Chapter 128

Tyler

Not on purpose. Not exactly. But I was hurting, and she was close, and the connection between us begged to be acknowledged and felt. She still loved me. Still wanted me. Beneath all the pain I'd caused, she was still reaching for me.

Her breath hitched.

I felt her resistance wobble and I pulled back as if I'd been burned.

I didn’t want her to forgive me just because the bond compelled her. I may have fucked up but I wasn't Vivian or my father or anyone else who used compulsions to get their way.

I didn’t want her to choose me because fate thought we were meant to be. I'd had that before and I ruined it.

I wanted to earn it this time. I had to for us, for myself. I stepped back, breaking the moment.She blinked like I’d snapped her out of a spell.

“I’m working next door now,” I said, reaching into my pocket and setting my new number on a napkin beside the bag. “Security. Mr. Lannister’s antique shop.”

“What?”

"He hired me… Remember me from when I… well, was doing my job.

“I’ll be there if you ever want to talk. Or need anything… even if it's just because it's dark.”

She didn’t answer, but her eyes glimmered.

I turned to go, not looking back until I was out of sight. She had already unwrapped the bag. She pulled the chocolate out first and took it to the back, her expression twisting with something wretched. The flowers were pressed to her chest and tears slipped down her cheeks.

I felt her pain through the bond, but there was also hope. Just a little. Just enough to let me know I'd made the right choice.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

Dominic

The drive was long. I made it long intentionally so that I wasn't tempted to come out here often. In the years since Hazel's death, I'd come out here maybe a handful of times. Not a single time had I left satisfied. For today, somehow I thought I would. Immediately today, I felt different. There was a coldness to me that wasn't usually there. A cold burning fury. I hadn't felt like this exactly when she died. That fury had been hard and aching. Burning hot like a fever. This was far more controlled. Or more vicious.

Definitely more vicious.

I’d turned off the music twenty minutes ago and let the silence settle, heavy and familiar. The longer I drove, the more I thought about Hazel and all the lies that she'd spun, the ones that were still uncovering, the ones I knew about.

The questions I wanted to ask, the answers I expected, the ones I didn't expect had all changed. I didn't care about the why. Not as much as I used to, at least. I cared about the who a lot. I cared about the how even more.

And today, I didn't feel like I was ready to be deterred. I didn't feel particularly benevolent.

The further I drove away from the capital, the older the trees became. Gnarled. Ancient. The roads narrowed, winding into forgotten paths that hadn’t seen use in decades. I remembered some of them from childhood from hunting lessons with my father, tracking exercises with older members of the pack. But this stretch of forest had always been a mystery.

Until I found the building.

A stone structure tucked deep in the woods, concealed with old runes and buried under vines and illusion.

It had been an old annex from when Brightclaws lived in a palace and wore crowns. The palace itself had been torn down ages ago, lost to time, but this little annex of the house was just big enough, just old enough to still have the same protections as the palace had once.

I'd had it turned into a barrack for a time, and then a jail, specifically for Brightclaw use.

My use, actually. I'd had it removed from the recorded maps of the territory ages ago. Before I even decided to use it the way I was using it now. With any luck, this would be the last year I would ever have to use it this way.

I parked and stepped out. The trees whispered above me. I could feel the weight of magic in the air, the old kind that smelled of moss and blood. Now there was a scent of death. Lingering in the air of sickness and wrought. The metal door groaned as it opened, and the scent of rot was almost overwhelming inside the building.

I moved past the stationed guard with a nod. He was new and young, barely old enough to shave, and visibly uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot, holding the key ring like it burned him.

“He’s on the edge,” the kid said. “I don’t think he’ll last the night.”

“He’ll last long enough,” I replied.

He'd lasted all this time and still hadn't given me the answers I wanted. But tonight, I'd either get it out of him or he'd be dead. And I was OK with either of those options.

I stepped into the narrow hallway, the walls slick with damp. The deeper you went in this place, the more the air turned to ash and mildew. The cell at the very end was dimly lit by a single bulb, flickering above the man inside. He lay on the floor. He was barely more than bones wrapped in bruised, festering skin. A rogue. Scarred. Hollow-cheeked. Eyes too sharp for someone clinging to life by a thread. The kid was wrong. He'd probably last a few more nights. If I hadn't decided to come visit today, in this mood.

He grinned as I approached, lips cracking with dried blood.

“Well, well,” he rasped. “Dominic Brightclaw. Didn’t think I’d see you again before the end.”

I held up the small glass vial between my fingers. “You want to die slow or talk fast?”

“Is that the good stuff?” He coughed, wheezing as he sat up slightly. “Healing elixir? Got a bit of that old Mountainhowl fire in it?”

I passed the vial to the guard, who stepped inside and held it just out of reach. The kid might be young, but he was definitely made of strong stuff. He didn't even flinch, didn't even look like he was going to. Hell, he might have even just kept it for himself just for the hell of it. Because everyone who was stationed here knew exactly why this man was here being kept this way. I was happy knowing that there was a good chance I'd end the station in tonight. My men had better things to do than guard a living corpse.

“You talk,” I said evenly, “and he’ll let you have it.”

He spat onto the floor, red and black. “And if I don’t? Could be poison.”

I stepped forward, crouching in front of him. I held my hand out for the vial. It slipped into my hand. I uncorked the vial, dabbed two drops onto my fingers, and pressed them to the worst of the gashes on his side. The man hissed, writhing, but a moment later, his breath eased. The healing took root. His skin knit together.

I handed the vial back.

“See?” I murmured. “I’m not a liar.”

Then, just as calmly, I dug my thumb into the healed flesh and ripped it back open, blood gushed down his cheek. And again, the young guard impressed me. He didn't even flinch, didn't make a sound. The only sound came from the rogue howling in agony. He fought me, but he was too weak to do much of anything. As I carved the wound back open to its original size, watching the blood color his face with a grim satisfaction.

He screamed. The sound echoed down the corridor, shrill and feral.

“You think I’m scared of killing you?” I asked coldly. “I’ve kept you alive for years because I wanted you to suffer. I can keep you in pieces for even longer.”

He panted. Sweating. Shaking. The look in his eyes said that he knew for certain that any of the niceties that I had offered him before. Any of the mercy that I may have had in prior years was gone. The goddess's benevolence had not come with me into this place tonight, or perhaps it had simply run out where he was concerned.

It was more accurate to say that my care about Hazel's death, my anger about it, had fizzled out. I was more angry about the mess she'd left behind than anything.

“Talk,” I growled.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting toward the vial again.

“Alright,” he croaked. “Alright, you bastard.”

I sat back on my heels and waited.

"I don't know who he is---"

I punched him in the face. A tooth flew out. He groaned and shook.

"Start again, and this time tell me what you do know."