33. Everly
Everly
Chapter thirty-three
My mouth drops open as I watch Nova stand. Crimson red blood mars the pristine beauty of her white coat on both sides. But she’s standing, and my relief at that is instant.
“Oh my god, you're okay,” I whisper, rushing forward. “She is okay, right?” I ask, looking at Maxon as I stroke her neck, feeling tears build in my eyes.
His face is like a mask, devoid of any discernible expression. Swallowing hard, I frown as a lump forms in my throat. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Here, let me help you up.”
“I don’t want to put any strain on her.” I step back.
Maxon pauses, his eyes narrowing as he focuses his full attention on me. “Nova can handle it.”
“No, I weigh too much. ”
I frown as his jaw flexes, I’m not liking the way he is looking at me right now. “Why would you think that?” he questions.
“Ummm . . . ” my fingers twist in my skirt and I drop my gaze.
“Well?”
“What do you mean?” I hiss, looking up at him. I can feel my anger rising, does he really not see? “I’m like three times the size of the other high fae women you're used to, that Nova is used to.”
Maxon’s eyes drop, taking in my body extremely slowly. Anger and desire swirl in my stomach. Argh, does he always have to make my emotions feel like a tangled web?
When his gaze lifts back to mine, his eyes are burning with longing, but the look on his face is less than impressed.
“Your body is shaped with elegant curves. You stand out among the rest. You're not heavy, not for me, and definitely not for the horse.”
His words make my heart pound in my chest, causing a sickening feeling to wash over me. I feel like there are unsaid words, or it could just be my insecurities about my weight that have me feeling like this. Maxon has never once shown anything but an overwhelming attraction to the curves of my body. It’s as if I have time-traveled back to high school, feeling just as low about myself as I did back then. I think my heightened emotions from our recent experience are clouding my judgment. With a slight tilt of his head, Maxon carefully observes every detail of my face.
“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” I snap.
I want to scream at him after everything we just went through. My emotions are already at an all-time high. Plus, I can’t seem to get a read on his emotions, but I’m sure as hell he can sense mine just fine. Maxon tilts his head, his gaze never wavering. “Like what?”
I grit my teeth and push all my anger and frustration his way.
“Like you're pissed off at me. Tell me what I did? Because if it’s leaving your side, Tristan told me that–”
Maxon tenderly grabs hold of my face, stalling my words as he drops his head, his lips softly brushing against mine, rendering me speechless.
“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the situation. And Everly, my Stóirín, you have to know how beautiful you are. Your curves set you apart from everyone else. I love the way you are.” His hands drop from my face and skim down my neck, over my shoulders, and down my sides. Gripping my hips, he pulls me flush against him. “You have nothing to worry about. You are all I see. All I want. And I apologize if I gave off the impression that I was mad at you. I'm just trying to piece a few things together,” he murmurs, reaching up and tucking some loose hair behind my ear.
“You were looking at me, weird,” I sulk, needing him to know how he made me feel.
“I was trying to determine if you were aware of what you had done.”
My eyes roam his face as I try to think of what he could possibly be talking about.
“But all I can feel is your confusion,” he breathes with a heavy sigh.
Maxon takes a step back, extending his hand toward me, and I reach out to grasp it. Making our way to Nova's side, he tenderly removes the bandage I somehow managed to create. I draw in a sharp breath, feeling the rush of adrenaline as I push past him.
“Where is the wound?” I ask, running my fingers over her red-stained white coat. Nova's muscles twitch under my touch, eliciting a shiver down my spine, and when Maxon remains silent, I twist my body to catch a glimpse of his expression.
“You healed her.”
“Me? What? No.” My heart takes off, and a sick feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. There’s no way.
The sound of the others talking over one another reaches my ears. Their voices grow louder as they debate on which way to go in the quickly fading daylight. Maxon rests his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently.
“Don’t worry, we will figure it out. For now, keep this between us.” His voice holds an edge that makes my skin prickle.
Nodding, I swallow over the nerves building in my throat. What is happening to me?
I let him lead me over to the others. Zaria catches my eye, her furrowed brows reflecting her concerns. “Are you okay?” she asks gently.
“Yes,” I reply hoarsely.
It seems like Tristan is healing just fine as he paces and runs a frustrated hand through his dark hair, leaving it tousled and unruly. Kian stands leaning against a tree, his ankles crossed and arms folded, observing Tristan's internal conflict.
“We need to head west.” Maxon’s voice is stern as he addresses everyone.
"But west will take us away from where we need to be,” Raiden counters, looking confused.
“Yes, but it will take us around the bog.”
Zaria moves toward Raiden’s ash-colored horse and climbs on, her tail whipping back and forth. “Then let’s go. I don’t want to be in the forest when night falls.”
I can't help but watch them as Raiden looks up at her, his expression melting into one of affection. “You’ll be safe, Z.”
Zaria lets out a snort, rolling her eyes.
Tristan shifts his attention toward me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You coming here has set something in motion.”
He doesn't sound mad, just distrusting, like I’m not who he thought I was. I open my mouth to reassure him but what could I say? A pang of sympathy moves through me at the worry etched on his face. I can sense that there is an underlying meaning to his reaction. Something I’m not privy to. Maxon steps in front of me, blocking my view with his broad back.
