Chapter 22
EVERY WAY IMAGINABLE
CORA
Iknow better than to feel hope. I’ve spent the past twelve years warding away positivity like it’s a bad smell. I didn’t dare believe I would ever find myself here. Not here, staggering up the steep slope of a mountain, but here, with Elliot keeping pace at my side.
I sneak a glance at him, relieved that he’s too busy looking ahead to notice. I’m able to study his sharp jawline and the sharp line of his nose. His hazel eyes are bright in the sunlight. I can pick out a dozen colors, different shades of brown and green and yellow.
“Do you want to make out?” he asks without looking at me. His voice is perfectly level, but his lips twitch, betraying him. “We’ll really be risking our timeline, but I’m willing to chance it.”
I roll my eyes, unable to keep from smiling.
This is the life I once imagined as a teenager. Before Harrison raped me, before I had to leave the only person who made me feel whole, I dreamt of a future like this.
“Or I could talk you through that blow job,” he says. His voice is as calm as ever, but blush has made its way up his neck and across his cheeks. I watch the color spread, only responding once it’s touched the tips of his ears.
“Out here, in the open?”
“Afraid a squirrel might see us?” he counters. Finally, finally, he looks at me. His eyes spark with mischief, and despite our current mission, I feel at peace for the first time in as long as I can remember.
“There are plenty of harpies around. Dragon riders.”
Elliot glares up at the sky. Today is cooler than yesterday, but between the fronds of trees, the sky is blue. Not a cloud in sight.
“In the tent then,” he says with a solemn nod. He looks at me, brows furrowing. “Or perhaps I’ll taste you. Do you know if we’ve done that?”
Now it’s my turn to blush.
“Hells, Elliot,” I say, blowing a breath between my lips. “You can’t say things like that. Since when are you so horny?”
“I imagine it started about the time you climbed into my lap last night,” he says. He shrugs, grins. “Or maybe when I saw you in the foyer of the vampire king’s manor. Throwing grown men around like it was your favorite hobby.”
“Perhaps it is,” I say. I look back to the rough terrain in front of us.
“You’ve yet to throw me,” he says.
“Maybe that’s what we’ll try in the tent,” I say. A small laugh escapes my lips, surprising me as much as it does Elliot.
“Whatever you want,” is his immediate response. Then, “I have every intention of making you do that more.”
“What, laugh?”
“Yes. When we get done with this, once we’ve made enough spells for your whole extended vampire family to live happily ever after, I’m going to find a thousand ways to make you laugh.”
“A thousand ways,” I repeat, humming. “That’s going to take a while.”
“I’m a patient man,” he says.
He nods toward a nearby rock, large enough to use as a bench, and I almost sob in relief. My boots are rubbing my heels, and I’m certain my left foot has started to bleed. While I massage my ankles, Elliot removes the canister from his pack and offers me the first drink.
I could get used to this, I think. And what a dangerous knowledge that is, dreaming for something that can never be.
But why not?
Perhaps, if Elliot never sees the two final memories, those two jars tucked at my side, perhaps we could make this work. He understands now that Harrison was no horrific loss to the world. He was vile. Evil. We are better without his energy demanding space.
He could get used to this too, I whisper to myself. He could be happy with me, and he would never need to know.
“Ready?” he asks, standing entirely too soon.
“I think so,” I say. Not to walk, because truly, I think my skin is torn to shreds beneath my socks.
I’m ready to give this an honest try, and if he’s willing to part with just two pieces of the past, maybe we can.
We haven’t spoken in over an hour, and my once sore feet now feel like they’ve been shred to pieces.
I’m limping more than I’m walking, and I’ve been waiting for Elliot to demand I hurry.
Sebastian certainly would. Or rather, he’d make us wait until night so he could throw me over his shoulder and zip the rest of the way to our destination.
Elliot does neither. Instead, he keeps a slow and steady pace with me, one hand tucked in his coat pocket and the other hanging free at his side. It’s the one closer to me, and though I’ve felt oddly tempted to grab his hand, I haven’t. My willpower is apparently stronger than I knew.
“Did you tell me?” he asks, abruptly pulling me from my thoughts.
“Tell you…?” I trail off, eyebrows raised as I look over him. He looks as relaxed as he did yesterday morning, save for the slight crease between his brows. He’s still thinking about what I showed him. All the while, I’m doing my best to forget he knows.
I was so sure he would never know that I don’t know how to feel.
