15. Chapter 15 #2
He drew her closer until her chest pressed against his. She closed her eyes, her throat dry.
“What next?”
“We shadowstep. It will be like a constricting, heavy blanket until you feel like you’re suffocating. It’s going to be frightening, but I need you to trust me. Don’t let go of me, not even for a split second.”
She searched his eyes for any uncertainty, but she found none. “I trust you.”
And she found that she truly meant it. She trusted him regardless of her missing memories.
He tightened his grip on her, and without warning, he shadowstepped.
At first, she saw the change rather than feeling it.
It darkened as if the sun’s flame had died, throwing her back into the night's embrace, and she was lost. Lost in the dark, in the otherworldly experience of manipulating space to their desire, August’s warm body was her tether to reality.
A heavy and oddly viscous blanket wrapped around her, tightening with every passing moment until she cried out in pain.
Her whimpers died, replaced by wheezes as it choked her.
She fought every instinct that told her to rip at the fabric on her throat, because doing so would require her to let go of her anchor.
As she lost consciousness, the fabric disappeared, and she gasped for air.
Her knees gave out on her, and August caught her, helping her to the ground. Burning. Her throat was on fire, and nausea hit like a viper. She threw up her breakfast. August held her hair up, rubbing circles on her back until she stopped vomiting.
“Would you like me to soothe your throat?” he asked.
“Yes,” she croaked through tears.
He let go of her hair, and soon the cool touch of a healing spell soothed her throat until it returned to normal. She straightened from her kneeling position.
“I hate it.”
“I can assure you it improves with time.”
“Yeah, well, until it does, I hate it.”
He helped her to her feet, her hands in his.
Jolts of electricity sparked on her skin where they touched, and she swallowed.
Light reflected from his hazel eyes, capturing her in their silken embrace.
She traced his straight nose down to his pretty pink lips.
She caught herself before she stared too long, and she dropped his hands, stepping back.
She cleared her throat. “We should get going.”
August nodded. “Are you ready to shadowstep again?”
“No. Yes. Ugh, okay. Let’s get it over with.”
The longer she stood in that clearing with him, the higher the risk of doing something stupid. She tapped her chest, willing her heart to stop beating so fast. For goodness’s sake, was Yareli’s weakness hot, tall men?
August had been right; after the fifth time, Yareli had stopped vomiting.
Her stomach churned and gurgled, but no vomit was expelled.
It sped up their travel, and by late evening, they had reached the base of the Curse Eater’s mountain.
Without a word, August set up their camp with magic.
She watched, enthralled, as their camp materialized from thin air—two tents erected side by side, a lit fire with two stumps as seats, and most importantly, a platter of food on a third stump.
She rushed to the food and was dismayed to see it was raw.
There was a quiet chuckle behind her. She spun around, but there was no smile on August’s face. Yet, his eyes shone, confirming that she had heard correctly. August had laughed. He moved past her, dropping his own bag by a stump, and materialized a pot from nothing.
“It’ll be a few minutes,” he said.
He was a blur of action. The pot of water was already hung over the fire, and the meat had been seasoned.
He cut the vegetables, and she hovered for a few minutes, unsure of what to do.
His focus was so intense, she didn’t want to ruin it by asking him if she could help.
She shifted her weight, indecision gluing her to the spot.
August, to her relief, decided for her. “Go freshen up. There’s a water barrel behind your tent.”
“Are you sure? I can help cut the veggies.”
“I’m happy to do it. Besides, you’ve always hated cutting the vegetables.”
“What?”
A pause. “You’ve had a long day. Don’t worry about it.”
She raised an eyebrow, but dropped the subject. “Well, thanks.”
She scurried to her tent to drop off her things, happy not to cut the vegetables.
Inside, she found a thick bedroll and a pillow.
Their camp was pragmatic, filled with only items they were going to use.
She smiled. That felt like him. She took a small towel from her backpack and walked outside to the back of her tent.
She wiped herself as best as she could without taking off her clothes.
