darkness to keep away. Shine through
your radiance, aid my plight and burn these threads.”
The
coiled snake tattoo on Waleron’s neck began to slither at his low chant,
unraveling its massive body to slink over his ear. Its sleek, black form felt
like the flame of a candle being held over his skin as it awakened to his call.
He had to do this. There was no other choice.
The
first thread snapped and with it, relief. Waleron’s heart drummed and sweat
formed on his brow. There was no going back.
It was
two hours before his body was free from the sticky webs and then another hour
before he managed to gain his balance and walk. Waleron headed towards the door
that imprisoned him in hell and was surprised to find it unlocked. Jasmine had
become too confident in her webs.
He threw
on the clothes Jasmine left in the small cell he often sat in for weeks then
walked up several flights of cement stairs until he reached a wooden door. He
tried to lift the latch—locked.
Waleron
punched his fist into the rotted wood repeatedly until the wood splintered in
all directions. He stepped through the opening and stared up into the moonlit
sky.
The
fresh air was a gift, cleansing his pale, deprived body of the last sixty-one
years. It swept over his skin, feeding his blood, lending its strength. He
peered up at the sky, his eyes lingering on the stars. His star. The brightest
one in the sky that reminded him of Delara’s eyes when she laughed. He used the
power of nature and all the power left inside him and Traced to the Realm. It
was the only place he could go without healing first. He’d have Zurina heal the
open wounds enough so he could Trace to the Vivian Forest and then they’d find
Delara.
If she
was still alive. If he wasn’t too late.
Found
“Baby.”
Waleron?
He sounded so real, as if…as if he was right next to her. He used to call her
that—baby. A long time ago.
“Maitagarri,
please.”
His warm
breath swept across her cold skin. No. Her memories were haunting her before
death. Waleron was dead and with him her heart and soul.
“Jedrik.
Zurina. I found her. East side of McCowen Road, half mile North of Vivian
Road.” Silence. “She’s
dying damn it. Get here now.”
Waleron?
His telepathic voice was so clear in her mind as if she could reach up just a
bit and her hand would grace his skin and she’d melt into the warmth of his
body. God, she really was going to leave this earth. Finally. Finally, she’d be
with him.
Something
heavy lowered on top of her and she flinched, instinct taking over as she tried
to curl into a ball to avoid any further abuse to her body, but her limbs
failed to cooperate. Some fabric tickled her chin, rough, but warm and heavy,
not suffocating only comforting.
A gentle
hand came beneath her head, lifting it until she was resting on some sort of
spongy surface. She breathed in and abruptly stopped as Waleron’s scent
inundated her senses. It felt so real. So reassuring. Her love had arrived and
it felt right. She wasn’t scared only...relieved.
The soft
whispers in undistinguishable Basque dialect made her reconsider slipping into
death. Words spoken with a deep English lilt she knew as Waleron’s made her
swollen lids pry open, wincing and hesitating as pain shot through her head
from the effort.
A shadowy
figure crouched beside her, a man with broad shoulders and with small cuts all
over his face, but it was when she saw his eyes...eyes like...those ice-blue
eyes she’d fallen in love with. But that—that was impossible. They belonged to
a man who was dead. She had to be hallucinating, her last moments giving her a
final glimpse of him.
Had his
ghost come to take her away? Or was her mind imagining him?
She
tried to move away confused by what was happening.
“No.” A
hand tightened on her right shoulder pressing down, not forcefully, only with
assurance that it was better if she listened to his words. “Do not move, Maitagarri,”
he
your radiance, aid my plight and burn these threads.”
The
coiled snake tattoo on Waleron’s neck began to slither at his low chant,
unraveling its massive body to slink over his ear. Its sleek, black form felt
like the flame of a candle being held over his skin as it awakened to his call.
He had to do this. There was no other choice.
The
first thread snapped and with it, relief. Waleron’s heart drummed and sweat
formed on his brow. There was no going back.
It was
two hours before his body was free from the sticky webs and then another hour
before he managed to gain his balance and walk. Waleron headed towards the door
that imprisoned him in hell and was surprised to find it unlocked. Jasmine had
become too confident in her webs.
He threw
on the clothes Jasmine left in the small cell he often sat in for weeks then
walked up several flights of cement stairs until he reached a wooden door. He
tried to lift the latch—locked.
Waleron
punched his fist into the rotted wood repeatedly until the wood splintered in
all directions. He stepped through the opening and stared up into the moonlit
sky.
The
fresh air was a gift, cleansing his pale, deprived body of the last sixty-one
years. It swept over his skin, feeding his blood, lending its strength. He
peered up at the sky, his eyes lingering on the stars. His star. The brightest
one in the sky that reminded him of Delara’s eyes when she laughed. He used the
power of nature and all the power left inside him and Traced to the Realm. It
was the only place he could go without healing first. He’d have Zurina heal the
open wounds enough so he could Trace to the Vivian Forest and then they’d find
Delara.
If she
was still alive. If he wasn’t too late.
Found
“Baby.”
Waleron?
He sounded so real, as if…as if he was right next to her. He used to call her
that—baby. A long time ago.
“Maitagarri,
please.”
His warm
breath swept across her cold skin. No. Her memories were haunting her before
death. Waleron was dead and with him her heart and soul.
“Jedrik.
Zurina. I found her. East side of McCowen Road, half mile North of Vivian
Road.” Silence. “She’s
dying damn it. Get here now.”
Waleron?
His telepathic voice was so clear in her mind as if she could reach up just a
bit and her hand would grace his skin and she’d melt into the warmth of his
body. God, she really was going to leave this earth. Finally. Finally, she’d be
with him.
Something
heavy lowered on top of her and she flinched, instinct taking over as she tried
to curl into a ball to avoid any further abuse to her body, but her limbs
failed to cooperate. Some fabric tickled her chin, rough, but warm and heavy,
not suffocating only comforting.
A gentle
hand came beneath her head, lifting it until she was resting on some sort of
spongy surface. She breathed in and abruptly stopped as Waleron’s scent
inundated her senses. It felt so real. So reassuring. Her love had arrived and
it felt right. She wasn’t scared only...relieved.
The soft
whispers in undistinguishable Basque dialect made her reconsider slipping into
death. Words spoken with a deep English lilt she knew as Waleron’s made her
swollen lids pry open, wincing and hesitating as pain shot through her head
from the effort.
A shadowy
figure crouched beside her, a man with broad shoulders and with small cuts all
over his face, but it was when she saw his eyes...eyes like...those ice-blue
eyes she’d fallen in love with. But that—that was impossible. They belonged to
a man who was dead. She had to be hallucinating, her last moments giving her a
final glimpse of him.
Had his
ghost come to take her away? Or was her mind imagining him?
She
tried to move away confused by what was happening.
“No.” A
hand tightened on her right shoulder pressing down, not forcefully, only with
assurance that it was better if she listened to his words. “Do not move, Maitagarri,”
he
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