“Before you stole my memories,” he says. Then, softly, “before I gave them to you.”
“You didn't give them to me,” I say. Mostly, because it’s true. Partly, because I can tell he needs to hear it.
“Did you tell me what happened?” he presses.
I breathe a puff of air between my lips and tilt my head toward the sky. It’s cold today. Not to the point breath turns to fog, but enough that I’m barely sweating.
According to Elliot’s estimate, we’ll reach the Cursed Grounds shortly before nightfall. It’s less than ideal. I can think of many better sleeping places that don’t include the term ‘cursed’.
“Secora,” he says. His hand catches my elbow, lightly enough I could pull away if I wanted.
I don’t.
“Yes, Elliot,” I say, forcing myself to face him. My hands are shaking, so I clench them into fists at my sides. Take a few steadying breaths. “I told you.”
“And?”
I stare at him, trying and failing to come up with an adequate response. With another heavy breath, I start walking again. Elliot’s touch on my arm drops, and he falls into step beside me.
He’s more patient than I deserve. Even as I can sense him twitching with discomfort, as though it’s taking every drop of self-control not to press, he doesn’t say a word.
“You believed me,” I say after nearly a minute of pained silence.
There is only the sound of our boots crunching over fallen leaves and dried sticks.
I have to swallow to keep my voice from cracking.
“You believed me, of course. Never questioned whether I was lying. You were angry and wanted to help however you could…but it didn’t matter, Elliot. ”
I sigh, pausing again. I can tell Elliot wants to ask more, so I put it off as long as I can. I gesture to a nearby fallen tree and sit.
“I need a second,” I say. Without looking at him, I untie my shoes. My feet will only hurt more when I put them back on, but right now, I need the relief. A break, no matter how brief.
“Hells, your feet, Secora.”
“I know,” I say. Blush rises through my cheeks as I pull off the second boot. My socks are black, but somehow, the blood is still visible on the fabric. I hiss as I unroll the socks, revealing my blistered skin. “I should have mentioned how rarely I hike.”
He blows out a breath, scowling as he takes off his pack. Sitting beside me, he gently takes my left foot and props it on his lap.
“You don’t have to—”
“What happened?” he asks, cutting me off.
I watch as he plucks a deep maroon bag from his pack. It’s small, but it’s stuffed with different ointments and herbs. Elliot tsks under his breath as he applies something—maybe clay root—to my bleeding and cracked ankle.
I don’t immediately reply. I weigh my words carefully before finally responding.
“Harrison’s mama found out,” I say finally. I lift my chin to the sky, staring at the grey-blue as I speak. Elliot continues working on my foot, his touch impossibly soft and gentle. “She took over everything. Made sure it was all kept quiet. Kept it out of the public.”
“Secora,” Elliot says. It’s a hiss. No, a snarl. One of his hands shifts higher up my calf, squeezing, as if he can’t help but tense—but that he doesn’t dare stop touching me. “Did my mama—”
“No,” I say. I make it sound as believable as I can. Elliot’s hands are both still on my foot, but his eyes have fluttered shut. “But it wouldn’t have mattered. I was a Dark One, Elliot. It was the safer option—”
“Safer option for who?”
Despite the violence in his tone, his touch remains perfectly gentle.
He switches from my left foot to my right, and it isn’t until he returns my first foot to the ground that I realize how much better it feels.
The wounds still look as red, as angry, as they had, but now, they’re numb to the touch.
“The council believed Harrison had great potential,” I say. This time, I don’t bother to conceal my own anger. My blood-soaked wrath. “And me? I was an inconvenience all along. They weren’t going to let someone like me ruin his future.”
“You didn’t,” Elliot says. With my foot still in his lap, he leans closer, until our noses almost touch. “He was the ruiner. Not you.”
“Yeah,” I say with a stiff laugh. “I know.”
I try to lower my foot off Elliot, but his hold tightens.
“Hold on,” he murmurs. “I’m not done yet.”
“We’re running out of daylight,” I say. Even though I know this will only take a few minutes longer. Even though I want to cry at how much better my left foot feels now.
“Hush,” he says.
I don’t have any memories of him saying this to me, and yet, my body recognizes his tone. I’ve heard it before, I think, likely many times. That single word makes every muscle in my body relax, until I’m halfway melted, leaned against his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he says, as if I’m the one helping him.
He finishes tending to my foot, and I almost whine when he places it back on the forest floor. He crouches in front of me, gently guiding one foot into my boot, then the other.