Chapter 8
“What in the hell, Vega?”
This morning Chase had pressed his lips against Vega’s cheek, giving her a goodbye kiss before he left for work. He did this every morning, and every morning Vega pretended to sleep until he was gone.
She spun around at the sound of his voice, her heartbeat pounding inside her throat. Chase shouldn’t have been home for another three or four hours.
Once she got up, brushed her teeth and hair, got dressed, and made herself breakfast, there was nothing else to look forward to in the day.
“Wha-what are you doing?” he stammered, jaw sagging.
Busted.
Chase’s wide eyes trailed up her arm, landing on the hammer Vega still had raised in the air.
If she went for a walk, Chase would call immediately and ask why she was out, claiming he was worried something would happen to her if she was out alone. “You’ll get lost. There will be another accident.” He’d used every excuse in the book.
She dropped her arm, hugging the hammer close to her chest. “I…” Vega couldn’t think with Chase’s gaze searing into her like he’d been the one to catch her between the legs of another woman—no, just you on the balcony with a hammer, trash can, matches, and some lighter fluid.
Vega searched her mind for an excuse, a lie. Anything. She couldn’t find one. Her brain felt trapped in quicksand.
“Vega, is that…?” He trailed off, stepping forward to peer into the trash can behind her. “That’s my grandmother’s brooch.”
A bear balancing on a ball like a circus animal. She’d found it inside one of Chase’s coat pockets.
Tollybear. Bear.
She’d thought it could be a sign. She was looking for them in everything these days—hoping something would click and she’d finally stop feeling like she was living in a false reality.
Vega knew this life here wasn’t right. This wasn’t her home. She stared at the back of Chase’s head, his sandy blond hair cut too short.
Chase’s look of astonishment turned into something new. “Is this what you’ve been doing with the things going missing over the last month?”
She hadn’t thought this through—not any of the times she’d found something inside their apartment to destroy had she planned for Chase to pop in randomly and find her.
Stupid. So fucking stupid, Vega. She scolded herself but couldn’t find words to respond to Chase, her mouth clamped shut while her brain tried, so hard, to find an acceptable excuse.
“Don’t just stand there! Answer me!” Chase screamed, his voice echoing through the courtyard and amplifying to their neighbor’s balconies.
She blinked, trying to get herself together, and when Vega opened her eyes, Chase’s open hand connected with her cheek.
The slap—if she could even call it that—caught her off guard, sending Vega tumbling into the glass patio door.
Somehow it didn’t shatter, but Vega’s head felt like it might.
The blinding pain of a bad headache made Vega put pressure on her temples as she rose.
There had once been a version of Vega who loved Chase, the sweet boy who… had always kind of treated her like a stray dog he’d graciously taken in.
This had never been love.
This was about control.
The curse’s control.
Stars sprinkled her vision, fire shooting down every nerve from her head to her toes. Vega heard herself gasp, but the air caught in her throat when Chase’s hands wrapped around her neck.
No, no, no. You’re not weak. You will not become this person again.
Pain rained down, making Vega immobile. It was impossible for her to fight physically when she was being ravaged by something invisible on the inside.
Death.
She thought she was dead. Whether it was the pain from her head or from Chase choking the air out of her, Vega was almost completely numb, unable to feel the fire in her legs or arms anymore.
Nausea turned to bile when the oven inside her brain went from broil to slow cook. The pain dulled enough for panic to set in, black spots turning to holes in her vision.
With all the strength she had left, Vega slammed her knee in between Chase’s legs.
He dropped to the patio floor, hunched over and groaning loud enough to let her neighbors know she’d handled it.
Vega gasped for air, backing away. “Don’t you ever, ever put your fucking hands on me again! Or it’ll be you burning in a bucket.” Her voice was raspy, her windpipe surely taking some damage.
When he glanced up at her from the floor, his face was cast under the shadow of the roof’s overhang. Chase’s eyes looked soulless, engulfed with a blackness only a nightmare could get right.
