the surrounding trees, not knowing what I’m meant to be looking for. “I’m barely dealing with you and a hellhound. I don’t have the patience for another one of your kind.”
“I was cursed to spend an eternity rotting in Hell. You pulled me out of my prison. The ruler of Hell should have sent a Tor’Oth to search for me and drag me back.”
“Are they… like you?” Either way, I’d spend the rest of my life happy to never see anything to do with Hell again.
“Far worse.” He shakes his head, lips thinning. “If they kill you, the next time you wake up, you’ll wish you never did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Would I… would I be taken to the afterlife then?
Would Ella be there?
“It won’t matter how good, or pure, or godly you are. You’ll know what Hell truly feels like.”
An ominous shiver rolls down my spine, and for a second, I hear that familiar tick, tick, tick. “I already know what that feels like.”
“Then pray you never feel it again,” he says with enough vindication to make me feel sick. “I’ve been checking the property every day for signs of them. Sometimes they leave a scent behind, or black char that boils into bloodred. I’ve seen nothing yet.”
This sounds infinitely worse than a hellhound. “What do we do if we see it?”
“Run.”
Great. More fucking cardio.
Lynx slows to a stop, crouching beside a tree to shift a pile of leaves away.
I move to get a better view of what he’s doing.
It’s hard to make out details given the rapidly fading light, but there’s no mistaking the severed forearm that comes into view and the ouroboros tattooed to the spot beneath the inner elbow.
Without missing a beat, he places my limb into his makeshift bag and keeps walking, searching the surroundings again.
I feel too heavy to follow. Stuck in place as if the earth has swallowed me and left me to stare at the sack that sags far too low to be weighed down by just part of a limb.
Lynx is out here to piece me back together and… protect us.
My throat tightens until it becomes hard to breathe. Then he stops again, subtly angling his head in a silent request for me to follow. Gritting my jaw to keep the emotions from coming out, I force my legs to move until I fall into step quietly at his side.
This time, as we walk, I know what I’m looking for. The darkness from the setting sun makes it more difficult to see our surroundings. I have half a mind to suggest resuming in the morning, but it’s not like we have anything better to do tonight.
Or tomorrow, or the day after.
When the silence begins to grow teeth, and the loneliness sinks its claws in, I say what I’ve wanted to since the moment he opened up to me. “Tell me about your brother.”
“He hated porridge.”
The lack of hesitation and disdain in his answer catches me off guard. I can’t help but chuckle, feeling my face twitch into a half-smile as I look up at him, frowning at my lips like he can’t work it out.
“Your brother and I have something in common.”
He huffs a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “There was a pine tree at the edge of the city he always wanted to play at because there was a family of raccoons that lived around there. When our mother was alive, he once got right up close to a baby one to feed it crumbs of stale bread.”
My smile drops. Something similar happened with Ella when my ah ma was visiting.
She was frightened of the raccoon that dared to come near our back patio, screaming like it was going to kill her.
But the creature was unperturbed and happily accepted Ella’s offered treat.
Dad found it hilarious. Mom rolled her eyes.
A couple of days later, all hell broke loose because I left out chicken for a stray cat that used to run around our property. Mom locked me in my room for the rest of the week, and I never saw that cat again.
My parents must never find out I died. They need to rot in their cells for the rest of their lives—they can’t win their appeal.
“I broke my promise to him.”
I blink hard, snapping my attention up to Lynx. “What?” Did I miss something?
He doesn’t answer. The seconds stretch until I don’t think he’ll ever answer. So when he does speak, I hang on his every word. “It had been weeks since we’d gone because I always had to work. The day I was killed, I promised to take him there if he agreed to go to school.”
My gaze drops to the ground as we trudge blindly through the forest. “And you never even got to say goodbye to him.”
He shakes his head. “I guess it’s something we have in common.”
A sense of understanding washes over me.
The kind that feels like companionship and breaks me out of isolation.
I don’t pity Lynx, but I feel his pain like it’s my own, and I realize that I see it.
The lines of grief that shape his silhouette.
The hard edges of his features that never seem to soften unless they look empty.
I want to touch him: hold his hand or grasp his arm so he knows I understand, but I know it won’t be received well. He’d be knocked out of this vulnerable space he’s in, and those walls would build back up. So I settle for words instead.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Lynx.”
Lynx tenses like I did touch him, and he’s recoiling into himself. Which makes no sense when he said those same words to me without batting an eye.
Something registers at the back of my mind. “Do you prefer being called Lincoln?”
His eyes meet mine, and the creatures of the night seem to quiet as his deep voice reverberates between the trees. “By you? Lynx is fine.”
Anything I could say catches in my throat. His words are a promise and a secret wrapped in one, a hint toward something I’m not privy to. I want to pry, and I want to bask in his attention a moment longer because he sounds… tender.