Chapter 24 #2
I frowned. But why the archer’s back again?
Letting out a breath, I closed my eyes, going through my memory, going through the dream in fragments, going through the moment the archer left his spot to the clearing, going through how the side of his face was obstructed by his hair, and how the rest was bunched up roughly in a ponytail that swayed from side to side as he walked. ..
My palms hit the table hard as I flicked my eyes open in shock, shooting up on my feet.
Right! It was on his neck. I’d been too distracted to really take it into account, but it’d been there. “Oh my—”
I looked around, recalling that I was in a library. But luckily, the storm outside had drowned the noise of my outburst.
Breath ragged, I stared at the old symbol of blessing. If the archer had possessed it, it meant my dream had been real...? What if my mind was making everything up including seeing the mark on the archer’s nape?
I shook my head. The dream was real. I had a feeling the dream wasn’t mine. What if it wasn’t actually a dream. What if it was real...
I stared at the book again.
Thrax.
The thought came unbidden, slicing through my chest. His back...It had matched with the archer’s.
Putting off the leash on my mind, I let it wander far, staring into nothing as I let my imagination and thoughts run wild.
Thrax’s back had been glitching with the archer’s—according to my mind. And—
“Oh, gods.” I slapped my two hands over my mouth as my eyes went wide.
The round-ish tattoo on Thrax’s nape.
My stomach bottomed out.
Could it...no, no, no, no. It couldn’t be.
I took two steps out of my seat, running my fingers through my hair as I tried to convince myself that Thrax wasn’t the archer, and more importantly, the Soulless Man.
I grabbed the book like a madwoman, flipping the pages back to the part where it said no one possessed the mark again. Everyone had died with—
The Soulless Man is immortal.
I staggered back, blood rushing in my ears.
Thrax was the Soulless Man?
I shook my head, pacing. No way. There was no way—
“Why don’t you have a shadow?” I asked, my voice lighter than I felt. Then, quickly—“And yes, I know it was taken. By who?”
His finger brushed back another strand of hair, gradually easing to the back of my head. “Selvanyra.”
No. No. No.
I fell into a crouch, unable to believe myself, unable to believe he was actually telling the truth. Memories swam me, and I folded into myself, recalling each and every one of them.
He didn’t have a shadow because he didn’t have a soul. He was a dead man walking. The scar on his chest...could it have been when it was taken?
How did I miss the signs? He’d shamelessly laid them out for me, and like a fool, I’d totally ignored it. I’d totally ignored it when he told me he was over a thousand years old. I’d seen him heal. He was born with healing ability, just like everyone else before the moon’s wrath.
Goosebumps were literally exploding over my skin as my mind went crazy. When he’d told me his future ambition was to die, he’d actually meant it.
Oh, gods.
I stood up on my feet and picked up my phone, my hands shaking so violently I almost dropped it.
Me
Where are you?
I waited impatiently, tapping my feet against the floor. Five minutes passed, and he didn’t reply.
That was it for me. I’d exhausted all my patience, and this silence between us was over. I was literally sprinting out of the library, ignoring Amelia when she asked me where I was heading to late at night in the rain.
The said rain hit like knives the second I stepped outside, slicing through my clothes to skin, drenching me instantly and stealing my breath, but I kept running.
Streets blurred around me, puddles splashing beneath my frantic strides as I searched for him.
Street after street. Every corner I turned, I expected to see him. But he was nowhere around.
My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the time he cut himself when I mentioned the dream, wouldn’t stop circling back to the time the archer walked to the silver-haired dancer. If Thrax was really the archer, did it mean the girl was...the moon’s child?
She’d looked unnaturally real. It was only plausible she wasn’t human. Were they in love? Were they lovers? Was it really him in the dream?
With no aim, I walked in the pouring rain, trying to shut out the loud thing that was my mind.
Thrax isn’t the archer. He had not killed someone he’d loved. He’d not lived up to one thousand, four hundred and twenty-three years.
No, the Soulless Man was dead. He had to be.
The storm swallowed my soft panic as tears mingled with the rain.
My chest constricted until I could hardly breathe, and by the time my legs buckled beneath a streetlamp, I could barely stand.
I stumbled beneath it and crouched, legs folding with my arms around my knees, forehead pressed into them.
My body shook with cold, but it was nothing compared to the inner turmoil that was ripping me apart.
The rain hammered down, deafening and relentless, and I stayed there—not sure how long—drowning in a pain I couldn’t completely comprehend.
The air on my nape stood.
A presence heavier than the storm itself pressed against me. My head jerked up, rain streaming into my eyes, blurring everything into streaks of silver and black. I swiped a hand across my face, the person coming into view.
Towering under the lamp’s halo, drenched to the bone, hair plastered to his skin, chest rising and falling slightly, was Thrax.
My breath hitched.
He stepped closer, and the world seemed to shrink to only him as he stared down at me. The storm raged around us, thunder groaning, lightning spilling white fire across the sky.
Slowly, he sank down onto one knee before me. For a moment, we only stared, his unwavering eyes holding mine. And then his hand lifted, fingers brushing my soaked hair back before cupping my cheek with a gentleness that undid me. His palm was warm, even through the rain.
“Did you run?” My broken whisper was barely audible over the storm.
He nodded.
My throat closed. “How…how did you find me?”
The silence between us was louder than the thunder as his thumb stroked my cheek, his gaze never breaking.
And then came his voice, deep and firm.
“I felt your heart breaking.”