Chapter 51 Julien #2
Her fingers tighten in my shirt. “I’m still figuring that out,” she murmurs, gaze falling away.
We walk a few more steps in silence. Then, softer still: “I think it was the… what-ifs. What if I was with the Green Cloaks all that time? What if the rune really is suppressing my immortality?... It all just became too much.”
Just like Kane, she flees when she’s overwhelmed. Two sides of the same storm.
But now she has us, and we’ll always find her.
I wait, watching to see if she’ll say more. Unlike Sai and Kane, I can be patient.
“Where are we going?” she asks at last, and I realise she isn’t ready. Not yet.
“Somewhere quiet.” I flit.
Her soft gasp is the first sound I hear as we step out of shadow, the temple rising before us. The sight steals her breath, and for a moment I simply watch her take it in.
“Most districts have two temples,” I explain, leading her beneath the great stone archway. “But the Council district has only one. A dualist temple.”
One side is the epitome of light, the other darkness. Where obsidian marble stretches alongside iridescent stone. It is a temple of contrasts, built to honour both goddesses in balance.
Jasmine tilts her head back as we enter, eyes catching on the silver chandeliers wrapped in golden vines, then to the altar where two statues, nearly ten feet tall, stand side by side.
The Goddess of Light: Ak. Lysa. Lumen. Draped in snowy gossamer. A porcelain crown of pearls, opals, diamonds. Her face veiled in ivory lace.
And her sister.
The Goddess of Darkness: Asbu. Myrkr. Tenebrae. Adorned in ashy lace. A sable crown of obsidian, tourmaline, hematite. Her face hidden by inky tulle.
Behind them, vermillion fire blazes. The bronze scones flanking the altar burn with the same eternal flame, their warmth soft. The fire is always lit, tended by the temple’s priestess—a dualist mage, exiled from the Arcane district for worshipping both Goddesses.
At this early hour, the temple is empty. Serene. Quiet enough to hear a breath. A thought. The soft crackle of flames is the only sound. A true place of solace.
Jasmine drinks it all in. The towering vaulted ceilings, the stained glass windows etched with ancient, intricate scenes, and the scarlet candles glowing atop tall brass candelabras.
“I come here sometimes,” I tell her, settling onto an oak pew near the back. “To think. To breathe.”
She stays in my lap, nestled close, and I hold her like she’s something sacred, because she is. I pray she doesn’t ask me to let go.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she murmurs, awe and wonder lacing her voice as she gazes up at the ceiling again.
An abstract fresco sprawls above us, depicting the creation of the realms.
Dark, Light, and Earth.
No Fae Realm.
“I mean, I’ve seen pictures of temples online, in films. But never one like this,” she whispers, eyes drifting back to the towering statues. “Or maybe I have…” Her voice trails off, the awe giving way to contemplation. “In a hundred years… I must’ve seen a lot.”
I study her, admire her. The way the early-morning light spills through the stained glass, washing her in bloodred and gold, how it dances over her pale skin.
She could replace any figure on this temple’s ceiling and make it more divine.
But she’s so still, so deep in thought, like a breath held too long.
“We will show you everything,” I promise softly. “There are so many places we want to take you, so many things we want you to see.” I pause, considering my next words. “Part of me wishes the barrier were already down…”
She turns to me, eyes meeting mine. “And the other part?”
I smile, slow and wry. “Wishes to keep you here. Trapped. With us.”
I hear her pulse quicken. “Even if…” she starts, then falters, gaze dropping.
I reach out, cupping her jaw and guiding her back to me.
“You never need to hide from me, mon ame,” I murmur, thumb brushing the delicate curve of her cheekbone. “Tell me what thoughts plague you.”
Her breath shudders out. “You don’t know me. I don’t even know me.”
I want desperately to protest. To tell her I do know her. That she is brave and selfless, fierce and kind. Fire and starlight. That her touch stills the storming tempests, and her glare could bring armies to their knees.
But she’s choosing to speak, baring her soul, and I owe her my silence.
“I thought I knew who I was,” she says. “Sure, I didn’t remember what happened to me, but after five years at The Inferno…
” She exhales shakily. “I learned to live with the not-knowing, and I made a new life. Made myself into… something. But now…” She shakes her head, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“If I don’t know what I was, how can I know who I am now? ”
She doesn’t look at me, her gaze fixed on something far beyond the temple walls.
I hate how far away she feels, even though she’s in my arms.
“Do you remember our talk about my past life?” It takes her a moment to re-surface from her thoughts, but she blinks and nods. “How there were many versions of myself, versions I disliked. Abhorred.”
That gets her attention. Her head turns to face me fully, brows drawn together, ready to protest my self-hatred.
“People are meant to change,” I say quickly, keeping my voice steady. “What matters is not who we were, but who we choose to be now.”
She swallows, lips pressing into a line. “But you’ve all shared so much. Your stories, your pain, and I… I can’t give you anything back.”
“You’re wrong.” I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve given us you. All that you are, even when you don’t remember all you’ve been.”
Her lashes lower, and when she leans into my touch with a soft sigh, my own heart matches the racing tempo of hers.
“We cannot dwell on the past—the unknown.” I press my lips to her forehead. “Be here.” Her cheek. “With me.” The corner of her mouth. “Now.”
