Shelter #2
“Thank you, Farah.” Cyrus poured as much respect and earnestness into his voice as he could muster. Words could not convey how grateful he was to these witches for providing hospitality and refuge. Were it not for their elixirs, Cyrus wasn’t sure if they would have made it out alive.
He cringed inwardly as he realized not all of them had made it out alive.
Gods, he still couldn’t fully grasp that Lagos was gone.
The curly-haired witch stepped forward, her gold eyes shrewd as she surveyed Cyrus. He assumed this was Wren. “You’re quite different from Rom.” Her voice was blunt, and Cyrus imagined she spoke her opinion often and unapologetically.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Yes, well, Romanos has more experience in the mortal realm than I do.”
Wren pointed to Prue. “Do you need help carrying her?”
“No.” The word was clipped. Cyrus rose, then reached for Prue. The moment his fingers wrapped around her wrist, she gasped, her eyes flying open.
Cyrus’s heart leapt into his throat, his pulse racing. He knelt to the floor and crouched beside her, clutching her hand in his. Had he imagined it? Or had she truly awoken?
She gasped, the sound loud and rattling. Her eyelids fluttered, and a flush rose up her cheeks. She wet her lips, then looked around, her eyes dazed. “I—Cyrus?”
“Yes, I’m here, love,” Cyrus whispered, pressing her hand to his lips. Gods, he was so damn relieved she was awake. His eyes burned with tears for the second time, and he didn’t bother stifling them.
Prue tried sitting up, then winced. “Shit.” Slowly, she raised a hand to the jagged scar where her ear had been. “That—” Her mouth fell open, and her face paled. “Oh, Goddess.” Her hand started shaking as she slowly turned to look at Cyrus. “It wasn’t a dream, was it? That… that was all real?”
Cyrus sucked in a breath. Her fingers felt cold in his grasp. Gods, was he going to lose her again? Would the shock of it all pull her under once more?
Instead of replying, Cyrus drew closer, pulling her to his chest and holding her. His hands traced circles along her back as she shuddered against him.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s going to be all right.”
“Please,” Prue breathed. “Please tell me it’s not true. Please tell me he isn’t gone.”
Cyrus squeezed her tightly, pouring as much affection and comfort as he could in the embrace. He needed her to feel his warmth, his strength. He needed her to know she wasn’t alone.
Prue’s fingernails bit into Cyrus’s arm. “Cyrus, answer me.”
With a sigh, he withdrew and cupped her face in his hands. “Look at me, Prue.”
Her lavender eyes met his, and there was more strength and clarity in her gaze than he had expected.
His wife was strong. She would weather this like she had every storm of her life.
“It’s real,” Cyrus said softly. “It’s all real. And Lagos… Lagos is dead.”
It was the first time he’d uttered the words aloud, and now he hated himself for it. Now it was real. There was no taking it back. There was no reversing the situation.
Lagos was truly dead.
Prue’s face crumpled, and tears streamed down her face. She shook her head, her lower lip wobbling. “No. No.”
“I—I’m so sorry, Prue.” Cyrus’s voice cracked, just like his heart. Seeing his wife like this was breaking something inside him. Something he worried could never be repaired again.
He wanted to hold her again. But the guilt, the gnawing pit in his stomach, made him realize he was the last person who should be comforting her right now.
Because all of this was his fault.
A hard lump formed in his throat, making it difficult to swallow. “Should I get Mona?”
Prue blinked rapidly. “Mona’s here? Is she all right?” She gazed around the cavern, hope brightening her eyes.
Cyrus stood. “I’ll fetch her.”
Prue snatched his hand, her grip firm. “Cyrus, don’t go.”
He stared at their entwined hands, unable to look her in the eye.
“Cyrus,” she said again, her voice gentle. “Stay with me. Please.”
He nodded tersely. “If that’s what you want.”
Prue’s brows drew together, and he knew she could tell something was off. But the last thing he wanted to do was lay out his burdens for her to bear. She had enough to deal with.
“Should I show you the privacy caves now, or wait?” Wren asked awkwardly.
Cyrus had completely forgotten the witch was there. He ran his thumb along the inside of Prue’s wrist and looked at his wife expectantly. “What do you need right now, Prue? Do you want to stay here with Mona, or go rest in the caves?”
Prue stared at him, a dozen emotions warring in her gaze. He tried to look as reassuring as possible, to let her know it was all right if she would prefer to be with Mona right now.
Prue opened her mouth, then hesitated.
“You are welcome to return to the communal space at any time,” Wren offered. “I just need to show you the route to take so you don’t get lost in the tunnels.”
Prue glanced at Wren, then back at Cyrus. “Let’s go to the privacy caves,” she said at last. “I—I should probably rest.”
Cyrus’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. But when she gave him a meaningful look, he realized what she meant.
We need to talk, her eyes said.
Anxiety wriggled in his stomach, but he shoved it away. This conversation needed to happen.
Prue needed to know the part he had played in Lagos’s death.
“All right.” Cyrus helped Prue to her feet. She teetered slightly, but once she found her balance, she took a few solid steps.
Wren turned and led them toward the cave on the left side of the rock wall. With his arm laced through Prue’s, Cyrus followed, dreading the upcoming conversation—and the looming possibility of losing his wife’s trust forever.