CHAPTER THREE
EILISH
Mortal Realm
When I awaken, I’m lying on the forest floor; the sky around me is now gray and chilled. Night is rapidly approaching. The bird songs and soft melodies of the wood have faded, replaced by an intimidating silence, like we’re all being watched by… something. Gently, I lift my body into a seated position, wincing at the ache in my muscles. Stretching to relieve the stiffness, I scan our patch of forest in search of the rest of my group.
Baron is still holding the Transmutation Stone , his face beneath the shade is cast in shadow and impossible to see. Cambion sits at the base of a nearby tree, gold embers circling his hands as he focuses on something small sitting before him. Dragan is nowhere to be seen.
I rise and approach Cambion, “How long was I out?” I ask, my voice still thick and my overall feeling one of sluggishness.
He looks up at me, as if noticing me for the first time. The embers around his hands disappear and a rock falls from between them, landing with a soft thud.
“Five or six hours?” he asks. His voice is cold and unfriendly. He picks up the stone and throws it against the nearby trunk of a tree before standing. He towers over me in a way that intimidates me. Or maybe it’s his closeness. Either way, my breath catches and I look at Cambion as though I’m seeing him for the first time.
He’s tall and stately, though not as tall or broad as Dragan. And though he’s muscular, his muscles aren’t bulky and overly large like Dragan’s. His hair is dark gold and curls around his pointed ears, matching the tone of his bronze skin, the same hue echoing in his amber eyes.
As Cambion’s fae, there’s a brightness that surrounds him, almost as though he glows.
Without consciously deciding to, I feel myself lean closer to him. It’s my body’s reaction to him—subconscious action not meditated thought. Immediately, I shake off the reaction, scared Cambion will reject me just like he always does. I adjust my posture and take a step back, feeling his eyes on me all the while.
“Where’s Dragan and Flumph?” I ask in a hesitant voice.
He shrugs. “I don’t know.” Then, nodding to Baron, he says, “This is a problem.”
I approach the vampire and study him. He definitely appears as if the stone is taking its toll. His skin is lackluster and gray.
“He’s still in the visionary state,” Cambion explains on an exhale. I’m surprised he’s even bothering talking to me, but then I figure maybe it’s owing to the fact that I’m the only one here.
“Is that bad?” I ask.
He nods. “I was nervous something like this could happen. For all their power, these stones are also dangerous. It’s not uncommon for some to fall victim to the power of the visions, getting lost in the past.”
“You’re saying Baron could get stuck like this forever?” I shake my head at the thought. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”
Cambion shrugs again. “Do you think it would have stopped him?”
I know it wouldn’t have. Baron’s need for answers regarding his past is rivaled only by mine.
Cambion continues, “Knowledge is addicting. Baron may very well choose never to return to consciousness again.”
The weight of the new information settles like an anvil in my stomach and worry blossoms deep within me. I care about Baron, and I don’t want to see anything bad happen to him.
“We can’t let that happen!”
“We might not have much of a say,” Cambion says as he runs his hands through his hair and sighs audibly.
His ambivalence only heighten my response. “We have to wake him up!” I nearly cry out.
I hear a soft crunch and turn to see Dragan emerge from the woods holding an enormous pile of kindling and logs. Flumph enters the scene behind him, dragging a single twig against the ground like it weighs more than he’s capable of carrying.
Dragan’s eyes find Baron and I notice them squint but I’m not sure if his expression is one of worry. He looks at me for a moment, but quickly averts his gaze before dumping the pile of wood and returning to the cover of trees once more. Flumph adds his own twig to the pile and then lies down beside it, panting and wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Whew!” he hollers, his tinny voice slicing through the thin air of the forest.
Cambion’s eyes lazily drift from Flumph to settle on mine once more. “We can’t wake Baron,” he warns, “it’s too dangerous. He has to come out of the visionary plane on his own. He is the one who must make that choice.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I press.
Cambion walks away from me, his long strides stirring up leaves on the ground. He picks up the rock he’d thrown earlier and turns it over in his hand. After gazing at it thoughtfully for a moment, he allows it to fall to the ground once more.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath before he continues his walk further into the forest.
I stare at Baron.
