Chapter 6 Shields and Souls
SHIELDS AND SOULS
The cobblestones beneath my boots are uneven, but solid, grounding me in this strange place.
A biting wind slices across my skin and tangles in my hair, carrying the sharp scents of earth, pine, and snow.
Birds call out around me, and the sound catches in my chest like a memory I didn’t know I’d lost, inviting me to take everything in.
I desperately try to.
Relief is my own personal betrayal, curling around my ribs with each icy breath as I forget to be mad or scared as the simple act of walking outside, unshackled, makes my knees weak. I want to collapse and weep. I want to run until my muscles burn and my lungs scream, testing my new boundaries.
Instead, I keep pace with my captors—or saviors—or whatever they are.
We must walk a mile before the forest parts ahead of us. The sight of three moons slows my steps. They hang over snow-covered mountains in the distance like silent sentinels, and the sky isn’t blue but bright turquoise. It looks as though someone has liquefied gemstones and poured them overhead.
“We aren’t in a hurry,” Daire says, his voice a low, calming rumble that does something dangerous to my heartbeat.
“Is the sky always this shade of blue?”
“It changes with the seasons,” Scarlet explains. “Wait until summer—it turns pink.”
A lump forms in my throat. “What month is it? Do you follow a similar calendar?”
Scarlet nods. “It’s January.”
A jagged breath slips from my lips.
January.
I was locked in that hellhole for nearly a year.
Daire watches me too closely, seeing too much. I should hide this grief, but I’m too tired to wear another mask.
I glance around again. It looks and feels like Earth, yet it doesn’t. There’s the same pull of gravity, the same bright sun, but the air is sweeter, the sounds somehow clearer—or maybe everything feels different because I’ve been starved of this for so long.
“Are we really not on Earth?”
“No,” Griffin confirms.
I meet his blue eyes. “Are there more than two dimensions?”
He studies me, tilting his head slightly before finally saying, “Yes.”
Someone passing greets Griffin and Daire before his gaze skips to Scarlet, then me.
Something in Griffin shifts—subtle but instant. His shoulders tighten, his jaw ticks. Daire moves, blocking me from the stranger’s view as he passes.
“I thought I was safe here?” I ask.
Griffin’s brow creases, a flicker of darkness passing in his eyes.
“They can’t help it,” Scarlet says. “Mates are intrinsically jealous and protective.”
“You guys keep saying Mate—how can you know that?”
Daire and Griffin exchange a look. Then Daire pulls up his sleeve.
His forearm is covered with dark tattoos that dance and flex as he moves.
“You imprinted on me the second I touched you.” He traces the tattoo that travels from his ring finger, across his palm, and snakes up his arm, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt.
Griffin mirrors him, baring his own arm. The same mark is on his skin.
I stare between them and pull up my sleeve, revealing my unmarked arm. “You must have the wrong person. I don’t have that mark.”
Daire stares at my bare arm for only a second, his gaze softening. “Your mark will appear once you’ve imprinted on the full Vestra.” He rights his sleeve.
“The full Vestra?” I repeat.
He nods, watching me carefully. “Our Vestra has five. Griffin, Lochlan, Kai, Holden, and myself. You—our Keystone—are the sixth and final member.”
Shock doesn’t just hit me—it hollows me.
“You definitely should have saved that piece of information for later,” Scarlet tells him.
I shake my head. “What’s a Vestra?”
“Family,” Griffin says.
My heart aches at the word, silently protesting. “That’s entirely too vague.”
He lifts a brow. “It’s anything but vague.”
“What if you can’t stand me? What if I light you on fire? What if I don’t want to be a part of your… whatever this is?”
Griffin moves suddenly—impossibly fast—cutting me off before I can take another step, his body a solid wall of heat and muscle that I’m far too tempted to prod.
Apparently, my self-preservation skills were left on Earth.
A muscle in his jaw feathers as his blue eyes lock on mine. Then, without warning, he steals my breath, flashing a wide, toothy smile. “Ask me that in a few weeks,” he taunts.