“She knows as much as we do at this point. The reason for going to the ruins is to see if it helps to bring up any memories.”
“Memories of what?” Tristan counters.
Zaria pipes up, “Guys we need to get going.”
I notice movement in the trees, and my eyes are drawn to a fleeting flicker of blue. Could it be?
The blue fox emerges from the trees, its vibrant fur contrasting against the green foliage. Faintly, I hear the voices of the others as they discuss the dilemma of navigating the bog or finding an alternative route. With a tilt of its head, the frostflare's unwavering gaze focuses on me. Its eyes begin to glow, casting an eerie light as it moves its head, as if inviting me to follow.
“Guys. I think it wants us to follow,” I note, interrupting their bickering.
They all turn their gaze in the direction I'm pointing, and are struck silent.
“A frostflare hasn’t been seen in centuries,” whispers Zaria.
“Just like the damn deadlings,” mutters Tristan.
I can't take my eyes off the stunning blue fox, mesmerized by the graceful swish of its tail. The strange white marking on its body emit a radiant glow, while its silver eyes shimmer with an otherworldly light.
‘Follow.’
I startle at the whisper-like voice that softly echoes in my mind.
“I think it wants us to follow it,” I stammer.
“How would you know?” Kian’s tone is curious as he comes to stand next to me.
“It spoke to me,” I whisper, as if in a trance.
The fox captures the attention of Nymeria and Anika, prompting them to pounce toward it, their barks echoing through the area as though they were inviting the fox to play. However, their enthusiasm quickly fades, and they turn their attention to us, waiting impatiently.
“Looks like we are following the mythical creature, then.” With a warm chuckle, Kian squeezes my shoulder before gracefully mounting his horse.
Storm nudges my back, and I turn to see Maxon holding Nova’s reins. A nervous flutter fills my stomach as we stare at each other.
“Everly, this is yours,” Tristan startles me, holding out my dagger. With a weak smile, I reach for it, my hands slightly trembling.
"Thank you for keeping me safe, Tristan." My words are filled with genuine gratitude.
The weight of Tristan's stare hangs heavily in the air, creating an uncomfortable and suffocating silence. Without uttering a word, he nods and swiftly makes his way to his horse.
“He will be fine, don't worry,” Maxon assures me. “Now let’s get you on this horse.”
“We’re here,” Maxon announces as the forest gives way to a set of open gates overgrown with roses and vines.
The horses' hooves echo around us as they step onto the stone road, entering a large courtyard teeming with greenery.
We draw to a stop at the base of the staircase leading up to the entrance. I swing my leg off Nova and land on the ground, but it’s further away than I thought. I stumble backward, tensing as I prepare to land on my butt, but Maxon’s there to stop my fall.
“Careful, Stóirín.” Maxon’s voice is deep and smooth like chocolate.
My heart warms at the name he has chosen to call me.
The others dismount and lead the horses over to the fountain for a drink. My gaze wanders over the area, taking it all in. The entire area is overgrown and falling apart, with the roses gradually engulfing most of the fountain. Amidst it all, one could barely make out the figure of a woman in the center, her hands lifted up, cradling a flower in offering to the gods.
Maxon moves around me, leading Storm and Nova toward the fountain. I turn my attention to the castle, my pulse kicking up. If the others are right, if I am who they think I am, then this is my home. The frostflare materializes again in front of the door to the castle, but only for a second before disappearing in a swirl of mist.
I’m so out of my element here. I still think it's completely plausible that I’ve hit my head and fallen into a dreamland. With cautious steps, I advance toward the damaged and forgotten castle, its ancient walls entangled in a lush tapestry of ferns and creeping vines. The towering trees loom above, casting dappled rays of sunlight on the grounds. A sense of anticipation hangs in the air, and I know the others are watching me, waiting for a flood of memories to consume my mind.
I don’t want to disappoint anyone, and the pressure I feel makes my heart beat with trepidation. But as I focus on my surroundings, the ancient ruins and lush forests, I can’t help but feel a deep connection to the land.
The whispering winds seem to carry echoes of long forgotten tales, and the mystical energy that permeates the air stirs something within me. Memories, fragmented and hazy, tease at the edge of my consciousness. Visions of ceremonies and rituals dance before my eyes, hinting at a past life intertwined with the druidic traditions of this realm. Yet, despite these signs, doubts begin to gnaw at my core. What if these feelings are mere illusions?
My pulse kicks up as I climb up the stairs, with the others trailing behind me. I place my hand on the door, and with a deep breath, I push it open. The door is heavy and solid, with a few large cracks running down the grains as if something forced its way inside. Ignoring that thought, I push myself to keep going, the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. The foyer of the castle is breathtaking. The wall opposite us is made entirely of glass. Not just one sheet, but arches like you’d find in an old greenhouse. The forest has crept its way in, vines and wild flowers spreading across the marble floor. The castle is still and eerily silent, the kind of silence that leaves you uneasy. Where ghosts watch from the shadows and the dead whisper secrets of the past.
And I wonder just what secrets does this place hold?