Chapter 18
I’m an impulsive guy. That I can admit. Why in the Beyond would I hold back my feelings just to let them rot inside me? Bottling shit up only makes it worse.
Though… I do feel a little bad for the trees I’ve demolished over the last mile or so. I’m unsure of how many lay in ruin—I wasn’t counting due to my anger consuming every space available in my head.
It’s been over a month since I broke Amarah out of Thornegate, and we haven’t come across another gate since that first one. One did ping, but it was so far south we’d be beachside in Calysera. Even if I’d hauled both of them on my back and full-on ran, we still wouldn’t have made it in time.
So now we’ve spent weeks zig-zagging through Nevadia and Xerkz like this is some godsdamn scenic road trip. Atlas is being a good sport, though that’s mostly because he’s become best buddies with my little slayer.
Alright, it’s definitely a one-sided friendship.
Absolutely nothing has improved between her and me. If anything? It’s gotten worse. She’s completely shut me out. And I mean actually shut me out—barely speaks to me unless it’s the bare-minimum polite shit.
“Good morning, Butcher.”
“Goodnight, Butcher.”
That’s it. Nothing more.
It’s infuriating, but I know I’m part of the damn problem.
A delusional part of me thought this would be simple. That she’d just open the gates like flipping light switches, and I’d stroll right in, drag that damn Incubus back into this world, and tie his ass up exactly the way he likes it.
I’m going to ruin that throat and that ass again. Remind him exactly who he left.
“Uh… Kayn?”
At the sound of Atlas’s voice, I drag in a breath and turn toward him.
He stands ankle-deep in the carnage—shredded trees, ruptured earth, the faint metallic scent of blood. My blood. All of it. It doesn’t matter; the wounds are already gone. Physically, I’m fine.
My head and my godsdamn heart, though? Those are wrecked beyond repair right now.
When I’m not obsessing over getting to Lucifer, my mind keeps drifting to her.
One part of me wants to wring Amarah’s stubborn neck.
The other part…
I don’t even want to acknowledge what the other part wants to do with her.
It’s definitely because I haven’t fed in weeks. I can go longer—old as I am—but I don’t like to. Feeding is one of the few pleasures I indulge in, and when I go without it too long, I get… heightened. Irrational.
A little unhinged.
“What, Atlas?” I grumble.
He beams and plants his hands on his hips, like he’s posing for a fucking calendar. “Hey, I bring amazing news. So be nice.”
I take one eager step toward him. “Tell me.”
“A gate opened.”
Finally.
We cut back through the trees to camp. We haven’t been here long—just a few hours—but Amarah is already extinguishing the small fire she built. She’s wearing an oversized sweater over that long damn dress. I once asked why she refuses to wear pants; she ignored me like I wasn’t even speaking.
She doesn’t look at us as we approach, even though I know she heard every footfall toward her.
“We can hike to the location,” Atlas says, moving past me to grab a small pack. “About thirty minutes.”
“Or two if Butcher just carries—”
Atlas cuts her off immediately. “I am not going to be carried.”
She exhales and finally turns to face me.
In the weeks we’ve been trapped together, her body has filled out.
Her jawline is still sharp, but no longer hollow.
Her cheeks have lifted, rounded, even without a smile.
The bruised darkness around her eyes has lightened, though the scars scattered across her face remain.
They always will. She can’t heal like the rest of us Dylox, surprisingly.
Doesn’t stop me from wishing she could.
From hoping one day she’ll step out of her tent and they’ll be gone.
Her dress and sweater hide everything else, but I know she’s put on weight. I can only assume her body has gained muscle and fat, especially from all the walking we’ve been doing, and eating she’s been able to do.
But I can’t see anything as she covers everything at all times.
Not that I want to see her. Because I don’t. That’s the last thing I’m interested in.
Liar, that poisonous voice snaps in the back of my head.
“Then he can carry me, and we will go first,” she says.
I haven’t touched her since the first night camping. And even then… it wasn’t nearly enough to sate anything in me. Not that it should’ve mattered. Not that it should’ve felt like anything.
“That’s probably a good idea,” Atlas says, hands planted on his hips. “I’d just slow you both down. I’ll text the coordinates and get to walking.”
“No need.” Her voice is flat as stone—no emotion, no hint of anything beneath. “I can sense it from here.”
She steps toward me and lifts an arm, and I don’t even think.
I just scoop her up.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
My arm slides beneath her knees, the other supporting the middle of her back.
She’s definitely heavier than when I first hauled her around—healthier.
