Chapter six
I have never traveled so much. I haven’t traveled at all, really. And now, I’m in Berlin. We spent a whole two weeks in high school talking about the Berlin Wall, but standing in some random park in the rapidly darkening twilight, it doesn’t feel like I’m in a place of historical significance.
Wherever I am in the city, I’m close to Ryan; I can smell and see smoke, and there are helicopters, tanks, and soldiers. But I don’t go toward them. Not yet. I need a moment. This is all… so fast.
My hand goes to the sigils on my back, lingering over the one meant to poison Aris. The pain is gone, but the memory sends a shudder through me.
It doesn’t matter if I’m ready. It’s happening.
Resigned, I walk toward the chaos.
On the street is shrapnel and debris from miscellaneous objects. And bodies. I try not to look at them, but I see law enforcement uniforms and smashed cameras.
It’s as I approach a barrier that an officer starts yelling at me in German. I have no idea what he’s trying to say, but I have to guess it’s something like, get the hell out of here ! I clearly don’t fit in with my civilian clothes.
The man talks to someone beside him, and the pair starts toward me, talking to each other in a language I still can’t understand. But I get their meaning. What do I think I’m doing? They’re the police, and it’s their job to protect people from the scary monster destroying the city.
Unfortunately for us all, I have to get to that monster.
I start sprinting toward the epicenter of the conflict. Though initially confused, other officers get themselves together enough to try to grab at me. They get the back of my jacket, but I shimmy out of it and keep going while same two officers pursue me.
I look away from their angry and baffled faces to focus on my surroundings. With the ground cracked and upended, lampposts bent and destroyed, electrical wires flailing uselessly, I need to watch where I’m going. Being chased through this terrain is not easy on its own, and the closer I get to the booming noises, the more uncertain my footing becomes. I soon realize that the ground is shaking, and both I and my pursuers struggle to continue—one even leaves. Maybe to get reinforcements, maybe giving up.
But the first policeman, loyal and determined, keeps after me, right on my heels. He’s switched to English at this point and is screaming that I don’t know what I’m doing. That it’s dangerous. That I’m going to die.
I don’t bother responding; there’s no time to explain. And he isn’t wrong.
Just when he’s about to catch up with me, I come skidding to a stop on a street indistinguishable from all the rest. In the middle of the road is Ryan, shirtless with his ginormous weapon. Our arrival isn’t loud, but, as if his one-eared hearing was heightened alongwith his strength,Ryan faces us immediately.
At first, his body is stiff and aggressive, ready for a fight, but he is taken aback by the sight of me. Ryan’s expression has always been blank. Sometimes I’d seen anger there, but I’ve never seen surprise on him, or… concern?
He begins to walk toward me, massive strides covering what would be three or four steps for me. Though the sight of him has never been comforting, I can’t help my sigh of relief. It worked; he’s going to get Aris.
And then, I’m being strong-armed back the way I came.
“No!” I yell, fighting the hold.
“Miss, please!” screams the policeman. Apparently, he hasn’t recognized me and doesn’t understand the exchange between me and Ryan.
“No!” I say, and again struggle to get free, but his grip only tightens.
What is he doing ?
“ Miss !”
“Just get out of here!” I yell back. “You’ll die!”
Ryan is almost upon us, a fact the two of us react to differently; while I’m glad, the policeman’s efforts have now tripled and he’s about to knock me over with how hard he’s tugging me .
I make a final, feral effort to free myself before Ryan gets over and forces us apart, probably by ripping the man in half. Surprised by my fervor, the man’s hold drops for an instant, but then he grips my wrist, and I wince at the pressure.
“Stop!” I scream, kicking at him as he lifts me, and the man barks something back in German. I can only imagine the choice words.
And then, suddenly, he is there.
Where there was naught but black space, there is now a god, staring hard at the policeman.
“Remove your hand,” says Aris too casually, “or I will sever it and present it to her as a token of my affection.”
The man lets me go, so abruptly that I stumble to right myself. For an instant, I think he’s come to his senses and will retreat, until I see him pull out his gun and train it on Aris. Ryan goes to charge forward, but Aris holds up a hand; Ryan halts.
Aris’ eyes are on the man—he has yet to look at me—but that I know he is aware of my every breath. Just as I am of his.
It’s only been a few days, but it feels like months have passed since I saw him last. I’ve felt so much dread and anger toward our reunion that I didn’t realize how much I’d been anticipating it.
There it is, the most pathetic truth of them all: I missed him. As much as he hurt me, as much as he hurts others, my mind always, always goes back to him.
My eyes catch on his profile, going still as a breeze passes, wafting a delicious scent toward me—moonflower and vanilla. It’s only then that I recall where I’ve smelled it before: in my dreams.
