46. Final Goodbye
Chapter forty-six
Final Goodbye
Oberon
Blood splatters my face as my blade finds its mark.
It’s not their fault. Not really.
The males here are only defending their land, their homes, their loved ones. My shadows coil at my feet, enough to make them hesitate, enough to make them question their choices, but not enough to stop them from coming anyway.
I commend them for their bravery or stupidity.
They know they don’t stand a chance, but they come anyway, ready to die for their cause.
Stupidity, I decide.
The one in the middle is tall and slender, built more like a runner than a fighter, a heavy mace raised high above his narrow frame. He’s flanked by two shorter, stockier males, both wielding poorly made blades dulled by desperation rather than use.
The mace comes first.
I duck beneath the swinging ball of spikes and drive my elbow into his stomach. The air leaves his lungs in a sharp burst, sending him staggering back a few steps.
The male to his right is on me immediately. The other is still closing the distance. I’ve bought myself only seconds.
The first raises his sword. He’s fast, I’ll give him that.
Just not fast enough.
The second male strikes from my left. I parry the first blow and block the second with a deafening clash, steel screaming against steel. The male with the mace has already recovered. He’s only a few steps away now.
Every swing of my blade meets resistance. I let them believe they have the advantage.
Let them believe numbers might be enough.
We all know better.
I turn at the last possible moment, my blade sinking deep into the tall male’s chest. I watch the light drain from his eyes as the realization dawns that he will never kiss his loved ones again.
With the heel of my boot, I kick his corpse free. There’s a sickening squelch as steel leaves flesh, followed by the heavy thump of his lifeless body hitting the ground.
The other two are still coming.
I raise my blood-slickened blade, “Ah—”
Something is wrong. Pain and terror rip through my body, sudden and overwhelming.
Was I stabbed? The thought barely forms before I force myself to focus, stealing a heartbeat to assess the damage. They’re still advancing. I haven’t been hit.
I shove the panic down and straighten, forcing my composure back into place as I raise my blade and call my shadows once more.
They answer immediately, but so does something else.
My entire body locks. It feels like lightning tearing through my veins, violent and blinding. My carefully crafted mask fractures under the weight of the dread flooding my chest just for a second, but it’s enough.
I wasn’t fast enough.
The stout male’s blade slices into my arm, heat and pain exploding as fresh blood pours down my skin. Another wave hits me at the same time, deeper, sharper, threatening to bring me to my knees.
And then it clicks.
Lyra. The trinket I gave her. The tether I created. She’s in trouble. I’m not feeling my pain, I’m feeling hers. Her fear. Her agony.
I scan the field again. The two males who drew my blood look pleased with themselves, but more are already closing in behind them, rushing to join the fight.
I don’t have time for this. I have to end it. I have to get to her.
Fear burns away, replaced by something far more dangerous. Rage floods my veins, hot and absolute, devouring the calm control I’ve spent years perfecting. Strategy dissolves into instinct.
I raise my blade with the fury of the gods.
One male dies before he realizes what’s happened. His head separates cleanly from his body, so fast it takes a heartbeat for him to fall, his corpse collapsing a moment after his head hits the ground.
I can’t think. I can only move.
The second male charges, more behind him, but my shadows surge forward without command, wild and ravenous, moving with a will of their own.
I don’t enjoy killing, not like this, not the innocent, especially not for a cause I don’t believe in.
But right now, with the monster clawing its way to the surface—I relish it.
And gods help me, I am good at it.
I twist, fluid and ruthless, and there’s a sharp crack as the male’s neck snaps beneath my grip. For a split second, I wonder where he’ll end up in the afterlife.
If you find yourself in the depths of the underworld, I think grimly, I’ll be joining you soon enough.
The moment passes. The next wave is already here.
I don’t have time for this.
I can still feel Lyra’s pain, still feel her fear, and I know one thing with brutal certainty: This ends now.
My shadows whip outward in every direction, becoming tangible weight as they find their targets. They wrap around throats and lift bodies into the air simultaneously. Eyes bulge. Hands claw uselessly. All of them are staring at me.
I can only imagine what they see reflected back in my eyes as my shadows tighten their grip.
They fight, swinging their makeshift weapons wildly at the tendrils constricting them, but you cannot slice through smog. Their efforts are useless. In their final moments, I watch the color drain from their faces.
