Chapter 24 Locke
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LOCKE
The fire crackles and spits with restless energy, casting a warm amber glow over the worn rug beneath me as I meticulously run an oil cloth along the edge of my blade.
The weapon gleams like liquid silver in the dancing light, its edge already honed to deadly perfection.
This ritual has nothing to do with maintenance and everything to do with keeping my hands occupied.
The repetitive motion keeps my fingers busy, distracts my mind from the restless energy coiling inside me like a caged predator.
The safehouse feels suffocating tonight, its walls pressing in with an oppressive quiet that leaves me alone with thoughts that have been chasing their tails in endless circles since we arrived.
The corridors echo with an emptiness that gnaws at me, punctuated only by the occasional creak of settling timber and the distant whisper of wind through gaps in the stonework.
Even the shadows seem restless, shifting and writhing in the firelight as if they, too, feel the weight of unspoken tension that’s settled over this place like a shroud.
Rue sweeps into the room like a dramatic storm given form, all fluttering midnight silks and glinting silver daggers that catch the light.
He plops down beside me with an exaggerated sigh that could rival a dying swan, his eyes catching the firelight and reflecting it back with mischievous gleams. The scent of expensive oils and subtle magic clings to him, a stark contrast to the earthier smells of leather and steel that surround me.
“I never took you for a slow burn type, Locke,” he teases, bumping his silk-clad shoulder against my leather-wrapped one with enough force to nearly knock me sideways.
His voice carries that familiar note of fond exasperation that’s been there since we were children getting into trouble in the castle corridors.
I grunt, not looking up from my methodical task, the cloth moving in steady strokes that have become almost meditative. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but some habits die hard.
His lips quirk into that knowing smirk I’ve seen a thousand times before, the one that means he’s about to pry secrets from me whether I want to share them or not.
“Oh, you don’t? That’s positively adorable, darling.
The wolf isn’t growling at you anymore, in fact, he’s been downright cordial.
Something definitely happened while I was gone gathering intelligence and risking my life.
” He leans in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow manages to be both theatrical and genuinely intimate.
“Come now, tell Ruey everything. Leave out no sordid details, and don’t you dare try to spare my delicate sensibilities. ”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at his dramatics, though there’s affection in the gesture. “I kissed her.” The words come out rougher than intended. Fuck it, may as well not beat around the bush, I’ve never been able to hold anything back from my brother, not really.
Rue fans himself dramatically with one elegant hand, the gesture so over-the-top it borders on parody.
“Is that all? You? The infamous love-’em-and-leave-’em Locke Erron?
You’ve been brooding like a character torn from the pages of a Veloran tragedy since we left the castle walls. One kiss has you this twisted up?”
He throws his other hand over his head in mock anguish. “The moon does not mourn the sun, but still, it burns where he once kissed it,” he recites with aching solemnity, quoting Eris Veloran, the famed Vanir playwright whose works are all sword duels, longing stares, and beautiful death.
I pause, the cloth stilling against the blade as his words hit their mark with uncomfortable accuracy.
The teasing tone does nothing to soften the truth behind them, stirring up fears I’ve been trying to bury beneath layers of duty and denial.
What if Esme finishes these trials and returns to the Mortal Realm, leaving nothing but memories in her wake?
What if she goes in search of her lost Nephilim Tether, the one whose absence has left such obvious wounds in her soul?
Sam is already a permanent fixture, his mate bond unbreakable.
The thought of losing her, of watching her walk away into a life I can’t follow, sends a sharp pang through my chest like a blade finding its mark.
“What if she finishes the trials and goes back to the Mortal Realm? What of her lost Tether, the Nephilim she speaks of? What happened to her back there on the plains? It’s affected her in ways we’re yet to understand.
” The words slip out before I can stop them, raw and vulnerable in a way that makes me want to snatch them back.
Rue’s expression softens, the flamboyant mask slipping to reveal genuine understanding beneath. “Then you go with her, you absolute fool.”
