Chapter 23 #2
One evening, he and Zillah walk along the beach together, shadows stretching long across the sand. Selene and I sit on the black rock outside the hut, watching them disappear into the dusk.
“This will be very hard for them,” Selene murmurs.
“I know,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“Not all of it. Sirona almost didn’t survive her birth.
Alva almost didn’t either. That they both lived?
It was a miracle, Metra. From the first day, Sirona was called their ray of sunshine.
Zillah and Lowan carry the weight of silence, of stoicism.
Sirona coaxed the light from them. She was the only one who could, even in the darkest of times. ”
Her words settle heavily in my chest. I think back to the first time I saw Sirona burst into the hall, and the way Lowan’s entire face changed when he scooped her up. A softness I had never seen before. A softness I might never see again.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” I whisper. “That Fate would choose to take her.”
“The Threads are woven in patterns we don’t always understand,” Selene says gently. “It isn’t for us to decide.” I nod, though the ache in me rebels.
“All we can do,” she adds, glancing at her golden tattoo, “is to be sure we are there for the ones we love. While we have them.”
I swallow hard, then meet her gaze. “I love him.” It feels freeing to admit it aloud to someone besides him. To share it with someone else.
Her smile is small but sure. “I know. We all know. It only took the two of you long enough to realize it yourselves.”
A laugh slips from me, weak but real. “I suppose it did. But we’re not denying it now.”
“Good,” she says firmly. “Because no one knows how long a Thread Fate has given. Don’t waste it.”
We sit in silence then, watching the siblings we love walk side by side down the beach, their grief trailing behind them like shadows.
Selene squeezes my hand before she rises.
She doesn’t speak, only leaves me with the hush of waves and the fading light.
I sit a little longer, watching Lowan and Zillah’s figures grow smaller down the shoreline.
They need this time—this grief is theirs in a way I can’t touch.
Eventually, I slip back to the hut. The air is heavy with heat, so I strip into the thinnest shift I own, nothing more than common sense in this climate. I don’t expect him for a while. Sleep drags at me, and I let it take me.
I wake to warmth sliding against my back, the familiar weight of him curling around me.
Lowan’s lips press against the curve of my neck.
His hand trails lower, sure and hungry. A sigh shivers out of me as I roll to face him, and he kisses me deep, earnest, his need bleeding through every breath. My breath stills when I notice it.
Ink scorched across his left forearm, vivid even in the pale glow: phoenix feathers, burning and curling in endless motion, encircling him just below the elbow. At its center, finer lines form the vines from the Healer’s emblem, small but certain, etched there like a vow.
My throat tightens. A tribute to me. To her. He watches me as I trace the lines softly. “You carry my wings, and now I carry yours. Forever,” he murmurs.
His touch finds me already aching for him. He groans into my mouth, “Mmmmm,” and the sound alone nearly undoes me.
I break away just enough to whisper, “We don’t have to—”
“Look at me,” he rasps, eyes dark and intent. “Kyler can never be with the one he loves again. I will not waste one second of my time with you. Say ‘yes,’ and I will worship your body right here and now.”
His lips trail down my throat, between my breasts. “Then take me to church,” I breathe, dizzy.
He laughs against my skin. “No clue what that means. But I fully intend to have you.”
He peels the last barrier from my body, spreads me open, and his tongue sweeps straight through my center. I cry out, helpless.
“You taste like a fucking dream,” he rasps, burying himself deeper between my thighs, one fist in the sheets, the other clasping my hand like a lifeline. His mouth works me until my thighs clamp around his head, and I shatter, trembling against him.
He doesn’t stop. He kisses back up my body, my stomach, my breasts, my neck—until he’s above me, sliding inside.
“Fuck—” I moan, barely recovered.
He laughs into my hair. “That’s my line, and I absolutely plan to.” And then he moves, intensity radiating from him, every thrust reverent and sinful at once.
I lock my legs around him, arch upward, and with a roll of bodies, I end up astride him. The depth steals my breath. I brace my hands on the iron headboard, hips rolling, finding a rhythm that drags his groans from deep in his chest.
“Gods damn it, Metra.” His head falls back, silver eyes flashing. “Ride me. Fucking ride me.”
The heat coils tight, impossible to hold.
I move harder, faster, the Thread inside me pulling taut—and when it cannot pull any tighter, wings of fire explode from my back.
I cry out, body clenching around him as ecstasy tears through me.
My head falls back as I ride the waves of bliss.
His hands clamp at my hips, driving himself deeper as I burn.
“That’s it,” he purrs. “Take it. Burn for me.”
Lowan thrusts his hips twice more, grunting with release, and then we collapse together, slick and trembling. His breath is ragged in my ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” I probe, my fingers tracing his swollen lips.
He catches my fingers and kisses them. “I’m thinking I’m yours, Metra. In this realm and the next, I’m fucking yours.”
