Chapter 9 #2
I run for what feels like an hour, but is probably closer to twenty minutes.
The Barrens are disorienting—every dune looks the same, every direction is identical.
No landmarks, no trees, no sign of anything alive.
For a magical garden realm, this part of the continent feels like some god or goddess got pissy and refused to finish creating it.
Eventually the shouts fade behind me, and I slow to a walk, then a stumble. I need to find shelter before nightfall. Desert nights are cold.
I find a shallow depression between two larger dunes where the wind doesn’t hit as hard.
There’s a rotted log half-buried in the sand—goddess knows how it got here when there isn’t a tree for miles—and some scrub brush that’s dry enough to burn.
I gather what I can and manage to coax a small fire to life using my marks.
At least they’re good for something out here, even if my bigger magic won’t cooperate without water nearby.
I sit on the log and stare into the flames, replaying Thalia’s words. Find Kaelren. Get back to the present. Before we’re stuck permanently.
The weight of it settles on my shoulders. No pressure or anything. Just the fate of two entire worlds resting on me finding one broody fae male across multiple timelines.
Story of my life.
I hear a faint sound behind me.
I tense and touch the ground beside me, reaching for my marks. But nothing’s there. Just wind and sand and the crackle of the fire.
I let out a breath. “Get it together, Elle. You’re hearing—”
I’m yanked off the log so fast I don’t even have time to scream.
My back hits the sand, the air punches out of my lungs, and a body is on top of me, heavy, pinning me down.
I thrash. I claw. I try to bring my knee up into something vital, but whoever this is knows what they’re doing, trapping my legs with theirs and catching my wrists in one hand.
“Easy there, my little fighter.” The voice is low and rough against my ear. “I knew I would catch up with you, eventually.”
I stop thrashing. My heart slams against my ribs so hard that it hurts.
“Kaelren?”
Hope floods through me. Stupid, desperate hope. I look up into silver eyes, dark features, the sharp line of a jaw I know better than my own. For one beautiful second, I think it’s him. My Kaelren. The one who held me, who chose me, who let the corruption take him to save me.
Then I see the corruption. It covers nearly ninety percent of his body, writhing, pulsing in patterns I don’t recognize.
The way he’s looking at me is wrong. This isn’t how my Kaelren looks at me. No warmth buried under the intensity. No tenderness hiding behind the control.
This is possession. Pure and simple.
“Ughhh.” I drop my head back against the sand. “Why can’t you be the broody asshole I need instead of… you?”
He looks at me, confused. “What did you do with my crew? Why are you out here all alone?”
“Because I’m not your Elle, idiot.” I try to shove him off, but he’s built like a damn wall. “I hear my vigilante self is running amok around the woods from what I can tell. Probably hunting your ass if I had to guess.”
He stares at me for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. Then he grunts and says, “Playing hard to get, I see. Don’t worry, you shall be mine once you finally get over this silly notion of yours.”
“Excuse me, I belong to no one.”
He chuckles, low, dark. “Goddess, I love that fiery spirit of yours. You have no idea how much it turned me on last time I saw you. You shot me with that arrow.”
“Jesus, Kaelren, I love you, but this version of you is a little psycho. No wonder I shot you. Glad to know I still have my wits about me.”
He leans down, sniffs my neck, inhaling deeply. I’m simultaneously appalled, grudgingly aware of how good he smells. Damn these fae males. Their stupid pheromones.
“Want to go another round like we did in the tavern a few months back?” he murmurs against my skin. “I still keep thinking about those little sounds you made when I—”
“Whoa, buddy, enough.” I plant both hands on his chest and shove. He lets me push him back this time, sitting up with that infuriating smirk. “Let’s slow down a little.”
He studies me. The smirk fades, replaced by something more calculating. “Something is off about you.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
His eyes narrow. “Who is this Sherlock? Do I need to bust his face in for messing with what is mine?”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, massaging the migraine this man, no, fae male, is giving me. Why do they all have to be so barbaric?
“Let’s try another tactic. Why are you out here?”
“Easy. We received word you were spotted in the area. Auradelle had been alerted as well. He’s been spreading mass plots of rot to help suss you out.”
He shifts his weight, one arm resting on his knee. “Sarnyx and Nimor went to clear out a nearby village, a trading post. I caught your scent and followed it here.”
