Chapter 37 #2
The patterns are a jagged, ancient script—a language that predates my crown, yet it stirs something fervid within me.
My soul stutters at the sight of it. I can’t help but feel I’ve seen this exact design before.
The design pulls at something ancient inside me, but when I try to reach for it, the feeling slips away like fog.
“What is that?” Her voice comes out panicked.
“I-I don’t know,” I respond truthfully.
I can’t stop staring at the mark.
“It’s not hurting you, right?” I manage to get out. My thumb brushes the edge of the glowing mark, and a jolt of arctic heat flares between us.
She shakes her head slowly. “No. It’s just... cold. But not a bad cold, it feels like...”
My pulse races, ice floods beneath my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to rein it in.
“Feels like what?” I rasp, the word scratching my throat.
“Like... you.”
The forest goes deafeningly silent at her words—my Kaev?n throbs in response. I clench my fist to keep from pinning her to the forest floor.
She looks up at me, wide-eyed, lips parted. My fingers twitch where they’re cradling her foot in my lap. I stay kneeling in the snow like a devoted disciple at a shrine.
Kaemorin.
Kaemorin.
Kaemorin.
I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that I’m strong enough to wait.
I force myself to release her; anything to stop the mating heat in my chest from consuming us both.
Lumi
He lets go of me like I burned him and turns away.
“Uh...Andrik, what’s wrong?”
The snow between us suddenly feels more fragile than it should, like if I shift even a little, it might crack open and swallow us whole.
My foot still tingles where he touched me. God. He was just checking my ankle to make sure I was okay. What is wrong with me?
“Nothing. Just scouting for animals,” he says after a few seconds, his voice tighter than usual.
Maybe my reaction to the animals was too much. Was it wrong to say the cold felt good?
Worse—that it felt like him? Was that weird?
I bite the inside of my cheek, hard.
Don’t say anything else. Don’t make it weirder.
He still hasn’t turned around. I study the back of him, his stature is rigid... distant.
Does he regret going on this walk with me? Is that why he looked so pained before he let go of my ankle?
“Did my boots stink?” Goddammit. I literally just said don’t make it weird.
Andrik’s head whips to the side.
“What?”
“Is that why you had to turn around? Was it my boots?”
As if she can sense my rising discomfort, Bimby flies around my head a few times before settling back in my hair.
He finally turns to face me.
“I-what?” He blinks slowly and then huffs out a laugh. A short, breathless chuckle that steams in the cold.
“No,” he says. “Your boots are fine, Lumi.”
He rubs the back of his neck, fingers catching in his wild fur. “It wasn’t you. I just... needed a second.”
“A second for what? I ask, too quickly.
His gaze flicks to mine, and then away.
He doesn’t answer.
The wind stirs between us, brushing the cold against my face. Andrik’s hand drops from his fur, curling into a fist by his side. He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then he mumbles something I don’t catch.
“What?”
He shakes his head, jaw tight. “Nothing.”
He’s shutting down for some reason, and I hate the way it makes my ribs tighten, the way it feeds the part of me that always thinks I’ve done something wrong.
“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” I say quietly. “I just really like being out here with the animals and... you.”
His breath stutters. His eyes fall closed.
I want to scream into the void.
“I mean, obviously you know I like you, Andrik... but today feels—”
“Lumi.”
The way he says my name makes everything inside me freeze and burn at the same time.
“You didn’t make anything weird.” He murmurs, fingertips grazing the side of my throat.
His thumb finds my pulse point, and his pupils dilate when he feels how fast my heart is beating.
“I just needed a second, because sometimes when I touch you—if I don’t step away.
.. I lose myself in the moment.” His gaze holds mine, dark and fervent.
“And I’m afraid if I don’t tear myself away, I won’t have the strength to stop.
” He admits. “And we know what happened last time I lost control.” His words are a haunting reminder.
My heart hiccups as images of Andrik between my thighs flash through my mind. My stomach tightens as his eyes flicker and his nostrils flare. Every unspoken thought lingers between us, and it’s almost unbearable.
He steps closer. “It makes it hard not to want more.”
I know I should hold back and not make this more complicated for him, but I rise on my toes and kiss him—just a tiny peck on his lips.
His breath stammers. His whole body locks up, and for a moment, I’m afraid I misread the moment.
Then his hands find the backs of my thighs and lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively. He kisses me back like he’s starving. One of his hands slides up under my coat to cradle my lower back, his claws bite into my skin so sweetly.
“Andrik...”
His grip tightens, and his antlers start to thrum.
“I want you. Now.” I moan between kisses.
He starts to shift my body up and down against his torso. The thick, solid muscle creates delicious friction.
And then—a soft weight lands on the back of my neck.
We both freeze.
Something clicks in the air.
Andrik draws back, panting, to look over my shoulder.
“It’s a Skelvyn,” he whispers. “Looks like your next soboe?n is here.”
I stare at him, disoriented. “What is a Skelvyn?”
He sets me on the ground gently; my boots hit the snow with a soft crunch. I barely register the cold anymore; my body is flushed and on fire. Andrik’s chest is still heaving. His lips are swollen and wet.
He lifts one hand out to the tiny creature crawling across my coat. Featherlight claws settle in the crook of my shoulder. I feel it adjusting its grip.
Click.
He swallows hard.