A gasp, a laugh, a sob all at once escape me. “You are mine. And I am yours, Lowan Veynar. Only yours.”
The tender kisses eventually turn urgent, and we find ourselves lost in each other’s touch once again.
The following two days blur. We rest, gather supplies, and force ourselves to eat though none of us has much appetite. Selene’s mother calls the griffins for us when the time comes, their cries echoing over the cliffs like a summons from the sky itself.
Lowan insists on flying himself so Remli can have a mount, but even he has to concede that a fiery phoenix cutting across the heavens is the opposite of stealth.
I bite back the truth—that I’m not sure I could shift again without sheer desperation—and catch Remli’s eye.
We both say it at once, sharp as daggers: “We are not riding together.”
Her mouth twists into a scowl. “Then I’ll go with Selene.”
“Fine.” I step toward Zillah, whose griffin lowers its head with a rumbling huff.
Moments later, we’re airborne, the wind snapping through my hair, the heat of Kael beneath me thrumming like a second heartbeat. Lowan wheels beside us in his raven form, wings flashing black as smoke as he cuts through the sky.
From up here, the island unfurls in full splendor.
The ocean glitters on every horizon, endless blue broken only by whitecaps.
At the island’s heart, patchwork fields stretch green and gold, hemmed by dense rainforest that seems to breathe mist into the air.
Mountains rise beyond, sharp and dark, their slopes veined with waterfalls that crash in silver ribbons.
I can even make out the port where we first arrived, tiny now, a cluster of ships bobbing like toys against the dock.
It’s beautiful—achingly so. And for a moment, I wish Sirona could have seen it. The flight lasts perhaps an hour before Zillah leans forward, voice raised over the wind. “We’re dropping!”
Sure enough, the griffin dips, wings tucking as we angle down toward the rainforest. The canopy rushes up at us, a living wall of green, until we break through and land in a clearing deep within the jungle.
The air here is thick and wet, humming with insects and birdsong, the scent of loam and rain heavy in my lungs.
I slide off Kael, legs unsteady, brushing a hand down his feathered neck. Beside me, Remli strokes Veyra too, softer than I’ve ever seen her. With a whistle and a flick of her fingers, she sends them skyward. The griffins launch, wings cracking branches, then vanish above the canopy.
“Remli—what if we need them?” Selene frowns.
Remli arches a brow. “I can call them back when we’re ready. They don’t exist to loiter at our feet—they’re not servants.”
The rest of us exchange glances, but say nothing. Her expression shutters again, the moment of softness gone. She looks around at us like she’d rather vanish than stand in our company, then shifts in a ripple of fur and bone into her lynx form. Without a word, she melts into the undergrowth.
Selene lifts her chin toward the east, eyes narrowed. “This way.” And we follow, the rainforest swallowing us whole.
The jungle feels endless. Three miles in, and sweat slicks every inch of me, soaking the thin fabric of my tunic. The air is thick, pressing against my lungs, humming with life. Every step is squelch and rustle; the surrounding green so dense it feels like a wall.
I swipe at my brow, but it’s useless—sweat drips freely, running down my temples, sliding between my breasts. Lowan growls low in his throat, the sound more animal than man, and I glance at him in surprise. His eyes glint, hungry.
Zillah whips around, her grin wide and wolfish. “Oh, well, this is a change.” Selene chuckles, shaking her head.
Lowan waves them off, but leans down and presses a kiss against my temple, his hand lingering at the small of my back.
Heat rises in me that has nothing to do with the jungle.
Remli slips in and out of the trees, her lynx form a blur of spotted fur and sharp eyes.
She keeps her distance, content to stalk alone, which suits me fine. Five’s a crowd.
Then the trees part, and we step into a clearing.
A pool glimmers there, clear as glass, fed by a waterfall spilling down a jagged stone mountain.
Mist curls from the cascade, clinging to the leaves.
The sound of rushing water fills the air, with birdsong threading through it.
For a moment, I only stand and stare; breathtaking doesn’t even cover it.
Selene’s voice is soft but certain. “We’re here.”
We all glance around—nothing but water and stone and green.
“There’s nothing here,” Lowan says flatly, distrust coiled tight.
But Selene only shrugs. “My magic says this is it.”
Before any of us can answer, movement catches my eye.
From behind the waterfall, a figure steps forward, the curtain of water breaking around her.
An ancient woman wades out, silver-gray hair twisted into a bun, her long white dress clinging wetly to her hips.
Her skin is olive-gold, though the cave’s shadows have drained it pale, as if carved from stone.
The water gleams on her skin, but her posture is regal, unbowed.
When she speaks, her voice carries like a bell, far stronger than her age-worn face suggests. “And your magic is never wrong, Selene Neythra.”
My heart stutters. We’ve found her. Elaris.