The stone is having an effect on him and not a good one. He’s still handsome, of course, but his clean-shaven face is paler than usual. And his hair, cut short to his scalp, doesn’t seem as dark as it usually does. The gray streaks along his temples seem more pronounced somehow. A narrow white scar bisects his thick eyebrows, ending just above his left eye. His eyes are the most unique shade of blue I’ve ever seen—almost violet—and I suddenly yearn to see them again.
His eyes are working furiously beneath the cover of his eyelids, but the rest of his face is soft and relaxed. He holds the stone out in front of him, almost in offering. I’m tempted to touch him again, despite Cambion’s warnings.
But, I want to see what Baron’s seeing, to understand what it is that’s keeping him prisoner in this vision. I can’t tear my eyes from him and it’s with mounting frustration that I observe him. I’m worried—I don’t like the way his eyes shift underneath his eyelids. His mouth twitches every once in a while, and I find myself, again, having to fight the need to touch him, to try to pull him away from whatever vision is keeping him immobile.
I’m distracted by the fact that I’m no longer alone.
Figuring Dragan must have returned, I whip around to ask him how I can assist, but stop in my tracks. It’s not Dragan who stands before me, but a man. Though I haven’t seen him before, I somehow recognize him all the same.
I realize I should be afraid, but instead I feel calm—much calmer than I did mere moments before. I regard the man with interest, but not necessarily fear.
His body is partially obscured by the thick trunk of a tree and fog coalesces around him. He seems to exist as one with his surroundings, exemplified by the fact that it appears his body is merging with the tree behind him. Only to then separate again. I blink in rapid succession, because it feels like my eyes are deceiving me.
I remember the word I shouted earlier in the truck, the word Anona and her henchmen mistook as a spell.
“Silvanus,” I say.
The man nods slowly.
I regard him with interest, like one might a deer in the woods. His eyes are clouded, filled with a deeper sense of understanding that changes his appearance. He’s fundamentally different from me, this I know. A creature of neither shadow nor light. But he’s raw power. It echoes off him in rivulets that charge the air around me.
It’s almost as if he exists without identity. His presence seems at once both solid and transitional, and I realize his hard, steady gaze is actually a call to follow him.
I can’t explain why but I feel safe with him here, as if there’s a higher power at work that has my best interests in mind. It’s a comforting thought, considering safety isn’t something I’ve experienced much in recent memory. Of course, there were moments with Dragan when I felt utterly safe—when he made me feel safe.
That thought causes a deep and sad feeling in the pit of my stomach and I have to release it.
As I do, I drift toward this natural being, this Silvanus. My legs glide beneath me, seemingly of their own accord.
The man slinks in and around the trees, at times disappearing entirely and then, just when I think he’s vanished in a wisp of fog, he reappears again. His eyes are deep, intent, and all-seeing, urging me deeper and deeper into the forest. He picks up speed and before long, I’m jogging to keep up with him between the dense thickets of branches.
I’m panting by the time we reach a small pond, its surface still and covered with ethereal curtains of mist that hang in the chilly air. Finally, I see the man appear in his full form.
He’s large and pale, the ideal of the male form with sinewy muscles and long, lean limbs. He’s entirely naked, but no part of him is innately sexual (though to deny my sense of deep attraction and fascination would be untrue). His cock is limp but large and I find it difficult to keep my eyes on his face.
When he speaks, it’s as if his voice enters me from the ground up, rather than from his mouth to my ears. It’s the voice of the forest, thick, deep and knowing. Unconcerned and yet weighted with world history.
I have come as a warning, he says as I realize I’m hearing his voice in my head. Of things to come.
“You can see the future?” I say out loud but then realize I should probably communicate in my mind, the same way he is. You can see the future? I think in return, but as I think the words, I adjust my inflection from a question to a statement. I don’t need his answer to know he can see the future. He’s a being set apart from time. That knowledge reverberates through me.
But why has he come to me? What does he want from me?
You seek answers , he replies, ignoring my question. I nod, not quite sure how to respond.
He takes a few steps closer and I can feel the coldness of the mist that surrounds him. My gaze moves down the line of his body again.
You have not fed, he remarks as he looks at me.
I don’t… I start. “I don’t understand,” I say outloud. I don’t know why, but it’s difficult to have a conversation with him within my head.
