Chapter 16 Aurora
Aurora
Who knew dying could be this peaceful?
I drift in a dark ocean, weightless, cradled by gentle waves. No fear. Just silence.
Maybe I could stay here forever …
Wait. Is the afterlife supposed to hurt this much?
Time stutters. Reality cracks.
Then voices cut through the darkness.
Rude.
“… you have any ideas? She’s been through so much already, and now we’re about to shatter her reality,” a familiar, slightly accented male voice says.
“Fuck if I know,” an unfamiliar woman snaps, her strong Cockney accent thick with frustration. “I really messed up. I was supposed to protect her, and I didn’t. I knew that asshole was dangerous, but I let her go. Why?” The woman’s voice wobbles, guilt tangled in every word.
“You did nothing wrong,” the smooth male voice says.
“I had a similar experience while I watched from the edge of the property. He felt dangerous, and yet I walked away. I think he had some sort of protective spell or artifact on him that shrouded his true intent. It’s really quite clever.
It shows you the truth but convinces you that what you’re sensing can’t be true.
It’s powerful magic, so this Jameson fellow must have been fairly high in their ranks. ”
Okay, who the fuck are these people?
First, I get fucked up by a cultist, now I have to endure some shitty BBC drama recounting my life while I’m trying to peacefully fucking die?
Unbelievable.
Fucking spells? Goddamn artifacts?
Wait … Jameson?
My stomach lurches, gutted and heaving, like a fish belly splitting open.
And then that Mr. Darcy-sounding motherfucker decides it’s time for questions.
“I need to ask you something … something you won’t like.
” He pauses, then says with careful precision, “You were trapped in the house, clawing at the door. Why didn’t you use your hellfire to burn it down?
” He pauses again. “I don’t make a habit of pissing off hell-beasts, but if we’re going to protect her, I need to know what we’re dealing with. ”
There’s a long, awkward silence before Turkish-with-tits responds quietly.
“I-I forgot I could do that. I guess I forgot a lot of things. My job is to protect Aurora. Until you approached me in the woods and spoke to me, called me a hellhound, I forgot what I was, that I could speak.
“You scared the shit out of me, and I wasn’t going to let you see how weak I was at that moment.
I suppose the same is true for the hellfire.
You mentioned it when you brought Aurora in earlier, and suddenly all them memories came back.
Not sure I could actually use it at the moment, though.
I wonder what else I forgot. What the hell is wrong with me? ”
Bitchy Bullet-Tooth Toni sounds sad.
Like, actually sad.
Like, “I forgot who I am and now I’m emotionally vomiting my soul onto the carpet” sad.
I don’t know this woman, or why she’s apparently supposed to protect me, but my heart breaks for her.
“There is nothing wrong with you a quick trip to a wrakh won’t fix.
I think you’re both being held under a forgetfulness spell of some sort.
And speaking of spells, Aurora thinks she got you only a few years ago, but I’m almost certain she’s wrong,” Mr. Darcy says, leaving the unasked question in the air.
I’m so confused.
I struggle to move or to ask one of my millions of questions, but my body won’t cooperate.
“Holy shit. I’ve been with Aurora since birth. How did I forget that?” The fight club version of Eliza Doolittle pauses here, choking back her ragged breath.
“Her mum—her fucking mum—put a time-reset spell on us. Every fifteen years, her mind resets. It’s not just her.
Everyone around us forgets, too. It spreads like a virus.
Ellie was determined to keep Aurora away from magic and creatures, but I can’t leave her side …
ever … so she asked a wrakh to place that spell on us.
Shit, do you think that wrakh placed a forgetfulness spell on me, too? ”
If spells exist, and I’m almost certain they don’t, this one must be really powerful if the woman already forgot what the man with the sexy voice just told her.
Mr. Darcy chuckles and says, “I think you may be on to something, little puppy.”
If the woman is planning to respond, I don’t give her a chance.
With a violent jerk and a terrified gasp, I sit up so fast the room lurches sideways. My eyes feel wide as I take in the dimly lit living room of my cozy little cottage.
Wait, I’m home?
Why does that surprise me?
Someone clears their throat.
I twist—and white-hot pain tears through my neck.
A jagged scream rips free, dragging fire and razor blades up my throat.
Then suddenly … warmth.
Comforting cinnamon and pine, and a body beside me.
The warm body stiffens, but something else shifts too, something softer. A tendril of shadow flickers across my shoulder, a whisper of movement, like it’s checking for damage.