My stupid heart skips a beat. Then he’s beside me again, silent like the moment never happened.
Questions about bonds and Bryxton pile up, but the town pulls my focus. The streets are quiet, dusted with snow, and lined with quaint shops adorned with metal signs scrolled with elegant cursive names.
“Where is everyone?”
“Shops close on Sundays,” Daire says. “Elementals spend the day with family.”
We cross a narrow bridge, the water below so clear I can make out each smooth stone beneath the surface. Beyond it, snow-laden evergreens shade sprawling houses. It’s beautiful in a way that feels impossible.
A small creature darts across our path—something between a rabbit and a squirrel, its moss-green fur dusted with frost.
“It’s a chibbit,” Scarlet says. “They’re harmless unless you have food. Then it calls every friend within four miles.”
The chibbit twitches its nose, then bounds for the trees.
“Neurotic animals,” Griffin says.
“What did you do for fun on Earth? Did you work? Were you a student?” Scarlet asks.
“I was...” There are so many things I was—thought I was—or was going to be. I stop and clear my throat. “I was going to school, but there was an…” Incident or accident doesn’t suffice for what happened or what followed. I swallow. “I like to read.”
She arches her brow. “That’s it?”
It’s difficult to remember what I liked to do before prison.
I shrug. “I’m a big fan of Kit Kats.”
Scarlet laughs, bright and unrestrained. The sound does something to me—loosens something I hadn’t realized was wound so tight. Laughter has been a stranger for far too long. “Okay, well, working on your hobbies has now become my top priority.”
My residual smile slips away at the weight of Daire’s focus. I turn to Scarlet. “What are your superior hobbies?” I ask, trying to regain my footing in our exchange, and recall the rules and pacing of casual conversation. Of friendship.
Scarlet’s lips stretch into a wider smile. “I’m a Water Elemental, so anything with water makes me happy—tidescast, swimming, you name it, I’m game for it.”
“You sound like a walking tampon commercial,” I tell her.
She belts out a laugh, the sound loud and freeing, a balm to my heart that I didn’t know I needed.
“Even humans love water sports. Tell me you don’t hate them all.”
I lift a shoulder. “I’ve never spent much time around water.”
Scarlet lifts a hand to her chest as though my admission causes her physical pain. “Seriously?”
“I grew up in Vermont. The only trips we made were to Nebraska to visit my grandparents every summer.”
“Grandparents? But you were brought in alone.” She glances at Daire. “Your family should’ve been brought with you.”
Griffin looks equally confused. “They didn’t train you?”
Daire’s brow creases. “You don’t have family listed.”
“I was adopted when I was seven.”
Sympathy pulls at Scarlet’s expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I was young and don’t remember much before being adopted.”
“Were the people who adopted you cool?” she asks.
My chest tightens. I still mourn for the people who gave me a house, but never a home. Who saw me as a duty, not a daughter. Who turned their backs on me when I needed them most and told me I was the devil. “Yeah.” The lie isn’t convincing, but no one says anything.
“How old are you?” Scarlet asks, pushing through.
“Twenty-two,” I say, counting my missed birthday that went unmarked.
“Me, too,” she says, flashing another smile.
Scarlet fills the rest of the trip with comparisons between Earth and Bryxton—animals that seem familiar but aren’t quite the same, colors that reflect differently because of the atmosphere.
How Bryxton is the name of the entire dimension.
We’re on the territory of Lowick, in a town called Wrenlow, near the capital city of Veridian.
Each detail prompts me to ask another question, making me realize how much I’ve missed this—learning, talking, just being.
In prison, conversations were always short, usually speckled with warnings about a particularly brutal guard or fellow inmate.
Occasionally, stories of each other’s pasts were shared, but they were usually tragic.
Stories that echoed all the reasons trust is so sacred and loyalty so rare.
“You said I set off an alarm. What does that mean?” I ask.