“A raven, of sorts. But they don’t usually come until the eve of a mated pair’s first anniversary. They’re very clever, mysterious animals.”
The creature makes a soft, rattling croak—a noise so old and dry it sounds like hollow bones clacking together in a tomb.
“So it’s like Bimby Button?”
His eyes flick from the raven back to mine, an almost startled expression on his face. “Exactly like Bimby button, except... they don’t usually come to warm. They warn.”
The blood drains from my face.
The little raven presses tighter against me. Its wings shiver, shedding a faint shimmer of frost. I feel its heart thudding in sync with mine.
“How do we know what it’s warning us about?”
Andrik’s antlers glow faintly, but he doesn’t answer. He shifts slightly as the creature crawls from my shoulder to perch fully on my elbow.
It’s not just a raven, Andrik’s right. His feathers aren’t feathers at all, but shards of black mirror that catch the light and twist it into something wrong.
When I stare into his wings, I don’t see my own reflection; I see a gray, silent battlefield where the snow never fell.
A hollow, rhythmic clack-clack-clack from deep in his chest pulls me from the mirage.
It doesn't sound like a heartbeat; it sounds like fingernails tapping against metal. His throat is a shock of violet, like a deep, ancient bruise. It stretches across his chest like a strangulation mark. He’s like a beautiful, terrifying piece of the afterlife.
His eyes lock onto mine, one a pale, glacier-blue, exactly like Andriks'—the other, gold like molten honey.
“Skelvyn eyes are said to show dual timelines,” he says softly. “One for the life you’ve lived. One for the life that’s just beginning.”
The raven tilts its head as if it understands. Its gaze pins me.
Then it opens its beak, not to caw, but to whisper.
A hush of wind, not quite language.
A memory—not mine—flashes behind my eyes like a strike of lightning.
The metallic tang of blood fills my mouth.
I see hands covered in blood, clawing at a frozen grave.
Names I’ve never heard before buzz in my ears like insect wings, over and over again.
My chest feels like it’s filled with wet stones, sinking my soul until it’s no longer my own.
So. Much. Pain.
I stagger, and Andrik lunges to catch me. “He’s showing you a fragment. They don’t speak in words. They speak in omens.”
The skelvyn hops closer, tucking its head against my cheek. His coarse feathers are oddly soothing, pulling me out of whatever the fuck that just was.
“So I’m going to die?” I whisper. “Is that what it’s showing me?”
“No!” Andrik shouts so loud that everything else in the forest goes silent. He turns to me sharply, his expression feral.
“You are not dying, Lumi. He doesn’t only show you fragments of your life, he shows you anything that may impact it.”
“I’ve never even heard these names before, Andrik.”
A shiver runs down his back, feathers ruffling slightly. He clicks gently again, like tiny bones tapping rapidly.
Whatever he’s trying to tell me isn’t random; his clicks fall into a pattern, like raindrops striking a windshield in a rhythm that repeats itself just enough to matter.
It scrapes against something buried in my brain—a rusty hinge that creaks open just enough to whisper: you should understand this. You almost do.
Andrik watches us carefully, his jaw set.
“He wants a name.”
“I think he wants me to die,”
“Oh, snowdrop, no—not at all. The moment he touched you, the bond recognized him. He’s imprinted on you, just like the others. He’s yours now, and he’s waiting.”
The raven nudges me again, as if in agreement. “Okay...” I swallow nervously. “I think his name is Nixie.”
Nixie nuzzles close to my heart, making that clicking noise again.
Andrik raises a brow. “Nixie?”
I shrug, “It just came to me, don’t laugh.”
The raven makes a faint rattling trill.
“I’m not laughing,” Andrik says. “It suits him.”
Nixie snuggles into the crook of my neck, where my pulse pounds.
Andrik’s voice lowers. “He’ll come back when it’s time. When he needs to show you a message.”
I don’t say anything. My throat feels too tight, choked with the residue of a memory that doesn’t belong to me.
Nixie’s warmth against my skin lingers long after his wings vanish into the treetops. I watch the sky until he disappears.
“He’ll return when you need him,” he says again, quieter now. “Or when it hurts too much to ignore.”
I press my palm to my chest, like that could hold back whatever’s cracked loose.
“I can’t quit seeing it, Andrik. Who were those people? What did it mean?”
He’s silent for a moment.
“I don’t know,” he says eventually, but his voice doesn’t sound convincing. “I didn’t see the visions, Lumi, you did. You said they mentioned names... do you remember what they were?”
The wind rustles a branch overhead, snow shakes loose in soft flurries, and for a second, it sounds like someone whispering just out of reach.
I try to reach for the names, but they slip through my fingers like water. The harder I squeeze, the faster they fade, leaving nothing but a cold, empty ache in my chest.
“I-I can’t remember,” I admit.
His hand closes around mine—warm despite his usual iciness. He lowers his voice again, that husky tenderness threading back in. “You asked what it meant. I don’t know the answer yet, but I know this—”
His other hand lifts slowly, gently brushing my hair behind my ears. “Whatever that vision was... whoever those people were... they matter. Enough to wake a memory in a Skelvyn. And we’ll figure it out together, I promise.”
My breath stutters. He leans in just slightly, forehead brushing mine.
“And if the forest is starting to show you pieces?” His voice dips into a whisper. “Maybe it means the Gods think it's time to remember.”