Chapter 67
Chapter Sixty-Seven
ME
Awakening from oblivion I writhed, gasping for life. Opening my eyes, I saw her at last, my beloved Sunaria, perfect in every way. Her exquisite face lit up and tears rolled down her pale cheeks.
She was here.
Real.
Close.
I staggered.
Others stared on, but their faces faded into the background. Taking my time, I studied my form, admiring my nakedness, delighting to see my limbs were perfectly-fashioned and my torso firm and masculine.
“Orpheus? Is it you?” Sunaria cried out.
“Yes,” I smirked at the profoundness of it all.
I recalled what had happened at Stonehenge, my terrible death and yet . . . I was now reborn.
A magnificent, living awakening.
Somewhere in the deepest part of me, I felt the stir of hunger—not for blood—but for something far more primal, a world that would soon kneel to me.
Yet something internal dragged at me, held on hard and pulled me back. I took the deepest breath and filled my lungs. The pain struck me. I fell forward, doubling over. My vision blurred, and I struggled to hold on.
Fragmented memories.
A small boy, racing through sun-drenched Spanish fields, then older, finding a lover, twirling in the fire of a flamenco’s embrace. Betrayal came, sharp and crashing against the rhythm of my heart, and at last I wandered into ancient London, lost in its clandestine nights.
A flash of something unholy seared across the darkness, brief, yet searing, leaving a chill.
Then, a child again, only this time running within castle walls . . .
Flaying limbs calmed, and I stood tall. With a startling awareness, my flesh transfigured. Beads of perspiration covered my body. My skin crawled.
I studied my arms; peering down at my large frame confirmed I was different. Catherine, Alex, Snowstrom, Ingrid and Sunaria stared at me, aghast. Their faces contorted with expressions that acknowledged the worst.
With my will, I fought the inner coercion.
Consciousness greeted me, not with sound, but with sensation, raw, exquisite, and overwhelming.
My skin hummed with electricity, as though lightning pulsed just beneath the surface, and every breath drew in the world too vividly.
Beneath this fragile illusion, something stirred.
I was remembering things I had never lived, lovers with unfamiliar names, skies I’d never seen, and a language my lips suddenly knew how to speak.
My heart beat slower, deeper, as if echoing from the depths of another.
The air was so thick, I panted, struggling to fill my lungs.
Silence.
I beheld my childhood sweetheart, Catherine, wanting to be near her.
Shocking emotions, waves of confusion, and scattered memories.
Castles veiled in mist and crumbling time, ancient monuments etched with forgotten prayers.
Wild horses thundered across open plains, bulls charging beneath blood-red skies.
Children laughed as they chased shadows with wooden swords, then a clash as another child became silent in the stark silence of a dark mausoleum.
There was love at first sight—sudden, soul-deep, and shattering.
A brother who looked to me with eyes full of trust and need.
And a lover . . . Ingrid.
I had mourned Sunaria for centuries, our memory stitched into every breath.
Impossible . . . not happening.
A sob caught in my throat.
Catherine drew forward. “Jadeon,” she said, “is it you?”
I reached out. “Yes,” I cried. “It is.”
“Dear God, they are one.” The words whispered in fear and awe.
The truth lingering heavy and undeniable in the air.
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