Chapter 19
Evan
The forest trail from Adam’s house was calm and serene.
Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy overhead, creating dappled patterns on the ground before us.
We moved in a peaceful silence, broken only by the scuff of our footsteps on the dirt path.
Nothing hurt, not even the spots I thought might be sore.
I was thrilled with how this omega body worked.
Gregory had left his horse at Adam’s place, insisting the village was nearby, but his idea of “not far” differed from mine.
Unable to stand the quiet any longer, I asked, “Are you sure the village is close? I’m starting to think this forest goes on forever.”
Gregory kept walking right beside me. “It’s just ahead.”
Our hands brushed every few steps, and that slight touch sent warmth up my arm. A small smile played on his lips, his blue gaze bright in the morning sun. He seemed different today, handsome enough that my stomach tightened. Maybe the afterglow from last night was the reason he looked so pleased.
He was dressed in a deep red tunic layered over a cream shirt, fastened at the front with brown leather ties that matched his broad belt. The color combination suited him well, highlighting the warmth of his skin and enhancing the richness of his dark hair.
Lyra stopped on the path, spun around, and planted a hand on her hip as she let out a sigh that rippled through the hush. Her hair was swept back into a high, full ponytail, tied with white ribbons that matched the delicate lace trimming the collar of her pink dress.
“Would you two stop flirting?” Her question was muffled as she pinched her nose. “I’m dying over here. You reek of pheromones.” She rolled her eyes, but a faint grin played on her lips.
Heat crept up my neck, and Gregory barked a rough laugh. “Does Adam know you’ve been spending so much time talking with Harren?” he teased, mischief lacing his tone.
Lyra huffed, her cheeks flushing with more than embarrassment. “Hey, that’s not fair, and you know it.”
I glanced between them. “Who’s Harren?”
Her gaze dropped to her fingers as she fiddled with the fabric of her dress. “Just a friend.”
Gregory gestured with his chin toward the end of the path where the forest was finally starting to thin. “He’s the guard at the tower post up there.”
I followed his focus. A round guard tower of rough gray stone stood where the woods met open land. From a side door, a man stepped out, and it took me a moment to process the weapon hanging at his hip.
Moving closer to Gregory, I asked, “Is that thing real? The sword.”
“Of course it is.”
I cracked a smile in disbelief and shook my head, rubbing the bridge of my nose. That was a freaking real, heavy-looking sword. I guess I’d half expected him to be carrying a gun instead.
“You okay?” Gregory’s question was hushed beside me.
“Yeah,” I breathed out. “It’s… Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’m really in another world.”
He let out a soft hum from his chest as something shadowed his face, gone so quickly I might have imagined it. We continued walking, catching up to Lyra, who had slowed her pace and was now pretending to be interested in a patch of flowers on her right, pointedly ignoring the tower.
As we got closer, the guard, Harren, raised a hand in greeting. “Gregory! You finally came down from the mountain.”
Harren was young, handsome, and had a head of curly dark hair streaked with blond that shone in the sunlight. His eyes were warm amber, with tiny flecks of green that seemed to pulse with magic. “It’s good to see you well, Evan,” he said.
I extended my hand for a handshake, but before Harren could respond, Gregory closed his fingers around my wrist, guiding it down to my side. He bent toward me, whispering, “My sweet Evan, don’t offer your hand unless you want to spar with him.”
Oh God, I’d already made the same mistake with Adam, and now I felt stupid. I quickly snatched my hand away from his grip and rubbed my palms together, an awkward action that only emphasized my error. Clearing my throat, I finally managed to say, “Thank you.”
Harren’s amber eyes darted to Lyra before he averted his face and cleared his throat. “The defenses have been reinforced,” he said, all business as he spoke to Gregory. “On orders from Lord William and Elder Adam, Elder Cedric and his clerics empowered the warding crystals this morning.”
“How do they glow?” Gregory asked.
“Bright as starlight and twice as keen to shadow magic,” Harren replied with satisfaction. “The shadow witch Mordaine won’t be able to lurk in darkness anywhere near the village borders.”
Gregory clapped Harren’s shoulder with a firm, approving tap. “Good job.”
Harren gave a sharp nod, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. He stood a little taller under Gregory’s praise.
“We’re going to keep going,” Gregory told Harren, even though Lyra was already walking at a brisk pace toward the village.
My eyes met Gregory’s, and after sharing a quick, knowing glance, I offered Harren a small nod. “Nice to meet you.”
His friendly look disappeared, replaced by a pained, longing scowl that seemed to belong to someone entirely different.
The transformation was so fast I almost missed it.
He offered a stiff, formal nod in reply, his attention already fixed on Lyra’s back as she moved away.
I brushed off the strange moment, and my sight snapped to the village unfolding before us as we turned to follow her, leaving the tower behind.
The world opened up, and I squinted against the bright sunlight as the land ahead filled with color. The fields were packed with flowers—deep purples, bright oranges, and blues so vivid they almost hurt my eyes.