Right. Cool. Sentient shadows doing a wellness check.
Love that for me. Definitely no trauma here.
When he moves, the sensation vanishes.
My mind is so fucked. Has to be my imagination … right?
“Aurora. Are you … okay? Do you remember anything? Do you remember what happened?” the male voice from earlier asks.
To avoid turning my head, I shift my eyes toward the voice.
Ezra?
What the hell is he doing here? I told him to stay away from me.
But then the memories from this evening consume me, and I tremble so violently my joints scream and my body cracks along every place Jameson touched.
The memories hit in jagged flashes—his hands, his breath, that cruel fucking laugh.
I can’t breathe.
Heat floods behind my eyes, the edges of the room starting to blur.
A broken sob shatters my throat. Then strong arms wrap around me, anchoring me in a world that’s spinning too fast.
But my body recoils before my mind can catch up.
Fuck being touched.
Ezra lets go instantly, tension thrumming through him.
Something lingers, though. Not him. Not his hands. Just the air, humming with restraint, like a second set of arms hesitating.
I exhale, and the sensation dissolves, nothing left behind except the echo of where it touched.
But the trembling only gets worse. Why am I so fucking cold? When my eyes meet his, silently pleading for something I can’t ask for, he seems to understand and pulls me close again, wrapping around me like he can quiet the static crackling through my bones.
I press my face into Ezra’s shoulder, sobbing into what is very clearly an expensive grey cashmere sweater.
Fantastic. Tears, blood, and trauma mucus all over his beautiful Todd & Duncan.
It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. He just holds me. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, stilling the tremors.
But the touch isn’t all him.
Some of it … I think it’s his shadows.
They’re gentle. Almost hesitant. Scared I’ll pull back. Scared I’ll tell them to stop.
My skin prickles as cool tendrils curl against the nape of my neck, twining through my hair. One shyly taps against my wrist before retreating, startled by how easily I flinch.
They shouldn’t feel like comfort. But they do.
When Ezra exhales, the presence lingers for just a moment longer, like the memory of cold fingertips on skin.
I know it’s wrong to need this—to want touch after what Jameson did to me. But Ezra saved me. He’s the only reason I’m here. He would never hurt me.
An hour later, I’ve cried myself hollow. My eyes throb behind swollen lids, and my lashes, stiff with salt, drag like sandpaper every time I blink.
As I lift my head from Ezra’s shoulder, I notice Louie peeking out from behind the chair. When I softly call her name, Lou hesitantly approaches. Her head is down, and her ears are flattened. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my fierce guard dog is … afraid.
I peel myself out of Ezra’s arms—and, God fucking help me, his lap. He doesn’t stop me, but I feel the reluctance in his hands as they drift away.
I slide to the floor beside Louie, fingers buried in her fur as his shadows crowd close, clinging like faithful pups—refusing to follow when he lets me go. One lingers at my hip, hesitating before it snaps back into him with a sharp flick.
Was it … annoyed? Upset?
I’m not sure. I don’t understand them yet.
But they stayed with me.
They didn’t pull away until I did.
I run my hand over her fur again, slower this time. She’s familiar in a way that nothing else is right now.
“Hey, Lulu. It’s okay. There’s no way you could have gotten out. I heard you barking and digging at the door. Thank you for trying to save me.”
Stupid tears pool in my eyes again as I remember my dog’s desperate cries—and that fading, ridiculous thought about who would care for my giant fur baby after I died.
Ezra rises from the floor and approaches my reading chair, which someone repositioned to face my couch. He crosses his legs and folds his hands gently in his lap, offering a small, sad smile before shifting his gaze downward. Louie softly whines, then rounds the coffee table to sit beside Ezra.
I drag myself off the floor and collapse onto the couch, burning what little strength I have left. Every joint, every muscle, screams with pain.
“I-I think I’m okay now.”
I’m not, but I don’t really know what else to say. Maybe if I keep saying it, it’ll eventually be true.
“Was there someone else here right before I woke up? I thought I heard a woman? Hm, maybe it was a dream, now that I think about it. Magic, spells, hellfire, hellhounds. Christ, Aurora. Lay off the fantasy books, right?”
A shadow drifts toward me, barely touching—a feathery whisper at my ankle.
Then another.
I should be asking questions. But the shadows move like they’ve followed me across lifetimes, waiting for this one.
So I let them stay. The shadows make more sense than anything else right now.
Ezra’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring just enough to give him away. His eyes flick between me and the twitching shadows at his thigh, his expression twisting with disgust.