“Well, that’s not creepy at all.” I pause. “But kind of sweet, I guess. So what do we do now?”
He grunts, then stands and pulls me up with him. His grip is firm but not rough, and I file that away as evidence that even the psycho version of Kaelren doesn’t actually want to hurt me.
“We have a camp set up about three miles that way,” he says, pointing south. “From there we were going to try to talk some sense into the rest of the crew.”
I laugh. “If I had to guess, I would say that is code for Sarnyx saying you needed to apologize for doing or saying something stupid that pushed everyone away.”
He grunts again. Apparently grunting is this iteration Kaelren’s primary form of communication.
Then he turns. “Come. You can share my tent.”
“No way!”
He whips around and growls like an animal. “Don’t push me, Red. I may enjoy your body, but I have gone all over this godsforsaken kingdom after you. Sometimes we have to do things that are bigger than ourselves.”
Feeling a little chastised and whiplashed by his mood, I follow.
The walk is silent except for the crunch of sand under our boots.
I keep my distance, staying a few steps behind him, trying to reconcile this version of Kaelren with mine.
Same face. Same build. Same barely-restrained intensity.
But where my Kaelren channels that intensity into strategy and dry wit, this one channels it into something more primal. More possessive. Less… evolved.
We make it back to the camp, and the others are already there. The setup is sparse: a few tents, a fire pit, supplies stacked against a rock outcropping. Eltrien apparently stayed behind with Kaelren. He’s making dinner over the fire and smiles at me as I approach.
I’m still a little wary of him after everything he hid from us across all the iterations. But I gladly take the bowl he offers and sit down. The stew is decent—nothing like Grandma Jo’s, but at this point I’d eat sand if someone put a little salt on it.
Kaelren is talking in hushed tones to Nimor and Sarnyx, who keep glancing worriedly at me from across the fire.
“You guys don’t have to whisper about me, you know. I’m right here.”
Nimor smiles a little and then comes to sit down beside me. “Is she okay?”
“Hmm?” I say between bites. “Who?”
“Vashael. Is she okay?”
I look at him, at the worry etched into every line of his face, and feel a pang of something tender. Some things are consistent across iterations, I guess. Nimor loving Vashael. Kaelren being impossible. Me being in over my head.
“Um, about that. Yeah, Eltrien, buddy, how about you help me out here and explain how I’m not the current Elle?”
Eltrien drops the pot of food. His eyes fly up to me. “How do you know this?”
“This is getting really exhausting. Look, I’m from Iteration Seventeen.
His eyes grow massive. “SEVENTEEN? We are only in Iteration Five!”
Hmm. That tracks. I guess I am progressing through the timelines then. Iterations two and four must have collapsed before I ever got to visit them. That’s fine. They had some weird stuff happening in those, anyway.
Kaelren comes over to stand near me and barks at Eltrien. “What is she speaking of? There is more of my mate?”
“Okay, whoa, caveman. We need to tone it down a little. This version of you is a little barbaric.”
Eltrien ignores the glances between us and eagerly shakes his head. “Yes, I suppose I cannot hide the truth when it is sitting right in front of us.”
He goes on to explain the predicament we find ourselves in—the iterations, the cycle, the way different versions of us exist across different timelines. Kaelren backs off a little as the information sinks in. Thank goddess. Maybe he’ll be a little more understanding about the tent situation.
I explain that I need to find a portal to the next iteration so that I can find my Kaelren before we run out of time. I ask Eltrien if there is anywhere sacred nearby where we might find something like that.
He sets down his spoon and thinks for a moment. “In the center of the dunes there is an ancient temple. It houses a basin of mystical water said to grant whatever wish you hold in your mind.”
“GREAT!” I clap my hands together. “This is perfect. Well, let’s get to it.”
He grabs my arm. “Not so fast. The water never depletes, but it is said to be guarded by a creature called the Gnashwyrm.”
I deadpan at him. “Like everyone on this realm isn’t a mystical creature already?”
“I’m serious, Elle. They can’t see or hear, but they can feel vibrations in the sand. We have to tread lightly.”
I look at the features on his face and nod. We agree to head there the next day.
Thankfully, Sarnyx allows me to share the tent with her. She doesn’t say much, just hands me a blanket and rolls over, which is the most Sarnyx greeting I could ask for.