The relief was immense, and the thought of submerging herself in the tall barrel crossed her mind.
Getting in wouldn’t be a problem; however, getting out…
That posed a conundrum that likely ended with a toppled barrel, Yareli butt-naked on the ground, and August a witness to both her foolishness and her birthday suit.
She discarded that idea quickly, heat crawling up her nape, and finished cleaning her neck.
The savory aroma of beef stew wafted toward her, and her hunger made itself known again, her stomach growling.
She hurried to the campfire where August sat with two bowls waiting in his hands.
She accepted one, thanking him, and sat on the stump next to him.
The savory soup settled in her stomach with a satisfying warmth.
“This is delicious,” she said.
“Thanks.”
The silence that followed was so immense she swore it was a palpable, living thing breathing down their necks.
Her skin prickled. After vomiting in his presence four times, hugging him like a lover, and making him laugh, she thought they had gotten over the awkwardness.
She had questions, and he had answers. If it required one of them to break the ice, then she would be the one to do it.
“I’d like to ask you some questions.”
“Sure.”
At his easy agreement, the silence burst into nothingness, leaving as immediately as it had settled on them.
“How long had we known each other?”
August put his spoon down before answering. “Two, going on three years.”
That meant she had lost almost three years’ worth of memories about him. Something about that hurt. Her next question came slower.
“You know what I’ve been curious about?”
He shook his head.
“Izmari is under a travel ban, so how did I meet you—a Fae—at school?”
A sigh escaped him, and she watched the movement in rapt fascination.
It had begun as a breath that tensed his chest, and then, an exhale that relaxed his muscles in a domino fashion.
And while it was true that the action had been utterly human—not aligned with his perpetual frosty behavior—she couldn’t deny her fixation had mostly been about how good it had looked.
Tall men with pecs, she amended her previous determination.
He spoke, dragging her away from her unrelated thoughts.
“Despite the Prohibition Decree, the Fae Queen allows a very limited number of visas. In addition to monitoring the portals between the worlds, we act as a sort of authority in the human world, stepping in to stop any rampaging creature or being on rare occasions.”
“So, you were given a visa?”
“Of sorts. It’d be more accurate to say I oversaw the portal located in your city.”
Yareli sat with that information for a little bit. Although he had answered her questions, she didn’t feel any closer to knowing him. She pivoted.
“What about here? What do you do here?”
“I’m the First General of the Water Court.”
“You’re strong then.” She mulled that over. “And important.”
He didn’t respond. Curious, she watched his face in the fire’s light, observed how quickly he staunched any feelings that sparked in his eyes, and she wondered if there would ever be a time when she didn’t have to play the guessing game with him—a day when he would be open with her.
The thought drained her. Between the whiplash of Leo’s behavior and August’s emotional demand, she was ready to call it a day.
Judging that he would not answer, she finished her soup and excused herself to bed.
He spoke softly, almost as though he wished for the crackling wood to eat his words and burn them as fuel before Yareli could hear. But she heard them anyway.
“I’m not as important as I’d hoped I’d be.”
She didn’t stop walking, giving him the false illusion he desired—that she had not heard. She realized, however, that despite his coldness, he had never denied her an answer. His behavior wasn’t true coldness; it was distant. He was distancing himself.
Yareli looked at him from over her shoulder; his form, hunched over his forgotten bowl of soup, looked forlorn like a statue of a sitting angel—alone on a pedestal that she couldn’t reach.
A widening abyss had sprung between them; the bridge, constructed from three years’ worth of friendship, had vanished, destroyed at Tuom’s hands.
She hesitated; something told her that as long as her memories remained out of her grasp, she wouldn’t melt his defenses and close the gap between them.
She grabbed the pouch with Erick’s herbs and marched back.
“Heat me some water.”
He was startled, but did as she said. Soon enough, she had steeped the tea and, pinching her nose at the smell, she downed it. She would reclaim her life, one memory at a time. Until only Tuom’s death remained. Then, and only then, would her life be hers once more.