Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
It had taken the healers thirteen hours and fifty-four minutes to fully heal every bone and break. A feat they should be proud of because nearly every single bone in my body was split.
It’s not like they were able to put me out of it either because it was my magic holding everything together. I was forced to stay up and alert the whole nearly fourteen hours, slowly releasing my magic in select areas after they had healed those sections.
A complete fucking pain.
Especially with five hot-tempered, broody fated males with auras that constantly want to dominate.
Bloodstream by Neoni and Jung Youth is blaring as loud as my little MP3 player can play on speaker through my room as I twirl the six inch long stick of my solidified blood.
Lasairorm is in her tank curled beneath her cave sleeping.
Jullia should be on her way back with Asher and Hanna from Stone House.
We’ll be going into Syngenia City later tonight for a last night of fun before exams.
These past two weeks have been the epiphany of annoying. There is not one person on this campus – hell these fucking grounds and probably past it – that has not heard of what I am. It’s not even just that social media site either, word has spread like a true wildfire.
The first forgotten god resurrected.
The first blood witch created reincarnated.
I growl at the empty space. “You’re just as much of a fucking bitch as she is.”
Nightmare by UNDREAM and Neoni starts up next. Appropriate for how these fifteen days have gone. I flick my hand letting my solidified blood sail until it embeds itself into the door frame. There are already four other sticks stuck in the old wood.
People have literally bowed to me when walking down the halls. Bowed. As if I’m something special.
I had been so close to screaming at them all.
I strum my fingers along Varian’s bond as I huff and sit in my desk chair. Neither of us have spoken since I forced Alexandros back. He has not made an effort even though I’ve left the bond open for him. Either he does not wish to, or someone is preventing him from doing so.
However, if there’s anything that’s for sure, it’s that I will not be breaking the silence first.
He said he didn’t believe me to be a ruthless killer. I told him he was wrong. I had meant what I said to the rebel’s leader. I would have killed every single one of them, and I would not have lost a single second of sleep over it.
Destroying the Willow of Lore will break the veil separating us from the primordials above. It will give me access to Hessenti and Ruu so I can kill them, but there is still the rest of the primordials and the one I need to make remembered.
His presence is already known on this plane of existence, so breaking the veil would do nothing. And I have no idea how I’m supposed to make his name remembered. Along with that, I still haven’t figured out a way to destroy my soul so Callahan and Castiel won’t have to actually kill me.
Both of them have been nearly nonexistent around me.
Callahan no longer trains with me in the morning and doesn’t walk with me to my classes.
He’s deteriorating and it’s completely my fault, but the closer he gets the closer his true form is to figuring out what I am and what I’m meant to be. He can’t know until I’m ready.
And this whole fucking thing is just one giant freakin loop because it all comes back to me needing to know his name. A name I don’t know how to remember.
How are you supposed to make something remembered that is supposed to be forgotten?
Lasairorm nudges her head out and flicks her tongue. Her solid, deep eyes looking at me like she always does. With an intelligence far beyond what anyone would consider a creature to have.
“Too bad the queen you’re named after doesn’t exist in this universe,” I grumble to her. Though, it’s not actually the queen she’s named after, but rather the crown that sits on the queen’s head.
She’s what they call a storyteller in her universe. A Raconteur.
I straighten my head that I hadn’t realized I tilted as I narrow my eyes at my viper.
A raconteur’s greatest magic is to tell a story.
“A raconteur’s greatest magic is not to make the forgotten remembered,” I start from the beginning of the saying. “A raconteur’s greatest magic is to tell a story. But they still can make the forgotten remembered.”
An inkling of a plan begins to form and I wonder if it could be possible.
Earth and Miy reside in separate universes, however those separate universes reside within one of the realms. Or a super universe depending on who you’re talking to.
That’s why it was so easy for beings to cross between the two worlds.
It’s why we don’t tend to venture to other universes and worlds.
Too much inbetween space you have to go through when portaling in any format.
But it is possible. People have done it.
Ms. Elaycia has done it.
The door barges open and I twist my neck to look at the group tumbling in. I can practically taste the toxication within their blood already. Just then some Russia techno dance sort of song begins playing and Jullia’s eyes widen as she begins bopping to the beat.
