Chapter 17
No matter what I do, I can’t seem to calm down, the image of Raven refusing to get out of my head even after hours spent trying to process it in the silence of my room. There was so much pain in those memories of hers, it makes me feel this overwhelming need to run back there, pull her into a tight hug and tell her she”s not alone.
It”s simply not an option, though. I”ll have to apologize, sure, but I”ll have to find some way to do it without getting close again.
Because this incident has made many new questions arise, but it has also made one thing clear — I”ve started getting too close to those two, too relaxed around them, and that simply won”t do.
I guess it”s a good thing that I at least have something to distract me. This is the first time I’ve managed to make any progress since I’ve started trying to do the rituals, and after today, Scorpio won’t be in the right position for another two weeks.
So as soon as the light outside my window starts dying down, I grab my shit and I rush outside, heading straight for the closest entrance into the Lycan Forest — the opening in the trees to the right of the foot of the Lycan Tower.
I enter the oldest, scariest woods I know, my determination taking a hit before I”ve taken a single step down the path weaving through the underbrush. Even on the sunniest day, I don”t exactly like this place. There”s something about it that makes me unsettled. I don”t know if it”s the strange silence that somehow persists despite all the sounds, the mind-bogglingly old trees that feel more alive than trees should, or that everything in here seems to always be breathing out, rustling, calling out to me.
Goddamn it.
I muster all my courage and I keep walking down the path until I reach a clearing with a river meandering through the trees.
It’s near the shore that I set the ritual stuff up. I sit in front of the bowl and candles, cross legged, and just sit there for a second.
Dusk is gathering all around me, and when I look up, there’s a web of stars starting to show across the darkening sky.
When I look down, I see them reflecting in the water in front of me.
I close my eyes, letting the remainder of the image explode into a universe filled with stars, some twinkling from far away, some burning like the sun.
It takes my breath away, when some of the stars connect into an image of a scorpio and all of a sudden, I hear the rush of water from the brook as if it were a waterfall crashing down on me.
Instead of the warm, fuzzy feelings of establishing a connection with a constellation, I get attacked by the image of Raven lying on the ground in the Junkyard and the question I’ve been asking myself ever since it happened.
Why did it feel like it felt when my mother would come to my room for me to comfort her, just with… Magic?
Before I can stop it, the single image of Raven turns into a torrent of images — of a book with no title, strange cities, eyes with burning fire in them, crowds of weirdly dressed people, the symbol, faces of people in pain... All of the pain feels so real, it’s like my entire being is caving underneath.
Still, none of it hurts as much as knowing it’s all my fault, the most suffocating wave of guilt and shame crashing down on me.
“Help,” I plead, trying to get in touch with my animal, but nothing happens, except for a sob growing in my throat.
I gulp and I grit my teeth, feeling this unbearable urge to make it all stop.
As if in a trance, I find myself getting up and approaching the river, getting to the shore and not stopping.
My eyes round in fear yet I still find myself slowly wading into the water, its sharp coldness sending a shock of pain through my body.
But it’s a relief, more than anything else, when I plunge myself under the surface and feel the first glimmer of hope in gods know how long — the promise of once and for all being lulled into nothingness.
***
It breaks the calming monotony and makes adrenaline surge through my body, when I feel something slide under my right arm and wrap itself around my waist. An arm. My eyes fly open, but before I can react, the grip becomes more aggressive, and the next thing I know, my body is lifting off the riverbed and my head is breaking through the surface of the water. My mouth opens in a desperate gasp for air, and I realize someone is dragging me out of the river, a man whose chest my back is pressed into.
There’s the lizard brain exploding with joy, greedy for life, but the pain and guilt are so devastatingly overwhelming, even more so now that I’ve finally figured out how to make them stop, once and for all.
Just as the man reaches the shallow with his arm still tight around my waist — in the hopes of breaking myself free and diving back into the promise of nothingness, I start thrashing with my upper body, my legs kicking and my fingers clawing at the arm.
I hear a sharp “No—” broken off by a groan filled with frustrated anger. The arm loosens a little, but only for a split second. When it tightens again, its grip is ironclad. I can’t move my upper body at all.
There’s the voice ringing in my head, so unbearably familiar, but I don’t let myself linger on it, because he’s managed to drag me all the way out, my legs flailing in the air above the hard ground of the river shore.
When he puts me down and pulls the arm away, I waste no time. My legs refusing to obey, I throw myself on all fours and start furiously crawling back into the water.