You travel with three able-bodied males, and yet they have not copulated with you?
I drop my head as a blush steals my cheeks. I don’t know what to say, I answer.
You cannot deny your true nature, female, or you will suffer for it.
I don’t know what I am , I admit, and he shakes his head.
You know what you are.
And then he’s directly in front of me, but I don’t remember seeing him move. I glance down and watch as he moves his left hand forward and brings it between my thighs.
What, I start but he interrupts.
You cannot continue to rely on me for the release your body needs.
I don’t understand why I don’t stop him, but I don’t. I want him to touch me. And when his fingers graze the sensitive nub between my thighs, I feel myself grow wet as I fight to keep a moan from escaping my lips.
Great motions are at work, he continues as he looks down at me. I fight to pay attention to his words. Motions that will alter the course of history forever.
You’re referring… to the kings, I say as I glance down at his penis and find it’s now erect and… massive. A thrill begins inside of me, and when he inserts his fingers into me, I close my eyes and rock against him.
I need this. I’ve needed it.
And now that he’s delivering me, I lose myself in the blissful feelings that erupt within me.
I do not care for your wars, for your kings, for your affairs. I care only for nature and the balance within it.
“But you’re here,” I say, even though the words make little sense to me.
Because there are those who would destroy this balanc e.
His voice sounds as a whisper beside my ear and I feel him gently push me down, towards the ground. I allow him to maneuver me until my back hits the dirt. The mists have cleared from him now, and looking upon his body delights and thrills me.
Who wants to see the balance destroyed? I ask, trying to focus on our conversation.
He doesn’t answer, though. Instead, he parts my legs then looks down at me, studying the flesh between my thighs as though it’s a rare and beautiful flower. His fingers continue to dance inside me, stroking and curling.
Who are you? I wonder. “What are you?” I correct myself.
He shakes his head. When he pulls his fingers out, they’re covered in the juice of my body. He settles himself between my legs and I feel the head of his erection perched at my opening.
Are you a god? I press, watching him with interested eyes. He pushes into me slightly and I feel myself stretching to accommodate him.
Similar, he replies. His breath hitches and he closes his eyes as he plunges inside me. I can’t take my eyes off him.
Yet you… enjoy pleasures… of the flesh? I ask him, my breath coming in quick gasps. I don’t know why I think the way I do, but carnal activities seem as though they’re the antithesis to anything godlike.
I am capable of healing you without entering you, he says simply as he withdraws. He holds the tip of his engorged penis at my opening.
Then why? I start.
He pushes inside me again, up to the hilt, in one motion. I buck underneath him and throw my head back as a moan captures my mouth.
Your body is created for mine, he tells me. Your wetness, your passage, your womb. All constructed to accommodate a male. Such is the power of nature, he continues as he thrusts repeatedly inside me, and I feel my peak beginning to build.
Are you nature? I ask.
He shakes his head.
Is Morrigan nature? I continue.
No, he thinks back immediately.
“Is she a god, like you?”
No, he answers again and I feel my body spasm around his, the feeling overcoming me. And then I feel something else… something within me pulling at him, taking from him and filling myself.
Do you know who you are? he asks.
I open my mouth, but close it again. I know he isn’t asking for my name, but there’s no other answer I can give him.
No. I finally shake my head. I suddenly feel… better, more invigorated.
I feel fed.
You will come to know and understand in time.
Why can’t you tell me who I am?
He shakes his head. It’s for you to learn, young female, he says as he pulls out of me and stands. What I will tell you is what you are.
Succubus and angel?
He shakes his head again. You are balance.
Balance? I don’t understand.
Between the light and the dark. You are the answer. He pauses and the mist grows even thicker around him. I sense he’s about to leave, but I still don’t know what he’s trying to tell me. And while I notice he hasn’t reached his own orgasm, he seems unconcerned.
Trust the balance, he continues, his eyes boring into mine in such a way that I can feel his gaze all the way down my spine. And do not trust her.
“Her?” I respond immediately, wanting to capitalize on whatever time is left with him. My brain is reeling—I don’t understand his words. Morrigan? The Midnight Queen?
Trust the balance, he repeats before fading entirely into the mist.