She closes her eyes, like she wants to believe me, like she almost does. But then she whispers it. The thought that’s been haunting her from the moment Kane told her the truth.
“What if I was cruel?”
Ah. So that’s where her mind has gone. I feel it, truly feel it. The depth of her fear. Not just of who she was, but what it would mean for us.
I don’t let go of her face, don’t let her turn away. “Ce qui est écrit est écrit,” I murmur. “What is written… is written.”
Her brows furrow faintly, and I press a kiss to the crease between them.
“We were always going to find you, Jasmine. That is our ending. No matter the beginning.”
The hesitation and doubt in her gaze, it’s enough to crack ribs open.
“Maybe you were cruel, maybe you were a weapon, or something forged in darkness, just like we were.” I smile faintly at the horror in her expression from my casual tone. “We are not good men, mon ame. We are not innocent. We are not safe. Not to the world, not even always to ourselves.”
My thumb brushes along the corner of her mouth.
“So either you’re just as wicked as we are…” I lower my face, voice a breath against her lips, “or you’re the piece we’ve always been missing. The one bright thing twisted fate gave to monsters like us.”
I pull back again, just enough to meet her gaze. “But it doesn’t matter, because in the end, we were always going to find you. We were always going to belong to you.”
She leans in, her lips meeting mine softly. Nothing hungry or urgent. Then she pauses, whispering, “Are we allowed to kiss in a temple?”
I smile against her lips, pleased the storm inside her mind is easing.
“We can do anything you want,” I murmur, kissing her soft and slow, sealing that promise to her skin.
When the kiss fades into a breath shared between us, her eyes flutter open, still half-lost in thought. Our foreheads rest together, and her fingers tighten their hold in my shirt.
“You’re so damn good at talking,” she says suddenly, leaning back with a soft smile.
“Is that all?” My eyes linger on her lips.
I want to kiss her again, to taste her sighs, to draw out more breathless sounds—but I won’t diminish what we’ve just shared.
“And listening.”
My gaze lifts to hers. The soft glow of her crimson eyes illuminated by dawnlight, her lips still curved in the smallest of smiles.
She is so beautiful.
She is everything I’ve spent centuries convincing myself didn’t exist. Didn’t deserve. Softness and strength. Fury and grace. A storm I want to be lost in.
She fears she’s offering a version of herself that isn’t real. That without her past, she’s only half-formed—a truth with pieces missing. But what I see is no imitation.
I have never believed in divinity so easily.
“Thank you.” Her fingers rest lightly against my chest.
I almost frown, almost ask why she’s thanking me—but her fingers press gently to my lips.
“Just accept the thank you,” she scolds mockingly, then replaces her fingers with a soft, tentative kiss. One that has me following her lips as she leans away, only stopping when she whispers, “And Julien. I want the rune gone.”
My gaze darts to her eyes, and I know the fire in mine gives me away—desire tangled with the fierce, dangerous need to give her exactly what she’s asking for. Right now.
Because by saying she wants the rune gone, she’s accepting that she may become immortal. Like us.
Forever.
She smiles, clearly pleased by my silence. “I think we should head back. I need to speak with the others—”
“No,” I cut in, my hand tightening on her waist. “Not yet.”
She blinks, and a fiery ember flickers in those eyes at my denial. I smile despite myself, knowing her possession is burning just as deeply.
“They were not themselves, mon ame. They were lost in the dark, and while they will be glad to see you, truly…” I brush my knuckles along her jaw. “Now may not be the time.”
She’s quiet for a moment, but the flickering fire fades. “You’re right.” Her fingers trail lightly across my chest. “Maybe I should go see Kacey.”
My fingers twitch against her ribs, and her eyes widen in realisation that I’m also feeling a little… possessive.
“She was there for me when I needed someone, now she might need me.”
It’s not said to hurt, but the reminder in her words… The memory of what she once said, that she’d never forgive us.
Her fingers find my face again, easing the horrid sensation.
“Hey,” she murmurs. “You’re the one who just said we shouldn’t live in the past.” She gifts me a soft smile, her fingers brushing my cheek. “I just want her to know I’m there for her too.”
I sigh, not even trying to hide my displeasure. Thankfully, it only makes her smile grow.
***
Once we’re back at the empty apartment, she dresses, and I flit her to the Council building.
I remain in Ezekial’s office long after I leave her in the atrium with Kacey. Her soft kisses still linger on my skin as I stare out the window, studying the district, eyes fixed on the barrier.
We’re even closer to removal day. Three more days, to be exact.
Have we done enough to convince her?
We’re bonded, that decision has been made. But it means nothing if she doesn’t truly want it. If she chooses not to stay.
I can’t afford to think like that. She gave us her word, signed that ridiculous contract, has been intimate with Kane, wants the rune removed…
Even if we never uncover the truth of what was done to her, never find the missing pieces of her past, we will walk every step of the journey with her. Help her rediscover who she is.
Who she chooses to become.
She doesn’t need to remember her past to be whole, she only needs to know that we’re here. That we’ll never stop choosing her.
And I hope, in time, she chooses us in return.
All we must do now is show her, in every way we know how, that we are worthy of the woman she is yet to remember, and the one she is choosing to become.