“Mostly everyone in Mossfen has some form of earth magic,” Gregory said, pointing toward the vibrant fields. “It’s why everything grows so well here.”
People moved between the rows, their backs bent to their work, but they straightened from their labor when we passed. One woman stood to wave at Lyra, and in that moment, a patch of tight buds at her feet unfurled, their petals opening to the sun in a silent, colorful greeting.
Most people met us with blooming smiles, their greetings warm as they called out to Lyra.
When they spotted Gregory, a few faces became more reserved, their nods respectful but watchful.
He was an outsider here too, in his own way.
A muscle in Gregory’s jaw tightened, but his pace never faltered.
A few called my name, their relief evident in their tone, and I managed an awkward nod.
A light breeze drifted from the village, carrying music. As we arrived at the entrance, the dirt path gave way to uneven stone beneath our feet. A wide arch of woven branches framed the gateway, displaying the name “Mossfen” carved from wood and miniature red roses blooming along the letters.
Past the arch, cottages with dark wooden frames and steep roofs were painted in cheerful colors, their window boxes overflowing with blossoms. The street was alive with people, their chatter a pleasant hum.
The scent of roasted meat and warm spices drifted from an open doorway, tingling my nose and making my stomach growl.
Children chased each other, their laughter bouncing off the stone walls, and a knot of them playing near a fountain stopped their game to stare.
One, a little boy with a head of unruly brown curls, broke from the group.
He held a single red rose in his small fist, blending shyness with determination as he approached.
He stopped in front of me, his eyes wide. “Evan.” His happy greeting was a breathy whisper as he held out the flower. “We were worried. I’m glad the bad dragon didn’t eat you.” He peeked around me, giving Gregory a suspicious, sidelong glance.
“Finn!” Lyra scolded.
Crouching down to the boy’s level, I said, “I’m okay,” then took the rose from his hand.
Its petals were velvety against my fingertips.
“I wasn’t feeling well, that’s all. But the bad dragon took good care of me.
” I glanced over my shoulder, offering Gregory a soft smile before facing the boy again. “So you be nice to him, okay?”
I ruffled his messy hair. The boy’s cheeks turned the same color as the rose. He nodded jerkily and then bolted, disappearing back into his group of friends.
I rolled the stem of the rose between my fingers as I watched the children play for a moment, noting its softness was too delicate for my touch.
Fragile things. Like the kids running around, full of life and hope.
I’d never wanted kids of my own. Visiting the children at Anita’s orphanage was enough.
They were a glimpse into a life I only observed from the outside.
I still found the idea of a man having a child strange, but it didn’t bother me anymore. I’d always thought I’d be alone, but now, the thought of starting a new life brought a gentle warmth to my chest—a future I hadn’t pictured before.
I pushed to my feet and moved until I was directly in front of Gregory. Craning my neck, I met his intense blue gaze. “I like it here,” I admitted, the sentiment truer than anything I had uttered since arriving.
Lyra let out a little cheer and hugged me from the side, resting her head on my shoulder. “See? I told you.”
I started to laugh, but the sound died in my throat when a dark, suffocating presence settled over my shoulder.
The cheerful chatter of the village faded, and a sudden chill swept over me, making the hairs on my neck and arms stand up.
“Evan?” Lyra sounded distant and concerned.
The village began to blur at the edges, and breathing became impossible. I grabbed for Gregory’s arm on instinct. His bicep was a taut rock beneath my fingers, but the cold sweat slicking my own skin had nothing to do with him. Harsh gasps tore from my lungs.
The sensation carried a sickening familiarity. It was the same oppressive malice I’d felt in the moments leading up to my end.
Everything slowed.
A wave of dizziness struck me, and the village square vanished. I was back on the rooftop with the cold concrete ledge and the city spinning below.
My hand flew to my chest to press against the frantic hammering in my ribs, and the small rose slipped from my numb fingers to fall to the ground.
The phantom burn of a bullet flared behind my sternum.
I had died. The fact had been sitting dormant in the dark corners of my mind, but now it roared to the surface—the terrifying weightlessness of falling forty-two stories and the impact I couldn’t forget even if I tried to pretend I was fine.
It was a violent reminder that I was living on borrowed time, and the trauma I was trying to bury was still very much alive.
Without warning, Gregory moved and shoved me behind his massive frame.
In an instant, everything snapped back. The slow-motion haze dissolved, and the village’s noise rushed in, loud and jarring.
“Evan!” My name came again, not a distant echo this time, but clear from a man’s lips.
I peeked around Gregory’s side. Lyra was taking hurried steps toward a man with long, straight hair so blond it shone silver in the sun. He was dressed all in black, a stark contrast to the colorful village. Lyra reached him and bowed her head.
“Master Alaric,” she greeted him.
“Who is that?” I whispered to Gregory.
A low, definitive growl started in his chest. “Alaric.” He spat the name. “The village healer.”