Chapter Twenty-Four #3
They were empty words. What was trust in the face of utter uncertainty?
Tem didn’t trust Apollo. And she certainly didn’t trust herself.
Her basilisk side had no qualms with what they were about to do.
But her human side was horrified. She was here out of necessity—out of some latent need to…
what? Prove that she could do this? Prove it to whom?
Tem was the only one who held herself to such a high standard.
It was only her own judgment she measured herself against. Caspen himself had made it clear he never wanted her to petrify anyone.
She was here entirely of her own volition.
Did that mean she was willing to become a murderer?
It was difficult to see it any other way.
It was easy to think about petrification in the abstract—to vaguely imagine what it would be like to turn someone to stone.
But this was real. Tem was about to voluntarily take a life—a life that didn’t need to be taken.
Every choice she’d made thus far had been to avoid bloodshed, to prevent death.
Now she was choosing to kill. What did that say about her?
“Fine,” Tem said. She couldn’t seem to manage anything else.
They walked on in silence. Eventually, a structure emerged in the distance: a low brick wall with a run-down cottage just beyond. When they reached the wall, Apollo gestured with his hand. “After you.”
Tem rolled her eyes, knowing full well that he only wanted to watch her climb over the wall so he could stare at her ass. But she couldn’t care less at this point.
The cottage was crumbling in on itself; Tem couldn’t picture anyone actually living here. To their right was a chicken coop. There were hardly any chickens inside, but the sight still made her flinch.
“Why here?” she whispered. For some reason, it felt like she needed to be quiet.
“Its occupant is dying.”
“How do you know that?”
“I can tell.”
“But how?”
Apollo sighed. He looked at her. “I understand why my brother did not want to teach you to petrify. You are extraordinarily impatient.”
Tem smiled. They were always trying to teach her patience, these men. It was a skill she had no interest in learning, and if Caspen hadn’t succeeded in getting her to master it, Apollo certainly wouldn’t either. “He likes my impatience.”
“That, I cannot fathom.”
She shrugged. “He likes other things too.”
Apollo smirked. “Now that I can fathom.”
Tem pursed her lips. She would not be baited into flirting.
“Impatience is a maddening trait,” Apollo continued lightly. “I shudder to think what a task it must have been to train you.”
Tem rolled her eyes. “Maybe I already knew everything there was to know before I met Caspen.”
Apollo’s mouth twitched up at the sides. “Now, now, Temperance. Do not lie. Your heartbeat betrays you.”
Tem sighed. She could never get away with anything with the basilisks. She didn’t know why she cared in the first place. But for some reason, she didn’t want Apollo to think of her as inexperienced. She wanted him to view her as his equal.
“There is no shame in being a virgin,” Apollo said. “Even I was one once.”
Tem pursed her lips. Apollo was right, of course.
But being a virgin had been the bane of her existence for so long that it was difficult for her to extract herself from that mindset.
Vera’s cruel taunts still haunted her. It had taken a long time to get over the feelings of inadequacy that had plagued Tem her entire childhood, and now that she was the object of Apollo’s sexual desire, she loathed the thought of him knowing how she used to be.
It was a victory, somehow, to make someone like him want her. A victory she savored.
“I’m not ashamed,” Tem said sharply.
She had no doubt he could tell that was a lie too. But mercifully, Apollo didn’t retaliate. Instead, he said, “To answer your question, I can smell the decay. Their body has already given up. It is only their mind that keeps them here. Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
A sigh. “Must you question every single thing I tell you?”
“Yes.”
Another sigh. “If you close your eyes, your other senses will heighten. You will smell what I smell.”
Reluctantly, Tem closed her eyes. At first, there was only the familiar scent of smoke on Apollo’s skin. Then something else began to creep in: something dark. Decay.
Death was already upon this doorstep; Tem could sense it just as Apollo had.
She sensed something else too: suffering.
She could hear the human inside: an old man.