I release them. Bodies hit the ground one after another, dull thuds echoing in the sudden quiet.
“Lyra,” I say aloud.
The magic I bound us with was never a perfect science. I can feel her. Her fear, her pain, but not her exact location. My shadows surge up around me, engulfing my body as I pull myself toward the source of it.
I reemerge in a forest. The silence makes my blood run cold.
“No,” I whisper. “Am I too late?”
I can’t be too late.
Panic overwhelms every other sense as I start running, weaving through towering trees in the darkness. Then I catch her scent. My heart slams against my ribs. I move faster, breath tearing from my lungs as I follow it before reaching a clearing.
My body freezes.
I nearly collapse, catching myself against the rough bark of a tree. It bites into my palms, skin splitting as my knees threaten to give out. “I’m too late.”
I force myself forward anyway. The scene before me steals what little breath I have left. Lyra, Ash, and Zander lie motionless on the ground.
They were supposed to be safe. She was supposed to be safe.
I left her. Even when she begged me to stay, I turned away.
I told myself it was the only way to keep her hidden, to make sure no one knew how deeply she mattered to me. To protect her from myself, from the truth of who and what I am.
My steps falter as I reach her, dread crushing my chest until it hurts to breathe. “Please be alive,” I whisper, over and over. A broken mantra. “Please be alive.”
I can’t lose them. I can’t lose her.
Nothing I could possibly accomplish would be worth it without her beside me, without her there to see the world we were meant to tear down and rebuild together.
I rush to her and drop to my knees, scooping her into my arms.
She’s limp, frighteningly still.
I thought I would have time, time to make things right. “Please, Lyra,” I beg aloud.
Her chest rises. Her breathing is shallow, barely there, but it is there.
Relief crashes through me so hard it nearly hurts. I pull her closer, pressing her to my chest as a breath shudders out of me, one I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Thank the gods.”
My healing magic is weak compared to a true healer’s. It will never be enough to fully mend her, but it’s enough to keep her alive, enough to buy time. I pour every last thread of it into her. Every ounce of the small, stubborn magic my mother left me.
Her breathing steadies.
My chest tightens painfully with every rise and fall of her lungs, every beat of her heart echoing through my own. The sensation is overwhelming, consuming. This need, this obsession with her safety, burns through me until it’s all I can feel.
And still, I failed her.
Relief fades, replaced by something bitter and sharp. Anger. At myself. “Who hurt you?” I whisper, knowing she can’t answer.
I place a soft kiss on the top of her head, lingering and savoring in the small moment, breathing her scent in deeply before I carefully lay her back on the ground and force myself to stand.
I turn to Ash next. He’s slumped against a tree, soaked in blood, with deep gashes carved down his exposed chest. Tatters of his clothing litter the ground around him.
He’s holding on barely, I can see it in the way his shoulders sag, the way his breathing drags.
He doesn’t have the strength to open a portal, not yet, not without help.
I step closer and rest a hand on his shoulder, careful not to jostle him, and feed my remaining energy into him. It leaves me hollow, but it’s enough. Enough to get them home.
“Wraithmoor,” I tell him quietly. It’s the only place that can help them.
His eyes flick up to mine briefly before closing again.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” I add, the words heavy on my tongue. “I was too late.”
He doesn’t answer.
Zander lies a few yards away, still and pale but breathing. Relief settles uneasily in my chest as I kneel beside him. I brush the loose strands of hair back from his face, a small, grounding gesture after so much violence.
That’s when I see it. A dark feather, half-buried in the leaves. My hand closes around it before I can stop myself.
The scent hits me instantly, familiar and unmistakable. “Fucking Keagan!” I growl. Understanding crashes into place all at once, cold and furious. I know exactly what happened here.
My grip tightens, nails biting into my palms as anger surges, sharp enough to drown out everything else.
I look back at Zander. “I have to go,” I say, my voice low and final. “They’ll need you. Watch over them. Protect her.”
Ash groans softly behind me, beginning to stir as I step back toward the tree line. That sound is enough to reassure me. They’ll make it. They’ll survive.
But someone else won’t, if I have anything to say about it.
I disappear into the shadows with a singular purpose burning in my chest.
I have a score to settle with the man who tried to kill the one person in this gods-forsaken world who holds my heart with hers.