I scoff, the idea so absurd it borders on fantasy. “I’m the Guardian of the Gates, Rue. I can’t just abandon my post, my duty—”
“You’re not the only one who can guard a bloody gate, you dramatic bastard,” he cuts me off, his voice carrying a firmness that cuts through my protests like a blade through silk.
“The realm survived before you took up that mantle, and it will survive if you choose something else. We could all die tomorrow. Wraiths, vengeful queens, capricious goddesses, fuck, even the general himself could take us out. This isn’t forever, Locke.
Nothing is.” His amber eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away.
“Take what’s yours while you still can. She’s the one, and we both know it.
Whether she comes with a wolf, a Nephilim, or a bloody comet Tethered to her soul, she’s yours.
You feel it in your bones, I know you do.
Or this would be all about duty and nothing more. ”
His words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs and leaving me reeling.
I stare into the dancing flames, letting the truth of his statement sink into my bones like molten metal.
Tomorrow isn’t promised, the trials ahead are uncertain at best, deadly at worst. I can’t keep running from this, from her, from what’s growing between us with every shared glance and stolen moment.
Rue stands with fluid grace, brushing imaginary dust from his clothes.
“Anyway, enough of this emotional constipation. I’m going to see if those cloak-covered beasties are still prowling about our perimeter.
Someone needs to keep watch, and it clearly won’t be you.
” He winks, eyebrows lifting suggestively.
I roll my eyes, meeting his gaze with something that might be gratitude. “Be careful out there, Rue. We don’t know what’s still hunting us.”
He winks with practiced charm, already moving towards the door with that predatory grace that marks him as dangerous despite his colorful exterior. “No, darling, you be careful. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, which admittedly leaves you with quite a lot of options.”
I laugh but it falls short at the sudden emptiness of the room without Rue’s vibrant presence filling every corner, the silence settling back over me like a heavy cloak.
I sit in the warmth of the fire, his words echoing in my mind with relentless persistence.
I can’t deny it any longer, won’t deny it.
Esme is mine and I’m hers, whatever that means, whatever it costs.
I rise from the rug, the decision crystallizing in my chest like ice forming over still water.
My feet carry me down the corridor to Esme’s room without conscious thought, each step bringing me closer to a choice I can’t take back.
The door stands slightly ajar, soft firelight spilling out into the darkened hallway like an invitation.
I push it open gently, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged bird seeking freedom.
Esme sits up in the narrow bed, her hair cascading down her back in loose waves that catch the light like captured starshine.
She’s freshly cleaned, the scent of healing herbs and gentle soap wafting through the air to mingle with something that’s purely her, rain and cotton candy.
Sam sleeps in the chair beside her, his massive frame slumped in the kind of exhaustion that speaks of emotional rather than physical weariness.
His presence should bother me more than it does, but right now he just looks like what he is, a man who’s watched someone he loves suffer and was helpless to stop it.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask softly, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind me with a quiet click.
She looks up, those eyes meeting mine with an intensity that steals whatever breath Rue’s words hadn’t already taken.
“Lost in my thoughts, as usual. It’s been one hurdle after another since I arrived in this realm.
I’m feeling empty and incomplete yet slowly gaining back pieces of what I lost. I don’t know how to feel both things at once, this hollow ache and this growing fullness. ”
I move closer and sit on the floor beside the bed, drawn to her like metal to a lodestone, unable to resist the pull any longer.
“Some things we carry forever. Others we just survive, but most importantly you’re alive, Esme.
At the end of every terrible day, you wake up, and you stand all over again. That’s not nothing.”
She smiles, a soft and achingly sad expression that tugs at something deep in my chest. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience, like you know what it feels like to lose everything and have to rebuild from nothing.”
I nod, feeling the familiar weight of old ghosts stirring in the shadows of my mind. “I am.”
I start to speak about logistics, the path to the mountain, how we shouldn’t stay here for long, but she interrupts me, her voice barely above a whisper.