Chapter 28 Eternity
ETERNITY
Lumi-
I wake up, but I keep my eyes shut tight. I’m not ready to face the world yet. My legs feel weak, and my body is too cold.
There’s no sound in the bedroom, and yet I feel like I’m drowning in noise.
Anna’s scarf flashes in my mind.
How did he get it? I know Mark is lying dead in the woods, but it’s the only thing that fits.
If monsters exist, can’t ghosts?
I make no effort to move, but my fingers curl tighter into the fur blanket beneath me as if it’ll help protect me from what I can’t forget.
I start to open my eyes, but stop halfway. I don’t know what’s worse, seeing the room empty or seeing him standing there. Which one makes me crazier?
The scarf.
The flowers.
The note.
They keep playing in an endless loop.
I swear I can still smell the snowdrops, damp and green, mixing with Andrik’s clove scent.
I won’t let Mark ruin that nickname for me. It’s ours.
Every time Andrik calls me that, I get a little zing, like a group of butterflies are fluttering in my ribcage, settling into their home.
My mind starts turning in on itself. The cabin feels too small, like the air isn’t moving. Sweat starts welling up on my lower back.
What if he’s still out there?
What if he never left?
Is this how I’m supposed to live for the rest of my life?
I press my palms over my eyes until silver stars burst behind them. I tell myself it’s just panic, but then I hear it again—a faint sound against the window.
I hear a soft voice, almost melodic. “You ran for me.”
No!
My throat tightens. I slam my hands over my ears.
“You came looking for me.”
“No.” It barely comes out as a whisper. “You’re not real.”
“You didn’t look back at him; you looked for me. It’s always been me, Lumi. Can’t you see that?”
My chest squeezes painfully.
I know he’s not in this room, but his voice is slithering under my skin like warm oil laced with acid.
“You gave me your scarf. You ran after me. What else will you offer me, little dove?”
“Stop.”
The word fractures the silence like a stone through brittle glass.
I collapse into myself, curling small, rocking like it might shake his voice out of my head.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
I repeat over and over until the words don’t even sound real anymore.
The room spins around me. Shadows move where they shouldn’t. And that’s when the doubt creeps in.
Am I still dreaming? Am I going crazy? Because I can still feel him.
I stagger to my feet and cross the room, one hand trailing along the wall to keep me steady.
I almost fall twice.
The window is slightly cracked, the glass fogged over like frozen smoke trapped between the panes. Etched right in the center of the mist is a perfectly drawn heart, and from its bottom point, little beads of water slide slowly downward like icy tears.
Maybe I’m more like my mother than I thought.
Seeing ghosts where there are none.
“But you’re not crazy, little dove, you’re just finally ready to wake up.”
My nails bite into my palms.
“Stop calling me that,” I rasp,
“It’s just us now. No games. No Andrik. No soulbonds. Just you remembering who you were made for.”
The voice sounds like it’s coming from right behind me, slipping in my ear, threading through my hair like a cold, invisible wire.
I press my forehead to the wall so I don’t have to stare at the heart anymore.
“You’re not real. You can’t be real.”
A low chuckle.
“If I’m not real, who are you talking to?”
I jerk away from the wall, reaching for the window lock, but it‘s stuck. My pulse is thudding so loud it bleeds over everything else.
“Don’t lock me out, Lumi,” the voice croons, “I belong inside... with you.”
Andrik’s growl vibrates through the cabin, my gaze instinctively flicks toward the bedroom door, but a single, sharp tap—like a nail against the glass—snaps my attention back to the window.
And there it is, staring straight back at me...
Nothing but my own reflection.
Andrik-
“Damnit, Lumi, unlock the door!”
I’d only been downstairs for a few minutes, long enough to grab healing ointment for her shoulder. Her cut was starting to look infected.
When I got back to the bedroom, the door was locked. I can hear her whispering, a mumbled, terrified sound.
I could easily tear this door off its hinges, but I refuse to be the reason for her fear, especially after what happened last night.
“Lumi,” I say again, lowering my voice. “Please. Velorin. You’re home. Let me in.”
She doesn’t respond.
I press my hand to the warm wood. I can hear her breathing erratically, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. My instincts are roaring inside me. My claws threaten to break the skin.
“L?venkae, if you don’t open this door, I’m breaking it down.”
I wait a few more seconds, but then her panic spikes.
I drop the jar to the floor. “Forgive me, Sael?n,” I whisper.
