Chapter 18 Memento Mori #3
My jaw tightens, my thumb tracing the empty space on the star-taker, the missing piece like an open wound that won’t close.
I withdraw the instrument, gripping until the edges bite through leather. I let the snap of pain ground me as rage builds thick at the base of my throat. With a guttural roar, I hurl it across the observatory.
Chest heaving, I tap a compulsive count against my thigh in a desperate hunt for symmetry, for balance—for any goddamn pattern that will unlock another outcome.
“Orion.” The low utterance of my name slices through the battering tide, coaxing my tortured gaze back to hers. “Do you actually want to harm me?”
“No.” It leaves my mouth on a fractured breath.
A wave of relief breaks across her pretty features.
“I know you don’t,” she says, and with a tight swallow, she reinforces her words.
“I know you don’t, because you’ve never wanted to see me hurt.
You stopped yourself from letting that happen right here in this dome.
” Her gaze briefly flicks to the speaker cabinet in the far corner.
“You fought that compulsion once. You can fight it again. You can stop this from happening—”
“It can’t be stopped,” I say, my voice breaking with finality. If Collins leaves this observatory before third contact of the eclipse and our paths cross, there is only loss.
Loss of control.
Loss of symmetry.
Loss of her.
Right now, when I look into her eyes, I see her—her light. It’s distant but there. And though the void within aches to claim her, a sliver of control remains. Just enough to let me walk out of this observatory.
“You’re an anomaly,” I say, barely audible. “The only way I can prevent this is if I’m nowhere near you.”
I know exactly how they will die. I know when, where, and how death will claim them—
But she didn’t come to me the way they did, soaked in darkness, devoid. She’s an anomaly for this reason.
She has no pathology. No record of violence. No dark psyche. And yet, the algorithm drew her name—
Because there had to be someone.
The gravitational pull of this event is too strong, demanding an alignment. A local mind in the right place, at the right time.
All these years spent waiting for a name to emerge, and the system chose hers. Someone with no past indiscretions. No incurable medical diagnosis. She was chosen not because of her—but because of her proximity to me.
Which means the missing variable isn’t within her at all.
It’s within me. My contamination.
If I subtract myself—no ritual, no observation, no touch—the wave never collapses.
There’s a chance.
As long as I’m not near her, as long as I defy this sinister force, her light might never go dark.
Like a brilliant, tidal-locked star falling dangerously close to the orbit of a black hole—this force that tears apart everything it loves, devouring every fragment of beauty caught within its grasp—if I deny this hunger, if I remove myself completely, there is no tidal disruption.
No violent annihilation. No fiery light extinguished.
“Orion, I don’t understand what that means.”
“It means, you were always mine,” I say to her. “You belong to me, with me. Mine to protect. If your death isn’t observed...it suspends.”
“Oh, god…” she whispers, as if some connection has fallen into place. “I need you to hear me,” she says sternly. “I understand celestial events affect you. That you feel compelled by them, that you think you have no control.”
I tilt my head. “How would you know this?”
She pushes on, easing closer until she’s yanked to a stop by the restraint. “I’m your therapist,” she says. “You just have to trust me.” Collins watches me with guarded eyes, that beautiful slate flaying me open. “Haven’t I given you every reason to? Please, Orion. Just…let me help you.”
“Fuck, angel. But I wish you could,” I say on a ragged breath.
“This isn’t right. It doesn’t make sense,” she tries again, desperation edging into her voice as she yanks against the cuff, drawing my gaze to the constellation along her wrist.
I press the heel of my palm to my forehead, trying to ease the pressure against my skull.
“You know me,” she whispers. “Orion, you know me. My hopes, my passion—remember? Please remember.” Her smile is shattering. “I’m a Sagittarius who can’t swim—”
“Technically, you’re not,” I say, taking a daring step toward her. My thumb brushes the faint stars scattered across her wrist. Desire burns the back of my throat with the aching need to taste her just once. “You were born under Ophiuchus, the Serpent Bearer.”
Her face pales, and she shakes her head slowly. “No. There’s no Ophiuchus zodiac sign—”
“It’s a constellation,” I correct her. “The thirteenth along the ecliptic, hidden among brighter stars. Astronomically accurate, not zodiacal. Over the centuries, the sky has shifted. The day you were born, the sun was in Ophiuchus.” My gloved knuckles skim over her cheek, reverent.
“But you still have so much fire in you, little archer.”
“Then don’t extinguish it.” She presses into my touch. A tense silence envelopes us as the soft patter of rain outside the dome fades, leaving only the rhythm of our heartbeats.
“Your eyes are so dark, Orion,” she murmurs, searching me.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days, and that can worsen compulsions.
Obsessive beliefs can become indistinguishable from delusions.
” Her free hand covers mine along her cheek, voice breaking.
“That’s all this is, a delusion driven by fear. ”
My jaw tightens, a fierce pain rupturing through my chest. “God, I hope you’re fucking right. I hope I’m insane. And—” I move in closer, towering above her as I reach for the duct tape on the pier “—I hope you’ll forgive me one day, angel.”
“Orion, no—please.” She twists, turning her face away, fighting with one hand. “There’s something I need to tell you. You have to listen—”
Her fingers claw at my shirt, and I groan, denying myself the deviant pleasure of feeling her nails rake my skin. I close my hand around her jaw, forcing her face toward mine. With clenched teeth, I tear a strip of tape free and seal it over her mouth.
“I promise,” I whisper hoarsely, pressing a tender kiss to the tape, savoring the warmth and delicate curve of her lips beneath. “I’ll come back for you.”
I grasp her wrist, my jaw set hard as I unlatch the handcuff from the pier. She thrashes wildly against my hold as I draw her hands together and clasp each cuff around her wrists, binding them on either side of the RA wheel, the final click a harsh crack through my resolve.
Slowly, I draw back, my gaze locking with hers—tearful, blazing. Alive. Those eyes I’m determined to keep lit with her beautiful, fiery light.
Even if I have to hurl myself from the highest cliff to keep her heart beating—
I will take that leap.