Warm. Solid. And when my fingers graze the underside of her arm to draw her closer, her hip presses into my abdomen, soft curves against hard muscle, setting off a fuse I should’ve stomped out weeks ago.
I swallow hard.
Too hard.
“North,” she murmurs. “I’ll tell you when to turn.”
I glance down. She refuses to lean her head against me, her hand resting primly in her lap, posture tight as a drawn bow. Instinct betrays me and I pull her a little closer anyway.
Without a word to Atlas, I rush off, heading north. I don’t sprint, but I keep a pace fast enough that any other Mundane would have lost their breath. Still slow enough that she won’t feel jostled.
Why I care is beyond me.
This damned bond is to blame. That’s it.
The moment she figures out how to sever it, everything will go quiet. I’ll feel nothing for her. Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
“How’s your arm?”
I almost cringe at myself. She probably won’t answer. And why the Beyond am I asking? Blame the hunger. Blame the way her scent tangles in my head like incense and wildfire. Blame anything and everything but the truth.
“All better,” she says, so softly the wind nearly swallows it.
“Good.”
“Good…”
I steal a look at her. She’s watching me—head straight, gaze up. And her eyes, fuck me, those eyes. They flare, molten and alive, as if fire itself coils in spirals around her pupils. They’re dangerously stunning, and nothing I’ve ever seen before her.
“Left,” she says, and only then breaks eye contact. For a breath, her gaze lingers on my mouth—and something inside me lurches—before she sharply looks away.
I follow her directions. After several more strides, she has me shift north again.
The trees grow wilder here—thin, pale trunks reaching upward like skeletal fingers, their thick, intertwined crowns turning the dying sunlight into a copper haze.
Vines hang like braided ropes, shadows webbing across our path.
It feels like running through a dormant rainforest—lush but bone-dry, ancient but half-asleep.
Amarah shifts in my arms, lifting herself slightly.
“Here,” she whispers.
Coming to a slow stop, she begins to pull herself out of my arms. I don’t stop her, even if some reckless part of my brain wants to.
A stupid part. The not-thinking part.
I shake my head, turning to scan the trees, and freeze.
Her hand wraps around my forearm, holding onto me lightly as she fixes her attention on something ahead of us.
A spark of energy pulses where her skin touches mine—hot and electrifying.
I hate that I don’t hate it. I doubt she even realizes she’s doing it; she’d never hold on to me like this consciously.
“It’s… still open.” Her voice is barely a breath.
I force myself to look up. And there it is. A set of wrought-iron gates materializing out of the darkness, their bars ghostly and half-faded, gothic and misplaced. The kind you’d see in a haunted house movie; the ones you know you’re an idiot for walking toward
Her heart, normally steady as a metronome, kicks into a frantic staccato.
I don’t know where the impulse comes from—hunger, worry, the damn bond—but my hand shifts, covering hers gently.
I regret it instantly.
She jerks back like I burned her. Her gaze snaps to our contact, wide and startled, then wrenches away from me. She cradles her hand against her chest, face twisting. It isn’t in disgust, but something far worse.
A terrified, wounded soul and my touch, unintended and stupid, pulled her hurt up from the depths and set it trembling on her skin.
For a heartbeat, our eyes meet. Hers are full of ache and denial. Mine I know are full of something they shouldn’t be.
I open my mouth—no idea what I even mean to say—when she turns from me and bolts straight toward the gate.
“Amarah, be careful!” I bark, surging after her.
But she doesn’t slow. I’m two steps behind her when I grab her wrist, halting her.
“Let me go! It’s closing!”
She hadn’t been in such a rush moments ago, but suddenly it’s dire she hurry.
“Don’t be in such a rush to—”
Suddenly, cracking echoes from the small opening ahead. There’s nothing beyond the gates but darkness. I stare as the static grows louder, and it’s as if something is tugging me forward.
A force like I’ve never felt coils around my mind, threading into my thoughts like black smoke, twisting them until I’ve lost where I begin and where I end. Every doubt, fear, and regret whispers through my skull—my own voice, but warped, deeper, demonic.
“You let him go. You didn’t go after him. You’re a failure. You let them die. Walk in and end it. No one needs you here. He’ll accept you. He’ll accept you. He’ll accept—”
“Butcher!”
My name sits on the edge of my awareness, but my world is too warped, my body too heavy. Chains fasten around my very soul, dragging me downward.
The world distorts, and all I see are the gates, opening slowly. It feels familiar yet wrong, and no matter how hard I fight, that pull deepens. An unrelenting, suffocating descent into something I know I will never escape.
“Kayn!!”