The door cracks beneath my shoulder—splintering at the latch. I surge into the room, fangs bared, claws half-shifted, ready to kill.
There’s no intruder. It’s just her, frozen in front of the window. One arm is pressed against the fogged glass, the other clutching the fur blanket like a refuge.
She doesn’t turn when I enter.
“Sael?n?” I take a cautious step forward. “It’s me. Kai’morin.” (My heart.)
Her head tilts slightly, just enough that I can see her lips moving in silent repetition.
“What is it? What did you see?”
I follow her gaze to the window. There’s nothing outside—only snow and fog. I sniff deeply once—no trace of anyone but her.
“Lumi,” I whisper. “ There’s no one out there.”
Her voice cracks, “But he was. He said my name.”
My heart ceases its beating. “Who?”
She doesn’t answer. Just keeps her hand pressed to the window, as if whatever she saw on the other side might reach back.
She flinches when I wrap my arms around her. Thal?n ves kaelorin. Virael narh veskae. Skar’vesin nai’thar?n. (She recoils from what was meant to be hers. She fears my touch. The forest judges me unworthy.)
“I’ve got you,” I murmur. “He’s gone. You’re velorin ves’thral.” (Safe in my hold.)
“He’s not gone.” Her voice is hollow. “He never left.” Ammonia rises in her scent, thick with revulsion.
What happened in the few minutes I was downstairs?
“Sael?n…” I begin again, but she presses her palm flat against my chest. Raeth’kai thar?n’ves. Vel’morin kae’narh. Sae’kai narh veskae. Virethel narh kai’s?n (Even my ribs are denied. What was mine by creation is lost. Her soul won't let me near. The thread pulls, but she pulls away.)
“I’m fine,” she lies. Her voice cracks halfway through. “I just need a second.”
My hands hover at her sides, struggling to let go. I want to keep her safe in my arms. Reluctantly, I release her.
“He said your name?” I ask.
She nods once, eyes locked on the glass. Her voice is barely audible: “He sounded like he was already inside.”
My stomach drops.
She lifts a trembling finger to the window. “There was a heart right here.”
I follow her gesture.
“But it’s gone now.”
Silence stretches between us. I hate it. I can feel her pulling away from me, closing the door from the inside out.
“I didn’t hear anything,” I admit. “And the runes should’ve—”
“That’s the worst part,” she says, eyes meeting mine. “I don’t even know if it was real.” Her voice trembles on the last word. “But real or not, I can’t get his voice out of my head.”
I clench my jaw, turning just enough to scan the window one more time.
No scent. No trace. Nothing but mist and the faint cooling outline of her breath. But still… my claws burn. The runes hum in the back of my mind, quiet and untouched.
“If he were here,” I murmur more to myself than her, “he shouldn’t have been able to get inside.”
“Maybe he didn’t,” she says. “Maybe I’m just crazy.”
“No.” My voice hardens. “You’re not.”
She takes a step back from the window, I take one toward her instinctively—and she recoils again. Veyr’naelin ves kaemorin... ael’thar?n ves thal?n. (The bond calls you mine... but I must taste it alone.)
This is exactly what he wants.
“You’re not crazy, Sael?n.” My voice drops. “If you heard him... then something did get in. Even if it was only his voice.”
Kaemorin ves’thrae. Velorin narh veskae (Mine to protect. Safe. Just not with me.)
I take a few steps backward, so I don’t crowd her.
“You’re not alone in this. He’s not going to take anything else from you. Ever again.”
I replay the minutes I spent downstairs, and the images of her alone, unprotected, make something vicious coil in my gut. The bond surges again, snarling under my skin.
“I swear to the gods,” I growl, “if he reaches for you again—”
I trail off. Because what I’d do to him doesn‘t belong in her ears.
I am not a beast who enjoys the kill, not until now. Vel’skar?n narh kai’thrae. (The bastard will know my wrath.)
Wiping scum from this planet has always been a necessity, never a pleasure. But for this man... for the way he’s made her life a living hell... He’s going to pray for death to whichever god will listen.
Anonymous-
You’d think that since she’s his mate, he’d believe her when she told him she heard someone.
She wasn’t lying. She heard me. Even through the sacred wood of his cabin. Through all his wards and runes and whatever gods he begs for protection, my voice still got through.
But I wish it hadn't frightened her like that.
Her hand on the glass—
I replay that over and over. She wasn’t reaching for a hallucination. She was reaching for me.
