Immortal Consequences(130)

A voice sliced through the chaos.

“Stop!”

The pain vanished. August gasped, hands clawing at the dirt.

The second he saw the look on Wren’s face, he knew.

He understood what she was about to do.

“No.” He tried to gather himself onto his knees, but he was too weak. Too broken. He crawled on his hands and knees, desperate to reach her. To save her from the irreparable decision she was about to make. “Don’t.”

But Wren was already reaching her hand out, beckoning Edith closer. He watched, terror coursing through him, as Edith extended her own hand toward Wren. There was a brief moment of hesitation, a flicker of regret in Wren’s eyes.

Goodbye, August.

He shook his head. Please. Don’t do this.

Her voice flooded through his mind one last time.

Remember your promise.

And then she slid her hand into Edith’s and the two of them vanished—not a trace left behind.

After

62

Masika

Footsteps echoed around her—here and there and gone again. She tried to pry her eyes open, but a heaviness kept them closed. Like she’d been submerged in liquid. Enveloped in a weighted blanket. Noises fluttered above her. Louder, then softer, then barely audible. An incoherent jumble losing meaning in her ears.

Time bled together. Days or weeks or years. She didn’t know.

And then came the voices. Some familiar. Some not.

Jesus Christ. What happened to her?

…we got to her as fast as we could.

—promise me! Promise me she’ll wake up!

She wanted to reach out. To tell them she was here. That she was still holding on.

But no sound came.

We’re doing what we can!

…I don’t understand. Why did you leave her behind?

We tried. It all came down too quickly.

An all-consuming warmth spread through her. A welcoming invitation to let go, to lean into the darkness and let the current sweep her away. Maybe this was it. No more fighting. No more running.

Surrender.

* * *

Somebody is holding my hand. It was the first thought that shot through her mind when she finally broke through the darkness and her eyelids fluttered open. Stone walls surrounded her, the flicker of candlelight. The warm scents of woodsmoke and balsam permeated the air, filling her lungs.

A voice cut through the silence. “You’re okay.”

The hand laced through hers gave an affirming squeeze. When she tilted her head and spotted the source of the voice, an overwhelming relief washed over her. It was like a weight had been lifted from her chest, a dizzying surge of joy that made her eyes instantly well up with tears.

It was Emilio. He sat next to her, shirtless, a white bandage wrapped around his torso.

“Emilio…” Her throat stung as his name left her lips. “Is it really you?”

He chuckled, reaching down to brush a curl away from her face. “It’s me.”

Masika had the urge to throw her arms around him, but it was evident that she hadn’t fully recovered. Her body felt stiff, raw in places.

Her eyes scanned the desolate room. There was nothing but the cot she was lying on and a small, tattered rug. A single lantern illuminated the room in a hazy glow, washing Emilio’s face in orange light.

“Where am I?”

“Somewhere safe.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Masika glanced up to find another familiar face smiling down at them.

“Welcome back.” Olivier leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. He watched her with a strange apprehension, as though he was afraid she might disintegrate in front of his eyes. “Thought we’d lost you there for a second.”

Masika mustered a feeble smile. “Not a chance.”

When she shifted onto her elbows, an unwelcome pain shot through her body. It seized her in a vicious wave, searing agony spreading through her limbs like wildfire.

Masika let out a ragged breath, gripping the sheets beneath her. “Why does everything hurt?”

“Our soul vow was severed, but…there were consequences. We no longer have the ability to heal ourselves magically.” Something in Emilio’s face twisted. A moment of hesitation. He let out a sigh. “Actually…there’s something you should probably see.”

He untucked a small handheld mirror from behind him.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Just look.”

When Masika glanced into the mirror, she flinched.

A large gash sliced down her face from her right eyebrow to her chin. Raw, pink skin mangled with scar tissue. The remnants of haphazard stitches that had sewn her face back together.

“Oh…” She traced the scar with her finger, wincing as she felt its rough edges. “I see.”

“It might heal over time.” Olivier stepped closer, his voice soft and cautious. “Fade a bit. But…”

“It’s not a guarantee,” she interjected, finishing his thought.

“I know the scar might take some getting used to,” Emilio whispered, gently prying the mirror from her hands, “but the rest of your body is actually healing fairly quickly. They said you might be able to start walking around in the next few days.”

Masika’s chest tightened. “They?”