Page 24

Chapter 24

Please still be there Cal, please!

Rowan clutched his talisman with every ounce of his will, the wraiths’ tether relentless in its torture. His entire being had turned to ice, a horrible despair moving into him. But he clung to his talisman, whispering “Please, please, please!” before he stopped with a crash.

The wraith wrapped him in its embrace, long arms tight. It pried Rowan’s fingers open, wrestling him for his talisman.

“No!” Rowan bit and scratched but he was no match for the wraith’s strength. It was yanked from his grasp and set adrift. Rowan whimpered as his last hope floated into the abyss.

The wraith’s low growl rumbled through him. “You have been a very naughty Witch-boy.”

“Only Callum can call me that, you bastard,” Rowan snapped. He yelped as the wraith tore its way through his chest, inhaling his pain. Memories sped by on fast-forward; the accident, his parents, the sobs, the pain, the blood. Suffocating folds of flesh cocooned Rowan as the wraith roared, “Miiiiine!”

Its despair oozed into Rowan’s mouth, his eyes, his ears. He beat at his prison as a slide show of horror flashed before him, things he’d never seen before, that he never wanted to see again. His sisters laying dead in their beds. His aunts keening over their graves, shouting, “Why couldn’t you save them!?” The bloodied bodies of his parents, their eyes hollow with regret. You did this. You did all of this.

“This isn’t real!” Rowan shoved at the wraith.

“It is.” The wraith poured nightmare after nightmare into his skull. “And it’s your fault. You alone are my prize. You only have me now. Only me.”

Rowan’s blows grew weaker. He couldn’t save them. He was helpless. Worthless. Unable to protect the ones he loved because he was a failure. Always alone. Better off alone.

“Release him!” Callum’s voice was a sharp dagger through the droning misery. The satyr ran from the darkness, eyes glowing red, roaring like a demon.

He leapt at the wraith and it hissed, shielding Rowan from escape. Its hold tightened. More misery. More anguish. Gods why wouldn’t it stop? Callum dug his claws between its shoulders, slashing, slicing, tearing the wraith’s billowing flesh wide until Rowan rolled out, cold and unable to move, unable to help. Failure. He’ll die. You’ll be alone.

The wraith swung its long arms, but Callum clung to it, putrid ichor drenching his body as he tore it asunder.

But the wraith didn’t fall. It hovered over Rowan, defending him like a treasure hoard. “Get up, Witch-boy!” he demanded.

He couldn’t. Not even Callum’s commanding voice could make Rowan move. Every inch of him ached, still lost in grief. He had brought Callum here to fight for a coward. Now he would die because of him.

“Idiot satyr,” the wraith laughed. “Too stupid to understand that you can’t kill me. You don’t have the power!”

“Rowan, get up!” Callum bellowed, wiping the gore from his face. He slashed again, but the wraith grabbed his nape pulling him loose.

It dangled Callum before him like a kitten by the scruff, turning him to Rowan. “See this, my prize? This is what you brought. You brought his demise.” It’s horrible scream pierced Rowan’s eardrums as Callum plucked its eye free. It threw the satyr aside, clutching its face, ichor dripping between its fingers.

Callum crawled to Rowan. He took his shoulders, hauling him up. “Stay with me Witch-boy.”

Rowan shook his head, unable to speak under the weight of his sadness. Oh Callum, why did you come after me? I’m not worth it. I am better off alone. Callum had been through so much and now would die suffering like he had lived. “Leave me, Cal. Just…leave me,” he managed to say.

“Never.” Callum bared his fangs. He took Rowan’s jaw, forcing their eyes to meet “You’re not alone, Rowan Connell Bennett. You have me. You will always have me.”

The ice crumbled from his flesh, Rowan’s chest tingling. An ember of warmth sparked as his mind shifted. Nights curled in Callum’s arms in front of a crackling fire. The family dinners. The walks in the snow with Broderick. Callum’s tender, consuming kisses that made his heart burst. The tears of release as they cried together and the unbelievable joy as they laughed together. He was feeling again, his skin, his muscles, his…his heart “I’m…I’m not alone.” The words left him like a prayer. He lifted his head of his own power,

“That’s it, Witch-boy.” Callum laughed. “That’s my-” His face contorted and his back arched. Claws burst from Callum’s chest, whisps of white fog dribbling into the mist.

The wraith pulled its hand from Callum’ back, the satyr falling into Rowan’s arms. It sucked his fingers clean, eyes burned brighter, its form swelling in size and it absorbed Callum’s essence.

Rowan rocked his satyr in his arms. “Callum! Don’t leave me! Say something! Talk to me!”

“Say it again, Witch-boy,” Callum moaned. He lifted his head, eyes dull with pain. “Say you’re not alone.”

The command lit the fire inside Rowan. “I’m not alone.” The words were strong and sure.

Callum nodded in approval. His strong wonderful satyr who crossed the veil for him. Who stood by his side. Who made him happier than he ever thought possible. Gods, Rowan loved him. And Callum loved him back. And he fucking deserved that love. They both did.

Rowan gently placed Callum at his feet, rising to meet the wraith with his head held high and his shoulders squared. His legs were solid, his spine straightening. I’m not alone,” he said. The wraith wouldn’t take Callum. Not as long as there was life inside him. And there was, shining like a light house inside his chest.

The wraith recoiled. “This is your doing! Your fault!”

“Fuck you, you lying bag!” Rowan shouted. “I’m not afraid of you anymore!”

The wraith shrank back as Rowan balled his fists, all his love, all his happiness, his determination and pride into a swirling about them in golden fire. He wasn’t a slave to the wraith’s lies anymore. He had his sisters, his family. All these things to heal the wounds And they would turn the world upside down for him. “I’m not alone.”

The wraith opened its mouth with one last screech of “Miiiine!” Rows and rows of teeth dripped with glowing essence. Rowan’s essence. An essence that it would never taste again.

“Never again,” Rowan growled. “Not me. Not Callum. Not anyone. Ever.”

Fire exploded from Rowan’s palms. No fear. No sadness. Not even anger. Just the cold need for justice as the wraith was consumed in Rowan’s power. It shattered, its cloak dissolving into ash, the last echo of its sad cry disappearing into the static hum of the veil.

Rowan stumbled to his knees, cupping Callum’s face. “Callum?” He sighed in relief as the satyr opened his eyes. “Don’t move. Let me look you over.”

“I’m fair folk,” Callum scoffed in a weak voice. “I’ve endured far worse and remained strong.” He tried to rise only to collapse with a moan.

“Stop swinging your dick and let me try to heal you!” Rowan snapped.

Callum’s eyes fluttered shut. “You like my swinging dick.”

Rowan would have laughed if he wasn’t in a complete fright. He pressed his hand over Callum’s wounds, essence tricking between his fingers. He’d healed plenty of people before but none of them on the other side of the veil. And if he lost Callum now, his soul would float into oblivion. He swallowed, taking one last chance on his wits. “Callum an Ceann Is Géire, you will heal.”

The wounds glittered; Callum’s essence floating back from the mist. The white whisps were absorbed into his skin and the gashes sealed. Callum grunted, his eyes bright. He shoved himself into a sit, running a hand down his mended chest before gazing at Rowan in wonder.

“You’ll always have me Big Guy.” Rowan pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Time to go home.”