Chapter 45 Depths and Despair #2
The afternoon moves slowly, Holden and Lochlan poring over books and Kai pacing. Daire and Griffin remain glued to me, their movements careful and slow, constantly glancing at me whenever my breathing is too fast or slow.
Eventually, I give in to the weight of my exhaustion, inching closer to Griffin’s chest, wondering why it took so many weeks and an ancient monster to give in to my desire to be touching one of them—all of them—constantly.
He pulls me flush against him, threading his hand in my hair and securing my face to his shoulder, where I fall asleep, counting the beats of his heart.
When I stir, the light shining through the windows is brighter, the shadows longer. Somehow, I still feel cold.
“How are you feeling?” Daire asks, rubbing a hand down the length of my spine.
“Better,” I murmur, arching into his touch.
He notices, running his fingers over the same path. A light moan falls through my lips as I close my eyes. “Your hands are so warm.”
He puts his second hand on my shoulder, massaging the tight muscles with a level of care and gentleness that makes me feel fragile.
“Can you feel my cindrel?” I ask, absently.
“No,” Daire answers, continuing to run his hands over the expanse of my back.
I turn to the chair in the corner where Lochlan’s still buried in a book. I know he feels my stare, the way I too often feel his.
“You’re healing,” he says, flipping the page.
I roll my eyes. “I mean, does it feel different?”
Lochlan’s silver eyes lift to mine. “Why are you asking?”
“Why aren’t you answering?”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t.”
“They said something about Elementals being the only ones who could enter.”
Lochlan closes his book, his full attention on me.
“As though insinuating I’m not one,” I continue.
“Stars, tell me we’re not back on this path,” Holden scrubs a hand over his face. “I refuse to be here if you start butchering your body again.”
The two warm bodies beside me go absolutely rigid. “What the hell does that mean?” Griffin’s voice is a growl.
Holden gives me a pointed look, clearly expecting the reaction.
Traitor.
“It wasn’t like that,” I say, moving to sit up, and though Griffin looks like he’s ready to yell at me, he props a pillow behind my back.
Holden scoffs. “You were testing your mortality, carving into your body with a piece of that godsdamned vase to the point you were shredding muscle.”
I was expecting their shock. I was not expecting the level of pain or deceit in their stares, especially not from Lochlan. “I didn’t know how else to find out if I belonged here.”
Daire extends his arm, stabbing at the imprint. “This confirms it. It confirmed it the very first day—the first moment we met.”
I try not to grit my teeth. Anger insists I don’t owe him an explanation as his amber eyes bore into me.
Griffin slides a hand down my arm. “I know the bond is difficult to understand.”
I shake my head. “It’s not just because it’s difficult to understand.
I was an obligation for weeks. You were all keeping your distance.
You argued constantly about whether I was a threat.
I needed to know for myself—for my damn sanity—if I was truly an Elemental because it felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for the day you guys decided I was the traitor or fake you thought I was, and you’d banish or kill me. ”
Griffin flinches—physical pain drawn across his features. I meet his stare, recalling the countless moments I’ve felt abandoned and isolated since coming here. The constant level of uncertainty and hesitation that has three of these males too afraid to so much as touch me.
“Do you understand now?” Daire asks.
I study my fingers, the missing scar on my left arm, aware of every heartbeat in the room. “I know I belong here, but I still don’t understand why.”
“Because you’re our Mate,” Griffin says, his voice softer but no less intense.
“But what if I’m not?” I ask, giving voice to the fear that’s been haunting me. “‘Their hearts shall beat, but never feel, for their unity must remain unbroken by a Mate’s allure.’ What if those creatures meant I would fracture your Vestra?”
Daire shakes his head. “Interpretations of prophecies have been wrong more times than they’ve been right. Words twisted to fit someone’s agenda.”
“He’s right,” Kai says, surprising me before he looks at Holden. “How many prophecies sounded like war or the end of life, and ended up being something else entirely?”
“But you all have reservations.” I don’t mean it to sound like an accusation. Or maybe I do. I’m tired of avoiding all the landmines.
“Reservations about the consequences, Bondmate,” Griffin says. “Not about you.” He slides a hand up the length of my arm. “We don’t understand how you ended up on Earth, why your cindrel seems to sleep, or why using it drains you, but we know you’re not a traitor.”
I can’t help glancing at Lochlan. His silver eyes remain unreadable.
“I don’t think you’re a traitor, Witchling.
” His voice is low and measured. “I haven’t for some time.
” He closes his book. “But prophecies exist for a reason. They’re warnings as much as predictions.
” His eyes dance between mine. “These factors aren’t coincidences. ”
“Then, what are they?”
He leans back and shakes his head. “We’re still trying to figure that out.”
“I want to help,” I insist. “The answer is mine as much as it is yours.”
“Some knowledge comes with a price,” Lochlan says quietly. “And once it’s found, it can’t be undone. You may not like what we discover.”
The warning settles in my chest—an echo of Edmond’s when I asked to borrow his books on prophecies and bonds.
I give him the same answer.
“There are greater risks in remaining ignorant.”