Chapter 19
NINETEEN
ATLAS
It feels wrong not being able to do anything but wait for the guys to get back with help, or for Rune’s sister to show up and find out he’s gotten his magic back and disposed of the undead prison guards.
The chill in his voice when he said he might have to kill her is still ringing in my ears.
He doesn’t want to. Of course he doesn’t.
Even if she has been behind all of this, she’s still his little sister.
Obviously, the family relationship isn’t going to stop him if it comes down to it, but I’m hoping there can be a more diplomatic solution for his sake. It will hurt him to have to kill her, and that’s all I really care about.
I glance at the tattoos still glowing on my arms, and my chest fills with a big, warm feeling that’s dizzying and incredible.
He’s mine now. Mine to protect and keep happy.
Mine to love and cherish. Mine to untangle his knotted hair and listen to him rage when he needs to.
My mate. And I’ll stand between him and anything that might hurt him, physically or emotionally.
I’ll kill his sister myself if I have to in order to protect him.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks with a curious look, leaning against me as I stand in the doorway, on alert for anyone coming back up the long stone walkway, or any sign of movement in the darkness.
“What I would do to protect you,” I answer honestly.
“You don’t have to worry.” Rune sends a little pulse of reassuring magic through our bond.
“This messy family drama notwithstanding, I don’t need a whole lot of protection.
And now, with my new souped-up powers…” He grins and holds up one hand, palm up, conjuring a fireball that sizzles and pops.
“I’m going to be the baddest motherfucker on the block. ”
He lobs the fireball at the open doorway in front of us. It hits the barrier and the flames explode like fireworks before fizzling out.
I put my arm around his shoulders and pull him a little closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“I’m a gargoyle—protecting people is in my nature.”
“How about if we agree to protect each other?”
“I can live with that.”
He turns his head and brushes his lips against mine, creating another little spark.
I groan and deepen the kiss, slipping my tongue into his mouth to taste the very essence of him.
I can feel what he was talking about before, the well of his magic deeper and fuller inside of me than it was.
It feels bottomless now, instead of the tight ball of light and electricity it was before.
But it’s more than just his magic. I can feel him, like our souls are intertwined, flowing easily back and forth through the channel of our bond in the center of our chests.
His energy is invigorating mine and I’m refueling his in an endless loop.
“Do you think it will always feel this intense?” he murmurs against my lips.
“The attraction between us or your magic?” I chuckle and nip at his mouth, threading my fingers through his hair.
“Both.” He grins into the kiss and bumps his nose against mine.
“Yes.” I don’t even have to think about it. Yes, I think it’ll always be like this between us. That’s what fated mates are. Our souls were made for each other, created at the same time and blessed by the Fates to be rejoined when the time was right.
“Come here.” He breaks the kiss and slides his hand down my arm, twining his fingers through mine and tugging me away from the door.
I dig my heels in and look back at the doorway. It feels like we should be keeping an eye out. There’s no telling when his sister will get back and all hell will break loose.
“It’s not going to matter,” he says, like he can read exactly what I’m thinking.
“If she wanted me dead on the spot, she could have done that before I ever woke up in that damn illusionary prison. She obviously wants to confront me. She was just working up to it. So, there’s no need to stand sentry at the door waiting for her. ”
His logic is sound, but it still feels wrong.
I let him lead me into the living room anyway and trust that what he’s saying is right.
He burned this place down around twenty years ago, if my math is right, but the decor looks a lot older than that.
The couches look like they’re Victorian, and so do most of the light fixtures.
He sits down on the floor instead of any of the furniture, and gestures to the space in front of him. “Come here,” he says again. “I want to break this fucking illusion before I lose my damn mind.”
RUNE
There’s comfort in knowing that this damn house is still a burned shell, but I can’t stand looking at it like this—full of antique furniture and family heirlooms. This place was the Delaport pride and joy until my magic manifested and they saw dollar signs.
Don’t get me wrong, they still worshipped this fucking house, but they finally had something else to constantly brag about.
My mind flashes with memories of Rhiannon, off on her own, climbing the trees in the yard or up in her room playing with her dolls.
I pitied her at first, and then I envied her.
She got to be a kid, she had the chance to have a proper childhood, while I was being forced to create cursed objects and perform rituals that make my skin crawl to this day to think about.
