Chapter 36 #3
“That’s it? That’s my goodbye?”
Reeve didn’t answer.
She scoffed. “I guess I’m beginning to understand why you’re three hundred years old and not married.”
She was a wicked creature.
He closed the gap between them faster than she could register his move.
His fingers slid across her throat as he pushed her against the glittering marble wall of the stairs.
She had only a moment to gasp before the sound was stifled by his lips.
Her body tensed beneath him at once, and she moaned softly against him.
Ownership surged through him as his tongue tasted her sweet mouth at last. The desire to claim, to provide for, to honor, to multiply—
She relaxed beneath him, and with a long inhale, her hands slid across his chest, winding their way to the back of his neck.
His fingers twisted up through her hair, gripping just enough to force her mouth open farther.
His free arm wrapped around her waist, holding her up.
Her feet dangled as he stood to his full height, never releasing her lips as he lifted her.
He licked across her tongue, frantic and forceful. Her lips allowed him whatever he wanted. She responded to him with supple submission and soft, throaty whines he was certain would be burned into his memory for a thousand years.
Her fingers spread, grazing his exposed skin on the back of his neck and coiling up through his hair as she kissed him back. Red sirens of warning blazed through him as the deadly creature in his arms said his name against his lips.
Sense, something he hadn’t had in two months, appeared, as though it had never departed. Reeve dropped her with a growl, letting her lips rip away from his. She wobbled as she landed, bracing herself on a marble pillar. His back was already to her, making for the door.
Maeve’s fingers moved to her slightly swollen lips as his departure, as the desperation in his touch, clearly washed over her. “That wasn’t a first kiss. That was a last kiss.”
He did not stop. Just a few more steps and he’d Obscure away from her. Just one more step and he’d force himself to do it.
“Reeve.”
He halted. How could he not when she called his name? He turned on her, ready to fire whatever insult or cocky bullshit at her was necessary for her to accept their circumstances.
“We come from different worlds, Maeve. You live here on Earth, and have duties here on Earth. You should uphold them.”
Magic zapped across his mind. He nearly recoiled as she tried to slip through his thoughts in one quick motion. He laughed in amazement and horror. She’d nearly succeeded.
But his voice was mocking as he said, “Surely you can do better than that.”
“Kiss me again,” she said, stepping towards him.
“No,” he breathed and shook his head. “I have tasted all I can handle without losing control.”
It was a dream, a fleeting one at best.
Maeve Sinclair was part Dread Magic and part Shadow Magic.
A fact he could not and would not escape.
Her Dread, he could handle, dominate, and understand.
Her Shadow Magic was another dilemma completely.
Shadow Magic, she didn’t even understand. Everyone was convinced that her ability to traverse minds was unique. But he knew better. He knew to fear her unclaimed Magic.
But her smile created a void of emotions, negating anything that wasn’t one singular thought that lingered in Reeve’s mind:
He had to have her.
But he could not, and would not. . .let himself have someone with the same power as Shadow.
With inhuman speed, he was on her, his hands transporting them to them far from the house, down the jagged cliff-side and onto the rocky beach. His hands gripped the sides of her face, forcing her an arm’s distance away as water crashed around them, thickening the hazy air.
“There is no future for us,” he said harshly, a low growl slipping into his voice.
Maeve shook her head in his grip, her own temper flaring. “You are a god. There is any future you desire.”
“You speak as though you could possibly know what it is I desire.”
She yanked herself free from his grip. “You’re unbelievable.”
Reeve didn’t hesitate to wound her further, to create a barrier between them.
“I hope the best for you, Maeve,” he began, his voice reserved.
The tone caused genuine hurt to flash across her face. “Fuck you.”
Reeve smiled softly. He couldn’t help it. She was so perfectly fierce. He had been denied many things in life. What was one more? Fair was an illusion to him.
Reeve stepped back from her. Her heart rate skyrocketed. It took all his strength not to place his hand over her chest and slow her frantic breathing as her eyes liquified.