A muffled curse reaches me. The very next moment, his body is blocking my way, his hands mercilessly pulling me up. “Will you stop that?” I hear the voice — pissed-off and choked-up, as he forces me to stand straight.
Practically blind with tears and river water, I don’t let the voice get to me. I try to walk around him only to bump into his chest, hard. I try to run around him. Once. Twice. I can’t seem to fucking escape him.
The third time I try, he grabs me by the upper arms, holding me so tight, I can’t move an inch. “Stop, goddamnit,” he spits out, his anger only seeming to grow. “Focus on my voice.”
I don’t even want to look at him. If I look at him, let alone listen to him, I might never get back into the water. Then when will all this stop?
I let out an angry, dragged-out groan, putting all my strength into getting his hands off me and hitting him in the chest with both my palms to push him away.
Remaining as still as a rock, he snatches my wrists and gets in my face, making me turn my head to the side. “I said focus on my voice,” he orders with a roughness that instantly makes all my muscles go limp.
Just like that.
I turn my head to look at him, blinking my tears away. It’s him for sure, but it makes my breath catch, this soft, warm glow radiating off his skin.
“Good,” he says, a little less pissed off. Slowly and with narrowed eyes — as if he’s expecting me to make a run for it, he lets go of my wrists. “Now breathe.”
I listen, trying to drag as much air into my lungs as possible, but only managing short, staggered breaths. It’s only then that I become aware of it. My entire body is shaking. Violently. Have I been shaking like this the entire time?
“Deeper,” he orders.
But the shaking just won’t die down.
Unceremoniously, he peels my soaking wet jacket off and drops it to the ground. It surprises me, that I don’t even flinch, let alone try to stop him. But it does make me frown, when he takes his own jacket off and slings it over my shoulders. Leather, only wet on the outside. Almost instantly, it makes the shaking start subsiding — its warmth against my skin and his scent filling my nostrils.
It takes me a second to fight off the urge to bury my nose in it.
“What’re you,” I start in a rough voice, breaking off to take a shaky lungful of air, “doing here?”
He studies me for a second, then lets out a pent-up breath and takes a small, cautious step back without taking his eyes off me. It’s in a serious, but much less pissed-off voice that he says, “I’m a shifter, Novak. I like to spend time in the Lycan Forest.” Then, through gritted teeth but strangely softly, “What were you doing?”
I barely register the words. I’m so cold and shaken up, and his voice and that glow radiating off his skin — they’re making me want to get closer, promising warmth and safety unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Answer the question,” comes a patient demand.
I don’t hesitate. I just blurt out, “Scorpio.”
“Scorpio?” he echoes. I’m almost squirming with the need to get closer to him, but my answer is making him frown again. “Don’t you know how dangerous that is? Huh?”
It jolts me back to focus, the disapproval in his voice. I press my lips tight and I tear my eyes away from him, suddenly aware of how stupid, childish and pathetic I must seem. Still, I find myself whispering, more to myself than him, “I need to do this.”
With the corner of my eye, I see him run his hand down his face and hear him mumble something to himself, making out only “stubborn” and “death of me.”
Feeling a sob coming on, I clench my jaw and move to walk away, planning on taking a walk and returning when he”s gone.
He flinches, but doesn’t try to stop me. “When’s your next opportunity?” I hear him ask.
I stop midstep. I frown. “Two weeks,” I say in a low, joyless voice.
He lets out a sigh. “Fine. You can forget about special classes, but in two weeks, you’re meeting me here and you’re doing the ritual under my supervision.”
I turn to look at him again, defiance in my eyes. “I can still—”
“No,” he forcefully cuts me off, getting in my face again. “Right now,” he commands as he gestures at the Lycan Tower, “you’re getting your ass back inside the tower, you’re changing out of those wet clothes and you’re going straight to bed.”
His tone transfixing instead of angering me, I just give him a nod.
For a moment, he seems to hesitate, the anticipation making me swallow roughly.
Then he moves to walk away, my stomach dropping at the very thought of the growing distance.
It sends a flutter through my chest, when he stops mid step and turns to look at me again, as if he’s remembered something. “I’ll be sending someone to check,” he says with eyes narrowing at me, “so don’t even think about disobeying me. Understood?”
I stare into his eyes for a second. “Understood,” I finally say.
He turns on his heel and starts marching out of the woods, leaving me standing there in growing confusion, soaking wet with his jacket as the only source of actual warmth.