Blood flowed sluggishly through his veins, coagulating.
His lungs had corroded; each breath he took caused him excruciating pain.
His heart was working far harder than it should to keep him alive—an signal of mortality, an undeniable ode to the fragility of humans.
Tem couldn’t imagine all that muscle and blood turning to stone. She opened her eyes.
“How does petrification work?”
“It is a matter of transference,” Apollo said. “When we take their life force, it makes us stronger. In turn, they lose the flesh that tethers them to life. They become stone.”
“Transference,” Tem repeated quietly. It wasn’t a word she had heard before.
“The power will come from here”—Apollo placed the palm of his hand over her sternum, right above her breasts, and she felt suddenly even warmer—“in your heart. You must pull it from the deepest part of you.”
“Pull?”
“Yes. The ability to petrify is already inside you. You need only wield it.”
None of that made much sense to Tem. She was getting impatient again. “But how do I wield it?”
“First you must transition.”
Tem wasn’t surprised; she’d expected this. Still, it made her nervous. Surely, Apollo would judge her if she couldn’t turn. Or worse—he would know why her body was betraying her.
“And then what?”
“And then I will guide you the rest of the way.”
Tem nodded. She couldn’t do much else. Her stomach was rapidly twisting into a knot.
“Do you still wish to proceed?” Apollo asked.
Tem hesitated. She was grateful he’d taken her here, to this dying man, where the petrification would be a blessing instead of a curse. But Caspen was right: it was a terrible thing to take a life.
“Does it hurt them?” she asked.
Apollo shrugged. “Truth be told, I do not know.”
Tem thought of Jonathan and Christopher. She wouldn’t have minded if they’d suffered. But she did not want this old man to suffer. She wanted to bring him peace and to do it as quickly as possible.
“Do you still wish to proceed?” he asked again.
Tem didn’t hesitate this time. “Yes.”
If it had been anyone else in the cottage, she might have said no. But the predator in her knew that this person was beyond life—that they were already as good as dead—that what she and Apollo were about to do would not rob them of anything that wasn’t already gone.
Apollo nodded at the chicken coop. “He will come outside to feed them at dawn. That is when we will strike.”
Tem nodded too. She was quite familiar with the feeding schedule of chickens.
The sky was already beginning to lighten; dawn was not far off.
They stood together, Tem watching the cottage and Apollo watching her.
If Tem wasn’t already used to seeing a plethora of naked bodies beneath the mountain, it would have been downright impossible not to watch him back.
But weeks of exposure had trained her for this, and with great will, she averted her eyes from his cock.
Apollo, on the other hand, practiced no such discipline.
He stared at her openly, shamelessly, and even as the sun rose and dappled the grass with gold, his gaze never wavered.
It was only when the door to the cottage opened that he finally tore his eyes away from her to look at the man who emerged.
He was nearly doubled over. They watched as he hobbled toward the chicken coop, his shoulders hunched against the morning chill.
He didn’t look up—Tem wasn’t sure he would have seen them even if he had.
His eyes were sunken holes. She could smell his age.
His organs were rotting, his body nothing but the vestige of a life already lived.
His skin was paper thin, draped over his bones like a well-worn sheet.
When he reached the coop, he paused. Tem straightened, and so did Apollo.
Wait.
Tem waited.
They watched as the man fumbled with the latch before reaching for the feed scoop.
His hands shook so hard he could barely grasp the handle.
A great rush of sadness filled Tem, replaced almost immediately by resolve.
It was true that they were ending his life.
But they were also doing him a favor. Nobody deserved to live like this.
The man was still struggling with the scoop. His fingers were swollen and gnarled—probably arthritic, and certainly painful. It wasn’t until he finally secured his grip and turned his attention to the chickens that Apollo said, Close your eyes, Tem.
Tem closed her eyes. The moment she obeyed his order, Apollo’s presence grew in her mind.