“Please, Reeve,” were the last words he heard before darkness surrounded him, and he Obscured away from her.
Ambrose beckoned him back to Sinclair Estates one final time that summer. Reeve, the noble and worthy High Lord he was, answered the call. But when the quick ordeal was over, he wished he had never returned.
Antony lay on the floor of the dining hall, in his pitch black wolf form, sedated under Ambrose’s Magic. His snout and paws twitched, writhing despite being unconscious.
Clarissa escorted a sobbing Arianna from the room, leaving only Maeve sitting at the table, watching in horror as her brother had just tried to attack Arianna. She did not look at Reeve.
Ambrose was muttering to himself, “It’s because he’s repressing it. He’s repressing his true desires.”
“I know,” said Reeve, kneeling beside the father and son. “How can I help you, Ambrose? I’ve already failed to help Antony.”
Ambrose’s attention shifted to Maeve. He looked at his youngest daughter with sorrow and closed his eyes.
“Show her,” he whispered.
Reeve’s insides plummeted. “No,” he said coldly.
Ambrose’s eyes opened, his gaze still on Maeve. “You have a very special gift, Maeve.”
“Ambrose,” snarled Reeve. “I will not let you.”
“You’ve told me— I know that,” she said, her voice void of any emotion, just as her face was.
Ambrose ignored Reeve. “More than jumping minds. You have a unique gift. And you must use it to help your brother.”
“Ambrose,” said Reeve. “Do not—”
Ambrose’s eyes were on Reeve now. Gone was the face of his friend. This was the face of the Premier. “You owe me,” was all he said. “Come here, Maeve. There isn’t time.”
She obeyed with haste, pushing up from the table at once. She stood at her father’s side, her fingers twitching anxiously.
“Under different circumstances,” began Ambrose, “I would never have burdened you with something like this. But there is no time. Antony needs our help. So when I tell you what I am about to tell you, I need you to understand that you are my daughter, and you are capable of great things.”
“You’re scaring me,” she said, a slight shake in her voice.
“You should be fucking terrified,” said Reeve.
She still did not look at him, but as she chewed the inside of her cheek, he knew it was taking everything in her not to.
Ambrose lifted one hand from Antony, the other still enveloped in his fur, and beckoned Maeve down to the floor. His knees folded as he instructed, and his hand cupped the side of her face.
“You have Shadow Magic.”
Maeve’s lips parted. Her skin, if it was possible, paled ever further.
“Antony has known about your abilities for a while now,” began Ambrose, and Reeve’s eyes widened, “and I have waited and tried to do everything I could to avoid this last resort. Antony has begged me for weeks now to talk to you. . .and I admit I have foolishly held onto hope that there is some other way—”
“I have what?” she interrupted, her voice quiet.
Ambrose sighed. “Shadow Magic.”
Maeve shook her head, slowly at first, then more frantically.
“Why, why, why do I possess Shadow Magic? It is banned. It is illegal. It is not spoken of anymore. It is gone. It was eradicated.”
Ambrose did not answer her question. “Antony has asked that you alter things, so that he may go and live a peaceful life on Heims with other wolves. A realm where he can allow himself to be what he truly is. But Heims does not allow wolves from Earth on their planet. So you’ll have to ensure you alter that as well—”
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m—what?”
Ambrose’s eyes shifted to Reeve, who looked on in complete disbelief.
“Show her,” said Ambrose. “I know you understand the Magic you’ve been face-to-face with on the battlefield. And you will be the Sentinel.”
“The what?” asked Maeve.
“When you alter reality with your Shadow Magic, there must be an anchor to reality. The Magic will demand it. You do not have a say over that. Reeve will be that anchor today.”
“Ambrose,” began Reeve hesitantly.
“How do you know all this?” asked Maeve, but her father ignored her questioning a second time.
“You will do this, Reeve,” said Ambrose. “You will do this for my son.”