She took a step back, and from her new angle, Vega could see it wasn’t an illusion. Chase’s eyes were all black—no iris, no white. All black.
Fear stole her breath.
Move.
Vega ran back inside the apartment, grabbing her coat and boots on the way to the front door. She didn’t pause to put them on.
She had to get out of here.
Her chest burned with each panting breath, her inhales so loud she almost couldn’t hear Chase call after her with strangled words as she slammed the apartment door.
Vega’s pulse pounded in her temples, the rhythm dizzying.
Steadying herself on the wall, Vega took a deep breath and fought through the ache returning to her head, darting down the three flights of stairs like she was being led by an invisible rope.
Her feet told her where to go, letting her brain catch up as it went.
A familiar tug in Vega’s chest and the incessant itch of the brand on her wrist made her trip over herself as she exited the building.
She knew that feeling.
Nothing, not even the pain in her head, could get Vega to forget it.
Arlet.
Vega took off running, quickly realizing she was still barefoot.
She slipped into yesterday’s socks stuffed inside her boots, threw her coat on, and sprinted, finding the right track as the invisible tug drew her across the street and down the block.
People stared as she shot by, clearly not dressed for an afternoon run.
Vega dug her nails into the skin at her wrist when the crackle of the pain in her head returned. It reminded her of the time Junie, a soldier in Bridger’s army, had spent in her head, twisting and turning Vega’s abilities on herself.
The Colosseum stood tall as she approached, crowded with tourists excited to see one of The Seven Wonders of The World.
She caught a couple looks from a group walking by as she hopped onto an occupied bench. The older man sitting there scoffed and hopped up like Vega had jumped on his lap and not beside it.
The only words Vega could pick up from his quick Italian were “disrespect” and “youth.” If dude only knew Vega probably had at least twenty years on him.
She could see over people now, ignoring everyone’s curious glances.
Vega squinted through hazy vision to register anything more than a few feet away. A baby cried in the distance, a woman chatted on the phone in a foreign language, and a tour guide walked by, telling his group all about the history of the city. If only they knew a god walked among them now.
All the background noise and people faded away when a head full of curls came into view, bobbing down the path away from Vega.
“Arlet!” Vega called as she jumped off the bench and pushed her way through the crowd, earning some disgruntled responses from the tourists.
Her hand touched Arlet’s shoulder, and the tug in her chest tightened.
The girl swiveled around, her eyebrows drawing together. Not Arlet.
Pain sliced through Vega’s head again. She inhaled and stumbled back, her hands shooting to the sides of her head.
“I’m so sorry,” Vega bit out, ignoring the look of concern on the stranger’s face.
“I thought you were someone I knew.” She turned away before the girl could respond, wincing at the next jolt of pain.
What is happening to me?
Vega took a breath, trying to focus on something other than the pain. Commotion of a building crowd caught her attention in the distance.
The sensation in her chest went from a tug to an all-out drag. Her feet moved without an order from her brain. Vega caught bits and pieces of the words a panicked woman spoke near the center of the crowd.
Fell. Bleeding.
Vega pushed her way through, stepping on toes to get to the front.
The portal is in California… How did Arlet make it here? Doubt crept in, but it couldn’t get her to ignore the feeling that’d brought her here. She hadn’t even registered the ring around her wrist burned like fire, too distracted by the dimming headache.
“Go get a medic,” a man beside her called to someone outside the crowd.
“That’s really not necessary,” a voice cut through. A voice Vega would know anywhere…
Oh my gods.
Vega stumbled through to the front, and if her jaw could touch the ground, it would have. Standing in the middle with the woman asking for help wasn’t the beautiful, curly-haired best friend she’d been accustomed to seeing on Earth.
It was Bridger… his chest covered in cuts and blood, looking disheveled and maybe even a little annoyed.
My name is Vega Caelum. I’m a god… and I’m from a world called Tolevarre.
Her life came back into focus. There was no accident, no TBI.
When Bridger’s eyes locked on hers, the pain in her head, the tug of the thread in her chest, and the fire of the brand around her wrist vanished.