Chapter 30 #2
Time slows as we stare out of Hawthorne’s eyes for the first time, taking in the room from his vantage point.
I don’t have time to process how out of sorts it feels to be inside a warm, living, breathing body again.
Even more unexpected is the absence of Hawthorne’s consciousness.
Disorientation is quickly replaced by panic.
Over the roar of his pulse and breathing, I finally notice the struggle unfolding beside me.
Still restrained, our captive convulses and flails, barely remaining in his seat.
“Hawthorne?” I ask hesitantly. One moment, the man beside me writhes relentlessly—his limbs whipping this way then that despite the limited range of movement—the next, he’s completely still.
“Sol…” The voice comes from within my head, or better, Hawthorne’s mind, taking me by surprise. A wave of dizziness washes over me, unsettling me when I’ve just started to get my bearings.
“Holy fuck,” I gasp, and it’s my own voice. There’s no time to reflect on how utterly bizarre the experience was, all of my attention homing in on the glint of the knife as Hawthorne withdraws it and arcs it toward the restrained man that Ivan’s consciousness is currently residing in.
“Condemn me and you might just be sentencing her to the same fate,” Ivan blurts out just as Hawthorne begins to swing it downward.
“Liar,” Hawthorne doesn’t drop the knife, but doesn’t plunge it into him either.
“Our bond has lasted over a decade. Is that something you really want to risk?” Ivan spins doubt in Hawthorne’s mind, his arm slackening with each second that passes. “Then she’ll really be mine forever, won’t she?”
“Fuck,” Hawthorne lets out a yell that echoes through the room as he throws the knife to the ground.
I’m in motion before I can lose my nerve to self-doubt.
“Let me in.” It’s a whisper that turns to thought as I enter Hawthorne’s body once again with zero resistance. We pick up the knife and run it through the open flame. This time, I don’t hesitate as I shove it right into the man’s chest and start chanting the words of the binding spell.
I cast this spell into the night.
To bind my enemy and limit his fight.
In blood and fire, I stop his evil desire.
No more ill will or violence shall spread.
Bound to this object, cursed amongst the dead.
This man will never again be free.
As I will.
So mote it be.
The candles burn brighter, flames jumping in a physical manifestation of confirmation.
“Rot in hell, you piece of fucking shit,” I seethe, tackling him to the ground with ease thanks to Hawthorne’s extra strength. We plunge the knife into him again and again, warm blood splattering over us.
I feel it all, the distinct moment when it all shatters to pieces, a splintering in the deepest part of me…the darkest part of me. It’s like someone’s removed a bowling ball from my chest, an unrecognizable levity sweeping through me. It’s dizzying, leaving me reeling.
“Sol, he’s dead.” Hawthorne attempts to halt the stabbing, but I’m lost in the satisfying cycle of it—the skin giving way, the reassurance of the blood, finally having a tangible vessel to take my rage out on.
I sink it into the unmoving body one more time before everything comes to an abrupt halt as Hawthorne casts me out. He doesn’t shame me or push me away for my bloodthirst though; he pulls me closer.
“You’re safe, Sol,” he whispers against my hair as he runs a soothing hand down my back. “He’s gone. You did it.”
If I couldn’t feel Ivan’s absence so clearly—the lack of an ever-looming shadow, the abatement of the aggressive projection of his energy, the freedom from his obsessive clutches—I might not believe him.
But there’s no denying that he’s left me.
Finally. I sit with it, the unbelievable feat we’ve accomplished.
But that’s not the only thing that’s different. In its place, I feel a warmth flood inside me, an undeniable throughline of love and adoration, a protective energy that beckons me to come closer, the sure bassline of a heartbeat, but it’s not mine…
Taking Hawthorne’s hand, the sensations heighten, washing over me tenfold. The power of it could knock the breath out of me.
“Do you feel that?” Hawthorne asks, watching me intensely. He brings my hand to his chest. “I feel you here.”
I can barely see as my tears overwhelm me, flooding down my cheeks.
The pure rightness of it overwhelming me.
I didn’t know a spirit attachment could be a good thing of love and light, the perfect merging of our souls, but the attachment between Thorne and me couldn’t be more ideal for us. We were always two halves of a whole.
I’ve so rapidly ascended to euphoria that the crash comes quickly and unexpectedly as the realization hits me that I’ve taken a choice from Thorne; somehow, I’ve forced myself upon him just like Ivan did me.
“Hawthorne,” I look up at him in horror, and his brow instantly creases with worry, that broad smile dimming. “I didn’t mean to. I—”
“Hey, hey now. What’s going on inside that head of yours?”
“I didn’t mean to condemn you to this. I can’t believe—”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare compare this to what happened to you. You’re nothing like him.”
“But—” I attempt to argue, but he silences me with his mouth in a soul-sucking kiss that feels like it could rip me from this plane completely.
“I consented to this. I want this. Don’t you see? Having you as a spirit attachment…this is the best possible outcome. It changes everything for us. This is our future.” He kisses me again, his arms tightening around me as he pulls me into his lap. “I told you, we’re inevitable, My Omen.”