“I’m certain I will,” replied Reeve gently. “But she is not ready. That is advanced and complex Magic she has no grasp of.”
Antony stirred. His paws twitched as a low groan reverberated through his body.
“There is no alternative! Not a single Magical alive is capable of producing this Magic,” argued Ambrose.
“We’ll be lucky if Maeve inherently pulls it off. And why aren’t you the Sentinel?”
“Because you are the Immortal one!” he hissed.
“Stop it,” snapped Maeve, her eyes on Antony as he writhed in pain. “I’ll do it just. . .” She looked up at Reeve at last. “Help me.”
And so Reeve did. He told her what she was capable of.
That she could easily alter the mind of every living thing.
He showed her, with his own Holy power, what ran through her blood, forced her to feel its ability at her fingertips.
And when he was done, and she understood what she was about to do, tears streamed down her face.
“Maeve,” said Ambrose sweetly. “It’s alright.”
“But I’ll never see him again,” she cried.
“He’s in pain, my love,” answered Ambrose, holding her tighter, as his voice caught. “We have to let him go. He wants this.”
Watching Maeve alter reality on the first try was humbling for Reeve. She endured every bit of the Shadow Magic that wrapped around her as it twisted her own mind. She held an understanding of her Magic that, to his knowledge, was unprecedented.
And for Reeve to be impressed meant that he hadn’t been nearly scared enough of this woman.
Reeve moved Antony’s limp body to Heims with ease, fulfilling his agreement to deliver him there, but with every intention of turning right back around and making sure Maeve hadn’t accidentally shattered her own mind in the process.
When he returned to the Dining Hall at Sinclair Estates and closed the Portal to Heims behind him, Maeve was laid out across the rug.
Ambrose kneeled before her, his mind empty and his eyes blown wide in a vast expanse of white.
Golden orbs of light swarmed his body as Maeve’s Magic took hold, rewriting reality.
But Maeve herself was barely breathing. Reeve moved one arm beneath her back, lifting her off the floor. Her Magic was scattered, unstable and. . .breaking. She’d done too much, pushed too far, just as he feared. Learning her limitations appeared to not be so natural for her.
But it didn’t matter if she was on the verge of death. The Immortal who cradled her close to his chest loved her, and death was easily defeated by one who held the power of the gods.
A tiny glowing star burst from his chest and slowly lowered into hers. Her lungs filled with air instantly, and her Magic stabilized. A small thread of Magic materialized between his soul and hers. It was warm, fluttering like a heartbeat.
Her eyes shot open, just as veiled and white as her father’s. Reeve released her as Ambrose stood. He helped her to her feet as Reeve himself stood and stepped back from them. Together, the father and daughter blinked, and their blue orbs returned.
Maeve looked up at her father, then her gaze flicked to Reeve, only for a moment. The look of a stranger, quickly holding another stranger’s gaze. Realizing she’d been crying, she wiped her tears.
“Ah, Reeve,” said Ambrose. “Let’s go and have a cigar, shall we?”
But Reeve’s eyes were still set on Maeve.
“Oh,” said Ambrose casually, “terribly rude of me. This is my youngest, Maeve. Maeve, this is Reeve, the High Lord of Aterna.”
“Hi,” she said softly, then smiled up at Ambrose. “Enjoy your evening, daddy. I’m off to bed.”
He kissed her quickly on the cheek and then stepped towards Reeve, heading for his study as she turned her back to them.
“Maeve,” Reeve called her name as she turned from them both.
She looked over her shoulder, and his heart froze.
From just the look in her eyes, Reeve knew at once what she had done. Her Magic didn’t move towards his. She hadn’t merely altered reality where Antony was concerned. She hadn’t just fabricated his death in everyone’s mind except his own.
As she looked up at Reeve with uncertainty and curiosity, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she remembered none of their time together. Not a single stolen glance or kiss.
She’d erased them completely.