Chapter 17
Mora
Soft leaves caressed Mora’s arms, branches reaching for her and pulling at her ivory cloak as she ran through a maze of trees.
An array of colors danced in the corner of her eye, moonlight playing off translucent wings as a small fairy flitted by, but she paid them no mind.
Lost in her own panic. Following a beckoning melody and praying it would save her.
Each shuddering gasp hammering in and out of her chest left her choking on one thing.
Citrus.
Mora drowned in it.
It gathered in the winds and slithered over roots and pine needles carpeting the forest, crowding out its earthy scent.
The world spun and the trees pressed closer and closer as if they intended to crush her, but she slipped through their clutches, her heart thunderously slamming against her ribcage until her bones ached.
It felt like dying, without the final release to oblivion.
Twigs snapped behind her, crushed under a heavy boot, and Mora whimpered.
“He’s dead,” she panted, wishing she believed it. Wherever she was, this felt too real. He felt too real.
“Did you think I’d let death stand between us, Treasure?” Dother taunted, his hand slipping down her back.
Mora sobbed, quickening her pace and tugging on the laces holding her cloak in place.
“I promised you eternity, Mora. I’m a man of my word.”
His fingers curled, fisting the soft, ivory material. Mora struggled to undo the last knot, her feet slipping, kicking dead plant matter into the air.
“I watched you die, you fucking bastard!” she screamed, pulling free from her cloak. It hung in Dother’s grip, the hem dragging in the dirt. He growled, nostrils flaring as he tossed the garment aside and hurried after her.
Was he truly gone? Or had Mora imagined it all, her fractured mind clinging to a dream to help her endure a hopeless reality?
She was beginning to think she’d lost her damned sanity.
Leaves shuddered up ahead, bramble parting to create a path.
The dead meadow revealed itself on the other side, that beckoning song growing louder.
More urgent. Curling in the air until it tethered around Mora’s heart and tugged.
Her legs screamed, muscles tremoring from exhaustion, but she forced herself to sprint faster.
Birches, firs, and pines closed in at her back, the earth shifting beneath her feet as they moved. Dother cursed under his breath, snapping branches and squeezing through the thinning forest in his endless pursuit.
Rushing to the meadow, Mora didn’t notice thorns catching her wrist, slicing through flesh while the path closed swiftly behind her.
She collapsed, landing hard on her knees at the edge of the clearing.
Gasping for air. Trading citrus for dirt and embers, and the softest kiss of mint.
She pressed her hand to her sternum, gagging on her tears, dark ringlets tumbling over her face when she leaned forward and curled into herself, trying to remember how to breathe.
Blood welled up from her wound, the warm liquid trickling down her forearm and falling onto the brittle grass peeking up between her legs. It glistened on their surface, spilling over the blades and disappearing into the soil.
“Treasure,” Dother cooed, sticks breaking under his heavy steps. Mora flinched at the sound, remembering the crunch of glass under his shoes on their last night together. “Why do you continue to fight this?”
Thumbing a leaf, he frowned at the drops of blood streaked with gold gleaming within the bramble.
Their branches knit together, thorns pointing toward him.
It kept him at bay, but Mora still felt his hand on her back, his heat searing her skin.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, unable to stomach another glimpse of azure.
“Leave me,” she whispered.
“Never. I—” He paused, chewing on his left cheek while he stared into the distance. “I’ll see you soon, Treasure. Remember who you belong to.”
Mora felt him pull away, the weight of his eyes lingering on her skin long after he was gone.
Her breath slammed in and out of her lungs too quickly, black spots dancing in her vision, but she forced herself to her feet.
Swaying. Nearly falling back to the ground if not for the gentle hands that caught her.
An intoxicating mix of mint and petrichor with splashes of refreshing pine enveloped her, chasing away the last dregs of citrus. Mora fell into muscular arms, nuzzling at a black cloak and inhaling the delectable scent. With each breath, her pounding heart slowed.
That aroma was familiar. It smelled like home. Like peace. Like so many things she dared not wish for.
She froze.
... Was this the Fae again?
Flashes of midnight glittering with golden flecks danced in her mind, along with the memory of the bite of his blade on her throat. Yet he held her so gently, those long fingers drawing comforting circles on her back.
“This is a dream,” she whispered against his firm chest.
“Yes, Little Witch,” he breathed, holding her tighter.
“It’s not real.” Her voice was muffled by soft linen. “None of this is real...”
The Fae’s hand trailed up her back, fingers tangling in her dark curls. “This is penance. Nothing more.”
Penance? Mora refused the notion. She had done nothing she wished to repent for.
Drops of blood slid from her wrist, their warmth trailing over her skin before dripping onto the Fae’s cloak.
She flinched, inhaling crackling embers and knowing the scent was her own—it clung to her skin, an aroma permeating her being since the day Dother changed her. Now it made her think of fire sprites consuming the rebels in Castle Berwick. Gnawing at what little remained of her mother.
It was her fault Dother entered their lives.
Her fault their lives were ended.
Maybe her penance was an eternity trapped and alone, the blood of her family forever staining her hands.
A sob escaped her lips. “I hate you,” she mumbled into the Fae’s cloak.
A humorless laugh rumbled in his chest. Pulling her closer, he rested his head against her crown. “That’s fitting, Little Witch. I’m not overly fond of myself, either.”
They stood together in silence, Mora clinging to his side so firmly it must have stung. The Fae stared off into the distance, watching the trees as if he intended to guard her dreams. Ensuring, she hoped, Dother would never return.