She must not have seen it that way though.
Not if she’s gone to all this trouble to trap me here and torment me with specters of the past I’ve spent decades trying to forget.
With my magic and Atlas’s energy flowing freely through our bond, we don’t need to touch anymore for me to draw any power from him, but I reach for his hand anyway.
His presence is steadying, grounding, comforting even.
I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect a lot of things about the gargoyle.
He makes me feel like I’m standing on solid ground, even though we’re still trapped here with an epic showdown on the horizon, I’m centered and calm.
It makes it so much easier to tap into my magic and wield it purposefully.
I close my eyes and use my energy to probe the illusion.
It’s good. It’s damn good. It feels as solid as anything.
If it weren’t for Cassius saying that it’s burned on the outside, I’d wonder if she actually rebuilt the whole damn place.
I’m not going to be able to smash through it like I did the barrier downstairs, but maybe I can peel it away one layer at a time.
Like stripping wallpaper or chipping away at a flaking layer of paint, you just have to find a good spot to start.
I can feel the layers of ancestral magic woven into every shadow and shape of this illusion.
As much as I’ve tried to forget about all of them, the flavors of their magic are still as familiar as ever.
My mom’s magic was yellow and had a low hum when it was activated.
I manage to find that one easily, and I worm my magic around it, tugging the thread of it loose little by little.
The more I unravel it, the more of it I can feel as I absorb it into my own magic, and a swirl of unwanted memories washes over me.
The visceral, tender feeling of her magic wrapped around me as she soothed me back to sleep with a lullaby after a nightmare when I was only four hits me like a freight train, making a sob tighten my throat.
Why couldn’t she have been that mother forever?
I tug on the magic more and another memory tumbles free, of the first time she sold my magic.
The image fills my mind like it’s happening right now, my mother kneeling down in front of me and conjuring a butterfly in her hand.
I laughed and copied her, creating an even more brightly colored one that took flight and chased hers into the air.
Then, she tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, told me she loved me, and asked me to do a small favor for her.
My chest aches and Atlas squeezes my fingers.
My eyes flutter open, and I can see the illusion starting to flicker around the edges just a little. It’s working. Atlas reaches over with his free hand and brushes his thumb along my cheek. When he pulls back, I can see dampness glistening on his skin.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly.
“I do,” I say through gritted teeth, and close my eyes again.
I steel myself against the memories and keep tugging until every trace of her magic is gone from the tapestry, and then I start on the next.
My grandmother’s, mint green and bubbly.
And just like before, the sensory memories tied to her magic assault me as I loosen it and absorb it into myself.
Sweet memories and painful, vicious ones all intertwined.
Sweat beads on my forehead and I open my eyes to look again.
There’s a spot near the ceiling where the wallpaper is peeling back and I can see charred remains underneath.
The smell of rot and moss is just barely creeping in over the illusion of the sweet, citrusy scent of fresh magnolias.
I wonder if Rhiannan can feel the magic I’m stripping away.
Is she panicking as she hurries back, dread filling her gut as she becomes more and more certain that I’ve gotten my powers back and broken free from my cage?
A petty smile curls on my lips as I imagine it.
I want her to know exactly what she’s up against before she sets foot back on the property.
I want her to understand how well and truly fucked she is.
I don’t want to kill her, but I will if I have to.
And I’m going to demolish what’s left of this cursed fucking land if it’s the last thing I do.
Atlas reaches over again and brushes a strand of hair off of my sweat damp forehead.
“A dozen more layers to go,” I tell him.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asks, stone rippling and hardening across his skin as he tries to keep his expression neutral.
I give him a soft smile and lean forward to brush another kiss to his lips.
“Just being here is enough. I’m so tired of being strong all by myself.
” I can’t believe I’m admitting that, but it’s true.
I don’t even know if I realized it before, but feeling his presence, his strength, his steadiness wrapped around me like a pair of sturdy arms makes me realize how alone I’ve really been all this time.
No family, no friends, no one I could trust except for myself.
Another sob builds in my throat, and I crawl into his lap. He wraps his arms around me without hesitation and runs his fingers soothingly through my hair.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
I close my eyes again, and this time, I use his energy as a shield as I peel the next layer of magic away. I focus on the feeling of his energy instead of the magic itself to keep the memories at bay. And little by little, I strip the illusion away.