But I ruined it, just like with Anna’s scarf. Every time I try to give her back a piece of what she’s lost... she loses more.
She looked so hopeless. I never wanted that.
If Andrik knew her—really knew her—he’d see the difference.
He’d hear the wobble in her voice.
He’d know the tears weren’t meant for me, but for the confusion tearing her apart.
He’d recognize the way she steadied herself on the pane: not fear... desperation.
She wasn’t slipping away from reality. She was pulled toward something she didn’t yet understand.
And he didn’t believe her. That’s the part that twists in my chest.
She’ll see it eventually. The difference between someone drawn to her because nature demanded it... and someone drawn to her because they chose her, over and over and over again.
I lower myself onto my sleeping bag beneath the trees closest to her window. The cold seeps through my coat, into my bones, but I’ll take frozen ground and her being near, over a warm bed without her.
Maybe this is one of dad’s lessons that’s finally came in handy. My brother and I used to huddle in the backyard when he’d lock us out in the dead of winter. I wonder if that's why I don't feel the cold anymore.
I pull the Grimoire from my bag and stare at it for a moment. It’s hard to imagine this dusty book cost me more than my truck, but if it keeps her safe. If it gives me even a fraction of a chance to speak without breaking her...
Then every penny was worth it.
Corpus Falsum glints in the firelight as if mocking me.
A false body.
A hollow vessel.
A borrowed shape.
I hate it. I hate him. But wanting forever... wanting her... has never been a choice.
If his gods made the bond the only door to eternity, then I’ll walk through whatever doorway they leave open—even if it means wearing the monster’s skin.
I turn to the first passage marked in black ink.
Excerpt: Page 7
“Non sufficit imitari formam. Exude te prius.”
(It is not enough to imitate the form. First, remove yourself.)
I let out a shaky laugh.
If only this spell knew how easy that part was. There’s not much of me left to remove.
Not after years of being told my existence took up too much space, not after feeling like I’ve lost her once already.
If hollowing myself out is what it takes to keep her this time...
Then I'll gut every part of myself that gets in the way.
Excerpt: Page 12- Vassari Flamma
“Exurit ad tempus sigillum animae, et fit vas vacuum.”
(Temporarily burns away the soul’s signature, and becomes a hollow vessel.)
“Tange ossa. Some cutem. Arde.”
(Touch the bones. Take the skin. Burn.)
Good—let it burn. Let it scrape me clean.
“... Hoc vas repletur forma mutuata, si rite conditae fuerint: essentia, nomen, vel sigillum destinati.”
(This vessel may be filled with a borrowed form, if the rites are fulfilled: essence, name, or the mark of the intended.)
“Effundit ardorem, visiones falsas, memoriae turbationem, et identitatis lapsum, si ligamen animarum adsit.”
(It unleashes heat, false visions, memory distortion, and identity slippage, if a soul-bond is present.)
“Corpus verum ligatum est in nomine. Frange nomen, et forma sequitur.”
(The body is bound by name. Break the name, and the shape will follow.)
I close the book.
I don’t want his form. I don’t want any part of him.
But she does.
She won’t choose me as I am, because the universe never gave her the chance to see me. The bond was slapped between her heart and his before she ever got to decide who she loved.
This spell is the one place his gods weren’t looking.
This isn’t about stealing one night. It’s not about touching her or taking what’s mine.
It’s about giving her the future she was supposed to have.
Once the bond snaps, soul to soul, the universe will correct the mistake it made.
It will tether her to me the way it should have the first time.
If she thinks it’s him when she reaches for me—
If she cries his name when the bond takes—
I can live with that.
Because after that moment, it won‘t matter. Names won’t matter.
Bodies won’t matter.
She’ll be mine in the only way that counts: eternally.
The ingredients I have to collect:
One pair of vampire bat fags
Fire-glass powder
Black thorn sap
Spine oil from a drowned moth
Bloodroot steeped in obsidian water.
Lust-vein nectar from a blooming belladonna stem
Jawbone from a stag
And the vial of Andrik’s essence—stolen from Lumi’s porch.
I despise the thought of becoming him. Of feeling his magic in my veins, his strength in my limbs. The fact that she’ll melt for a shape that isn’t mine.
But I’ll do it, because she deserves a fate that didn’t get stolen from her.
Because I’ve already lost her once. I won’t survive losing her again.If eternity has a price, let this be it.