Chapter 39 Aurora #6
“No. No, no, no. This … what the ever-loving fuck? This … isn’t real. Can’t be real.”
Iain’s eyes blur, words tumbling out in frantic mutters, curses flying too fast for anyone to follow.
Ezra and Louie exchange a look, both clearly trying to make sense of the rambling.
I just stand there, staring at my hand, the air still humming with leftover magic. My gaze slides to the wrakh slumped on the filthy linoleum floor. He’s clutching his smoking hand, the table’s cracked down the middle, and he’s screaming at the ceiling in a full Gaelic rage.
And what’s my coping mechanism? Internally becoming that cartoon dog surrounded by flames. This is fine.
Nothing is fine. And I’m not sure it ever will be again.
Ezra squats in front of Iain and slaps him hard across the face.
The wrakh’s eyes snap back into focus and immediately find me.
“You …” A shudder rolls through his body, the words stalling at the tip of his tongue.
He looks up at Ezra, his voice hollow.
“Ezra—Ezra, fuck—she’s the … you don’t see it? She’s—” Iain’s eyes go wide. “The last. Ezra. She’s the Last Daughter.”
The words crash through me, echoing in my bones and rattling my ribs.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t blink.
Ezra’s shadows—the ones that worship me, the ones that reach for me like I’m the center of their universe—recoil. They press against the wall. Not in fear, but in respect. Recognizing something greater, something beyond even them.
Louie cracks her knuckles and checks the windows. Her body goes taut, bristling with the kind of tension that precedes a fight. I don’t know if it’s instinct or something deeper that’s putting her on high alert. But she’s in full protector mode, and I love her for it.
Ezra’s watching me. His lips move, but the thrumming in my ears drowns him out.
The world narrows, and everything tilts inward.
I should’ve known. Should’ve felt something. But all I feel is sick. Like I swallowed glass, and now it’s carving through my insides, twisting with every breath.
Emme hums, utterly pleased with herself. No kindness. No support. Just smug as hell.
A smile curls somewhere deep in my mind, the kind that says she’s been waiting for this moment.
“See?” she whispers, brushing along the edge of my temporal lobe. “You finally get it now.”
Her voice lingers, sour and sticky, as hot gorge rises at the back of my throat.
So, I shove it down, because I don’t know what else to do.
I really don’t fucking want to ask, but I do anyway.
“What does that mean? The Last Daughter?”
I look from the shade to the wrakh, then back to the shade.
Iain? He looks away from me.
And Ezra? He just keeps staring.
I don’t know if I expected comfort or reassurance. Maybe just a solid “You’re fine,” then dinner and drinks at The Cardinal.
But nope. All I get is doom and two ancient creatures watching me in abject horror.
When Ezra speaks, his voice is quiet and careful. Not cold. Not warm. Just … final.
“This changes everything.”
For who?
For me?
For him?
What the fuck?
His shadows shift again. Not retreating this time but settling, holding the space around me. Around us. The air thickens. The walls press in. The weight of it wraps around my ribs, tight and suffocating.
Iain exhales, rubbing his burnt hand over his face.
“Fuck, Ezra, you—”
“I know.”
Ezra hasn’t moved. He’s still staring, still holding that unbearable silence.
I can’t read him. Maybe he’s processing. Maybe he finally sees what I am now. Maybe he’s already halfway out the door in his mind.
And then his eyes shift and settle on mine, something flickering in all that churning grey. It’s not fear or confusion, but something sharper. He sees the fear rising behind my eyes. Sees that I’m bracing myself, waiting to be abandoned.
And that’s when he moves.
He approaches like I’m a wounded creature, bloodied and wild, too hurt to be touched but too dangerous to leave alone. Then he lowers himself in front of me, one knee pressing into the floor.
Not in surrender.
Not in worship.
Just Ezra. Kneeling like he did in the library when he called me his queen. Kneeling for me with blood on his teeth and wildflowers in his hair.
He doesn’t reach for me right away. Just lets the space between us breathe. Lets me feel the weight of his presence.
There’s restraint in his voice, but the kind that barely hides the ferocity underneath.
“I told you, little lupine. If you allowed me to touch you, I’d never be able to let you go.”
Ezra exhales hard, his jaw ticking with restraint.
“That wasn’t hyperbole. That was a fucking vow.”
His fingers twitch as he reaches out to me. Not to save me. No, his reach is gravity. It’s choice. It’s recognition … revelation.
And that’s when it clicks.
I don’t need saving. And he fucking knows it.
Ezra won’t flinch while I burn. He’ll hand me the goddamn match.
The shadows curl around us. They’re not shrinking or bristling; instead, they’re comforting and steady.
“I’m yours, Aurora Hagan. I’ve always been yours. And if you think one silly little title will scare me off”—Ezra leans in, fierce and quiet—“then you’ve severely underestimated just how far I’d go for you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
His voice doesn’t shake, but it cuts deep.
“But this? This is something else. Something ancient. Something the world stopped whispering about after Babylon fell.”
He exhales again. One sharp, steady breath.
“Millennia pass, and so do stories. I heard the name once. Maybe twice. A firelit tale in a dying language. I didn’t hold on to it. None of them ever meant anything. But this one … this one should have stayed with me.”
Those dark, storm-grey eyes meet mine.
“I should have remembered. I should have known.”
His shadows curl tight around his shoulders, grounding him in this moment.
“I’m not going to lie. We should be scared. I … am scared.” Ezra pauses and cocks his head, the corners of his mouth curling into a defiant smile. “But I won’t run from it. And I will never fucking run from you.”
And I believe him.
Because he doesn’t try to fix it. Doesn’t sugarcoat it. Doesn’t offer some weak, useless comfort.
He lets me burn—his forehead pressed against mine, fingers drifting down my cheek, the shadows curling close.
And then, with a steady hand and a smirk, he hands me the match.