“Yessss!” she slurs and begins moving her hips and waving her hands up in her tight fitting sequined iridescent dress. “Daaaancccce!”
“How fucking much has she already drank?” I want to be that drunk.
Ricka slides in and does a once over of me before nodding approvingly. “Now that is a going out outfit, godskiller.”
Irrationally – stupidly, weakly, illogically – I flinch at the nickname. A rush of adrenaline flushing my system as I abruptly stand and then I freeze because I don’t know why my body reacted so. . . scared.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, which straightens and sobers them all up. Ricka, Jullia, Hanna, Mila, Asher, Kyno, Scorn, Adam, and the demon who’s name still eludes me. Not that I used any magic or aura in my tone.
For once I let my heart beat hard and my blood rush through my veins.
It doesn’t help to ease the tightness starting to squeeze my chest. The pulse thumping so hard I can feel it in my throat as I place my right hand over my heart and dig my nails in.
Creating temporary marks over my permanent ones.
Fuck.
I haven’t had a real panic attack like this in a while.
One that I can’t simply shut down like usual.
Mavyllora, he purrs. Do you see what you do to me? Can you feel what you do to me when you are such a good girl for me.
Godskiller.
I turn my back to them and place my left hand on my desk as I focus on taking large, deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Boring my eyes into a particular grain on the old wooden desk because I can’t take the darkness when closing my eyes and it helps to focus.
Uncontrollable, I quietly seethe to that damned bone witch. What about having a panic attack that seizes your whole body and dominates your mind and yet you’re still able to regulate and control your fucking aura and magic?
My blood rushes faster and my breathing turns choppy because I’m getting too anxious and how is that even possible while having a panic attack. It’s just supposed to be one thing. But I can’t breathe.
It feels like my ribs are closing in on my lungs and I know it’s all in my head. It’s always just in my head.
It’s not supposed to last this long.
It’s just a nickname.
Her nickname.
And you hate her.
I can’t move. My muscles have locked up and I’m frozen in place and I still can’t fucking breathe. Even as I keep trying to pull in as much air as possible through my nose and heave it out.
You hate them all.
I hate myself.
You want to ravage past the stars. You want to annihilate them all.
I just want to lay down in the sun.
I force my lungs to accept air and I focus on it. I need to calm down. Except I can’t because I’m being over-fucking-dramatic.
Dust, old wood, ink, leather.
It smells like my room.
Crackling lightning and not cloying earth – Asher.
Sweet sugar and frost that pricks at your nose like the nipping cold – Jullia.
Mavyllora, my sweet. Can you hear me? Mine, in every lifetime, I know you can take me deeper. Now be a good girl, hallow your cheeks, and suck my cock like you did so very well last night.
Sea salt and mint – Hanna. I strain my mind to match it, each scent, focusing on that.
Copper-hinted rain – Ricka.
Mine. Mine in every lifetime. My precious secret girl. So special, aren’t you, Mavyllora. Mine, who can write a fate, who can create a death blow, who can kill a god. Forever and ever and ever.
I dig my nails in deeper – I think. Am I breathing still? What’s the next scent? Who was next?
Crackling embers and cedar. That’s. . . th – that. . .
Warmth.
Warmth without the burning.
He’s going to find out.
I finally snap out of it.
I straighten and the hand that was rubbing circles on my back disappears, but his scent doesn’t. His scent that is like a soft fire within the middle of a calm wood. It’s steady, quiet, anchoring.
“Mavyn.” My heart hurts. My spirit. My soul. “Are you going there again?”
There.
There.
With. Him.
I press my nails deeper into my skin as I blink and water drops onto my desk. I think I’m about to test if this waterproof makeup Hanna put on me is actually waterproof.
Straightening, I remove my hand from over my heart and the desk and rub my eyes. Clearing the mist along my waterline and taking a clear, deep breath. When I turn and actually look at Callahan he lets me see everything through his eyes.
My golden devil.
“I held out for a long time last time,” I respond. “He used a lot of energy so it’ll be a while more. Probably a couple months, at least.”
Breaking eye contact, I turn to those behind me and dip my head at them.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you, but please do not call me that.” I look at Ricka first and then the rest of them. “Any other nickname is fine, just not that one.”
“Why?”