When I saw him at the Institute—Aris, in person—there was too much blood and panic and pain to think about his scent, but it infects me now, mixing with the smoke in the air.
Aris takes a step toward the cop, and my attention shifts, returning to the emergency at hand. Suddenly, Aris is not just a fragrant and beautiful creature, but a lethal one, too. His body is all hard lines and sharp edges, like a knife suspended midair, able to pivot and soar and stab at the slightest provocation.
“Do you think you will kill me?” Aris asks, nodding at the man’s gun. “Are you going to save the world? ”
The only inclination that the officer hears, or even understands him, is the slightest narrowing of his eyes. And then he fires at Aris’ chest, hitting right where a man’s heart would be.
I know that Aris is immortal and invincible, but I still gasp as the bullet connects. Of course, my worries are irrational; Aris stays standing.
The policeman keeps firing.
The sounds force me to cover my ears, trembling, as Aris is my foil; he does not cower or flinch. He glances at me and rolls his eyes, as if to communicate the ridiculousness of the situation.
Finally, the man’s clip runs empty.
While he fumbles to reload, Aris straightens his jacket and inspects himself, finding that what was once an impeccable suit is now littered with holes.
“Really,” says Aris when looking back up. On the ground around us are bullets crushed flat like pennies from the impact of hitting his chest. “You should know better.”
“We will never stop fighting you,” says the officer, furious. “And you will be destroyed!”
He raises his gun again, but Aris appears before him in a blink, grabbing the weapon out of his hand. With a squeeze, the metal crumbles like dry clay, clinking against the earth.
“Good work, hero,” says Aris.
The man opens his mouth, maybe to beg for his life, maybe to yell a final declaration or slur, but in an instant, it has already happened: the policeman is dead. Erased. All it takes is a flash of light, and there is nothing left of him, save his shadow scorched in the ground, blackening the asphalt.
Before I can comprehend what just happened, before I can fear what I’ve willingly returned to, Aris stalks towards me, stepping over the dark spot on the ground with a thunderous expression. “You could’ve been killed,” he bites out.
He’s not as tall as Jaegen or as thick as Ryan, but he’s terrifying and towering, and for a second I consider that Jaegen might’ve been wrong, that maybe Aris has changed his mind about me: he won’t bring me with him, or let me live. I look between Aris and the shadow on the ground, terrified to think that everything might end here.
But then, it hits me: he’s furious because he cares .
You could’ve been killed, Aris said.
He was worried .
I try to get my racing heart under control, but fear will not listen to reason. I start to shake as he gets even closer, and he stops abruptly.
“You’re scared.” His scent hits me again, and my body betrays me by relaxing slightly.“What happened?”
I glance pointedly at the policeman and the wreckage around us to convey that I am terrified of him , but that isn’t true. I am scared, yes, but…
Aris tilts his head to the side. “Are you afraid of me?”
I look down at my hands, which are trembling; they have been trembling for some time now. “No, I’m just… afraid.”
I was burned and now I have to enact this insane plan, or else the world gets screwed and Jaegen…
“Who scared you?” he asks. He leans closer, until our faces are only inches apart, and he reaches for me, a cool hand cupping my cheek.
My toes curl, eyes closing as fire lights low within me. So unsuitable to the situation and the dead man who Aris is standing on , but it’s there, and I realize it’s true: when I was with Henry, it was Aris I was feeling. Aris who I was wanting.
A single hand on my cheek drives me wild, makes me lose reason.
I should push him away, but I can’t. It feels too good; I want him too much.Unwittingly, I angle myself toward him, wanting more, wanting to be close, and I’m letting myself down all the while. I’m giving him what he wants, but it feels out of my control. I’m angry at him, but it’s suddenly hard to cling to that rage. Harder than it should be.
Back when he was just a voice in my head, he used to say I’d be attracted to him, that he was quite handsome, in fact, but I shrugged him off. And now…
I don’t know what it is that tethers me to him. Is it because of what he is? Jaegen has a sort of magnetism, too, but this is different; they are different. Where Jaegen is light, Aris is dark; where one is heat, another is cold .
My eyes shoot open. No. No. What is wrong with me? How is it possible that I like his hand on me, his temperature, his smell?
Remember who he is and what he’s done . What he will do.
look around, taking in the news cameras and guns trained on us. How many people are watching? What do they think of this display?
Aris doesn’t seem to even notice them.
“Who scared you?” he repeats.
“ You ,” I lie, and take a few steps out of his reach.
Aris tilts his head, his hand falling to his side. “I see.”
Does he? Can he? For a moment, I am terrified that the rune isn’t working, that he can read my mind and knows everything: Jaegen, our plan, the desire I feel toward him.
“This is an interesting development,” Aris continues casually. “You come to me, frightened of me, you claim, after swearing never to face me again. You come in the middle of a warfield, stopping Ryan in his task—interrupting my plans.”
