Chapter Forty-Six
A pinprick. That was all Tem felt. A pinprick in her chest, right above her heart, as if someone were letting the air out of her. But within moments, that pinprick opened a chasm so deep Tem knew without a doubt what she was about to lose.
NO!
Unimaginable pain was spreading. It gripped her chest, pulling her to the ground. She was transitioning against her will, turning back into her human form. Tem knew in her gut that it would be for the last time.
Caspen was transitioning too. They fell to the sand together, both human, both gasping for air. He was covered in blood. Tem reached for him, pulling his head into her lap.
“Just hang on, Caspen. I’ll heal you.”
He shook his head with great difficulty. “You cannot heal a fatal injury, Tem,” he whispered. “We cannot reverse the path of nature.”
“But you said the basilisk bite isn’t fatal. You said—”
“A bite to the arm is not fatal. Or anywhere else that would heal on its own. But this…”
Tem stared at his neck. Apollo’s fangs had punctured him deep—so deep she knew there was no chance of healing it. The marks were nearly on top of Rowe’s.
She glanced wildly up at Apollo, who was also human once more. “How could you?”
Apollo was watching them in silence. It wasn’t enough for Tem.
“Fix this!” she cried. “Fix it, Apollo.”
Caspen’s brother only shook his head.
“Tem,” Caspen said quietly. “Look at me.”
But Tem didn’t want to look at him. If she looked at him, she would see the blood. And that would make it real.
“Tem,” he said again. “Please.”
Finally, she looked at him.
His beautiful face was cradled in her lap, staring up at her. She ran her fingers gently through his hair, brushing it away from his forehead. She traced his strong jaw.
“You lied to me,” she whispered. “You said there was another way.”
“Basilisks cannot lie.”
“We both know that isn’t true.”
Caspen smiled. Then he coughed, and blood dotted his lips.
Tem wiped it away gently, tears filling her eyes. “I told you you’re not allowed to die.”
“And I told you I would endeavor not to.”
“See? Liars, all of you.”
Caspen coughed again, and more blood came out. Tem held him tighter.
“This is horrible, Caspen,” she rasped. “You can’t leave me alone.”
Caspen shook his head. “You will not be alone, Tem.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she realized he meant Leo. “Don’t do this, Caspen, please—”
“You will be happy with him, Tem. He loves you as I do.”
“How do you know that?”
For some reason, Caspen smiled. There was blood on his teeth. “He wrote you letters.”
Tem stared down at him, her mouth open in shock. “But I—how—?”
“He is your one true love, Tem.”
Tem thought back to the dream she’d had before her first night in the caves—how she’d felt Caspen’s presence before she’d met him. They’d been drawn together even then. Fate had led them here. They were supposed to collide—they were supposed to be together. He was her twin flame, her other half.
Caspen was her sun. Caspen was everything.
“That’s not true.”
“It is. The blood bond would not have broken otherwise.”
She shook her head, nearly blind through her tears. Evelyn’s words ran wildly through her mind: Could you love them equally? Tem thought she could. She was wrong.
“I was your first love, Tem,” Caspen whispered. “He will be your last.”
Basilisks believed in fate. That’s what Apollo had told her so many weeks ago.
Was this Caspen’s fate? To let Leo take his place?
Without Caspen, there would have been no Leo, and vice versa.
The competition for Leo brought her to Caspen.
The things she learned from Caspen brought her to Leo.
There couldn’t be one without the other.
A life without both of them made no sense to Tem.
She would be forever off-kilter, forever uneven. Always missing a part of her.
“You can’t do this, Caspen. I’m not worth this.”
“I decide my worth, Tem. And it is far and away inferior to yours.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because it is true.”
Tears streamed down Tem’s face. She couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe.
Caspen’s thumb slipped into her mouth, then out, dragging along her bottom lip. The same thing Leo had done just an hour ago. “You should only know pleasure,” he whispered.
Tem couldn’t finish the line. She couldn’t. Because this wasn’t pleasure at all. This was pain. “Caspen,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.”
“I must, Tem.”
“I can’t do this alone. I can’t do it without you.”
For some reason, he smiled. “You can do anything. Of that I am certain.”
Incomparable sadness swept through Tem. This couldn’t be happening. But she knew it was. There was no going back, no undoing what had just been done.
Caspen looked at Apollo. Tem watched as something passed between brothers: an unspoken vow. Then Caspen whispered, “Finish it, Brother.”
Tem’s spine erupted in chills as Apollo bowed his head in an overt show of respect. Then he turned to Tem, as if awaiting her permission. She would not give it; she would have no part in this. This was not the way she wanted them to end. They were not supposed to end. Ever.
She refused to look at Apollo, instead looking at Caspen as his brother did the same thing Tem had just done—siphoned his power until there was nothing left to take.
A montage of images flashed suddenly through her mind: their happiest moments together.
She saw them meet for the first time in the caves.
She saw him slide her own fingers between her legs before tasting them.
As I said. Heaven. She saw him pull her into his mind so he could see her the way he did.
They’d slept together for the first time in his chambers, tangled in his sheets, just the two of them, with nobody watching.
She saw how proud he was after she finished the ritual.
She saw them transition together for the first time, in the lake, then lie on this very same spot on the shore.
She saw him cup her jaw, look her in the eye, and say: You are perfect, Tem.
I will not allow you to think otherwise.
Through her tears, Tem watched as the power of two kings left Caspen, and with it, his life.
Caspen had always felt bigger than her—more important, somehow—more vital.
Even now, motionless in her arms, he was magnificent.
His golden eyes held hers until they couldn’t anymore.
The moment they closed, a flash of pain seared her sternum.
Tem looked down, and at first, she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing.
At first she thought she was injured. Then she realized the liquid on her chest was gold, not blood.
Her necklace was melting.
White-hot metal burned her skin as the golden claw dripped between her breasts in a shapeless mass.
Tem cried out, grabbing at the molten charm, burning her fingertips.
She ignored the pain, trying to keep its shape in her hands.
Caspen’s necklace was melting too, pooling in the middle of his chest.
“Caspen,” she gasped, staring at the welts on her skin. “Caspen—”
The smell of burning flesh overtook her.
She doubled over, trying to grasp the necklace with her fingers, but it was too late.
The chain sliced into her neck as it melted, cutting and burning her at the same time.
The claw was nothing but a mess of metal in her palms. Smears of gold seared her skin before solidifying and dropping to the sand in a waterfall of gentle clinks.
A horrible scream tore her throat.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Nothing would ever be good again—nothing would ever be right.
A great chasm was opening within her, one she knew would never close.
Tem stared at her palms, unadorned by constellations of pigment.
Her freckles were gone. The blood bond that had tied Caspen’s life to hers was broken.
Her basilisk side was dead.