Transition now.
Tem tried to do what he said, searching within her for the thing that yearned to get out.
But it was no use. She felt the familiar tightness of constraint—the same thing that had happened every day since the wedding.
Tem wished she could shield herself from Apollo.
Caspen never judged her when she got to this final, important stage.
Now, with Apollo, Tem felt nothing but embarrassment.
She was a Hybreed—she was supposed to be the most powerful creature underneath the mountain.
And yet here she was, unable to do this most basic thing, helpless.
Apollo was inside her mind, and she could feel his reaction. Unlike the amusement or even cruelty she expected, he felt only gentle sympathy and great understanding.
Do you wish for me to help you?
I don’t need your help.
You cannot access your power. I can access it for you, if you wish. Do I have your permission to do so? He was asking to do the same thing Caspen had done many times over.
Fine. Do it.
With pleasure.
Tem gasped as Apollo’s presence sharpened, his grip on her—both mental and physical—tightening mercilessly.
A great pulling sensation began to form in her chest. It was a familiar feeling; she’d felt it before with Caspen.
But this time, Tem was resisting. She couldn’t help it.
She didn’t want Apollo to see her like this, struggling and incapable, like a child in need of assistance.
His voice bloomed in her mind: Relax.
I’m trying.
Not very hard, apparently.
You said you would help me.
I cannot help you unless you relax.
His reprimand was so familiar, she flashed immediately back to her training with Caspen.
The brothers had the same way of speaking—calmly, with little inflection, as if what was happening was of no concern to them.
Tem had always been the opposite: impatient, restless, fallible.
There never seemed to be enough time to do what she wanted to do, to learn what she wanted to learn.
Let me help you, Temperance.
It was the last thing she wanted to do. But Tem was at Apollo’s mercy.
She couldn’t achieve this alone. Finally, Tem relaxed.
She gave herself over to him, allowing Apollo to do what only Caspen had done, letting him all the way into her mind so he could join it with his.
An unmistakable yank tore into the center of her chest, as if Apollo were taking something solid from her.
It was not unlike how she’d felt just minutes ago when he’d taught her how to warm herself.
But instead of directing her blood, he was directing her power, and finally, she transitioned.
Tem sighed with relief as her basilisk side emerged, clawing its way to the surface until it engulfed first her mind, then her body. Everything was lighter. Everything was better. She hadn’t transitioned in so long—it was nothing short of bliss to wear her true form once more.
Open your eyes.
Tem did so.
Seeing through a snake’s eyes was a singular experience.
Certain things stood out: the jerky movements of the chickens, the weak pulse beating at the man’s neck.
Other things fell to the wayside, like color.
Everything was in shades of bluish green; the sun looked as if it were rising underwater.
Tem turned her head to look at Apollo. It was the first time she’d seen him in his true form, and he was infuriatingly beautiful.
His scales were darker than Caspen’s, laced with veins of deep blue that reflected the deepening dawn.
Apollo looked at her too, and she found herself hoping he liked what he saw.
Faint amusement passed from his mind to hers, and she knew that he did.
Then Apollo said, Are you ready?
Yes.
Together, they moved past the wall.
Their transition had been silent, and the man still hadn’t looked up.
Apollo released a vibration as they approached, a predator’s call.
The man would sense it, just as any human could sense when someone was standing behind them.
Sure enough, as soon as they were close, he turned.
The man’s eyes widened. They were clouded with white—he was nearly blind—yet the fear in them was unmistakable.
Beside her, Tem could feel something happening.
Apollo was gathering energy, crystallizing his strength into a single beam of light.
Focus on his heart.
Tem did as he said, focused on the man’s heart, which was hammering.
She felt as if she were in a trance. There was so much happening, yet also nothing at all.
The man wasn’t running—he was simply standing there, frozen, an open and willing target.
They had all the time in the world to do this, yet time no longer functioned as it should.
What now?
Now we take.