“Is there a question there?”
“It has been six days. I anticipated you’d take longer to return to me.” His gaze on me is critical, and I realize that he can’t read my mind. He would’t be fishing if he could.
“I guess we’ve both been busy,” I just say.
If he is annoyed by my evasiveness, he doesn’t show it. “I see,” he says again, eyes combing me over. “Your hair is different.”
Honestly, amid all the chaos, I’d forgotten even changing it. I touch my hair self-consciously. Why is it my first instinct to ask if he likes it?
He walks closer to wrap his fist around my braid—once, twice. He pulls lightly, my scalp tingling as he turns my head from side to side. “The color is different,” he notes. “And it’s shorter.”
I hold my breath and wait for his verdict, but he just lets me go, creating some distance between us. His eyes stay on me, almost impossible to read; he does look somewhat displeased, though.
“It used to be our body,” he says eventually. His voice is level, distaste managed. “And you’ve changed it without me. ”
I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest. “Without your permission ?” I spit.
“No. Just…” He pauses. “Without me.”
Before I can ask what that means—did he seem almost vulnerable ?—Aris looks to scrutinize the individuals hiding behind rubble. Following his gaze, I wonder if there are microphones. Can they hear us?
His lips curl. “Vultures.”
“Let’s leave,” I say quickly, before he decides to kill them, too.
His eyes dart back to me, interest renewed. “Leave together,” he says slowly, testing the words. His lips perk; he likes how this sounds. “You are so willing. I’m assuming you’ve returned with a scheme to stop me?”
I should lie, but he’d pick up on it immediately. I decide to stay quiet, and Ryan growls from behind Aris.
“Now, now.” Aris waves him down, then turns back to me with a smirk. “Whatever you have planned, I welcome you to try it. It’s good to see a fire in you again.”
A fire in me.
I don’t know what to say, the sight of him and his dancing black eyes striking me anew. It’s unreal that he’s here— Aris , the villain of my story. I have a million questions, so many things to say, threats to make. I want to hit him upside the head; I want to tell him about Jaegen and get his opinion. I want him to tell me his plans. To confide in me.
I tell myself I want his confidence to better betray him, but my heart isn’t in it. Even after everything.
The distance he regards me with burns. I used to spend every day all day talking to him, and now…
“What will you do to them?” I ask, trying to get myself back on track as I glance around the broken city and the people hiding within it.
Aris studies me. “What would you like?” he asks. “Let them live, let them die, raise their dead to serve as my army of skeletons?”
I give him a flat look, hoping the last comment was a joke. “Let them go, Aris. Please. ”
“‘Please.’ So polite!” He gives me a nobleman’s bow. “Very well then. Their lucky day, and my gift to you.”
He looks over his shoulder at them, a smile tugging at his lips, and I grow nervous that he’ll change his mind. “So, we’re going?” I ask.
His attention returns to me. “Yes. We should retire.”
“What about your meeting?”
He smiles, pleased. “You have been keeping up on me. Yes, well, they can wait.”
I imagine the leaders of the Western world stuck in a room, waiting for the return of Aris. The most powerful men and women, subject to the whims of a god.
Exactly as he wants it.
“Ryan, your business is finished; you will return with us,” says Aris. Ryan grumbles something, and Aris turns toward him with an arched brow. “There will be more. Later.” Ryan’s eyes flit to me, then back to his master. I don’t need to be a telepath to know that he doesn’t trust me, and the possible consequences of his mistrust. It isn’t great that he’s coming along; he knows I’m scheming, and he is not amused by it the way Aris is.
Without preamble, Aris swipes his hand, and the world changes. Cracked asphalt morphs to dark hardwood, shattered windows, rubble, and ruins, replaced by ornate wall fixtures and antique furniture.
Stumbling on my feet, I look around, trying to reorient myself. The area is familiar, but it takes a second to place it as the hall where Aris first transformed Ryan. Perhaps, functionally, it’s meant to be a foyer, but it looks like something out of Gothic Architecture Weekly: ribbed vaulting with carved masonry, corinthian columns with disturbing designs—depictions of screaming children and murder—and stained glass with a masterful depiction of Aris in battle.
The home of the Following of the Forewarned, where Aris and I lived while he was still inside me. Here, his followers crooned over him and treated me like trash. Our time here climaxed with a celebratory ball, where their leader, Dominachion, stabbed and almost killed me .
I turn to Aris. “You could’ve warned me,” I mutter. I hate changing locations like that—it’s so disconcerting. Much less coming back here .
His smile grows, and he takes a few steps closer to me. Closer than I’d like, because my body doesn’t mind the proximity.
“I like watching your surprise,” he murmurs, then smiles. “Welcome home.”