Page 36

Chapter 32

Rupturing Fate

~DOLLY~

Arrik reacts the quickest. His strong hands seize me, and in one swift motion, he hurls me behind him as Alex materializes in the meadow, angel wings fully unfurled, eyes glowing with that ominous, pinkish, sheeny hue. The bow in Alex’s grip gleams, crafted from the same eerie substance as our broken vessel, and he’s already drawing the string back, aiming directly at us.

“I’m not the one that needs protecting!” I shout, frustration tinging my voice, even as Alex locks onto me as his target.

He snatches the journal Beckham handed over and flings it to Vel. The meadow is wide open—no trees, no cover, nowhere to run or hide. The air hums with bad energy, the sky a bruised canvas overhead, like time itself is holding its breath.

“Velis, I wish you wouldn’t let him fire a single arrow of your blood!” My command pierces the air, and Velis’s eyes flare intense blue. At the same moment, he orders, “Get Dolly out of here, Arrik!”

But I won’t let him face this enemy alone. “Arrik, I wish you would stay and protect Velis!”

“Argh! Master!” Arrik’s eyes flash stormy blue as he scowls at me, his body compelled to obey my command. He’s forced to reposition himself between Velis and Alex, ink from his wrists dripping like molten shadows onto the grass. Meanwhile, Velis’s fingers sizzle with power, ready to unleash his magic at the slightest hint of an attack.

“Beckham! Help them!” I cry out, desperation hot on my tongue.

“No!” Velis growls, clearly annoyed I’ve manipulated the situation with wishes. “Shield Dolly!”

Beckham, uncertain and unwilling to fully engage, opts for the option that keeps him closest to me. He leaps in front of me, blocking me from Alex’s view. But Alex merely tightens his bowstring, unflinching, still aiming directly at us.

Bound by my command, Velis hurls a surge of nymph water at Alex, and it solidifies around the cupid’s hand, freezing his fingertips to the bow before he can release the arrow. “Arrik, get the bow!” Velis orders, but Arrik is already in motion, his body a blur as he charges toward Alex.

Alex, anticipating the attack, pushes off the ground with a powerful flap of his wings, dirt and leaves swirling around him as he ascends. “How about we stop telling the enemy our plans, you idiots!” Arrik snaps, frustration evident.

Oops.

The sight of Alex airborne, his wings beating beneath the apocalyptic sky, is both terrifying and kind of awesome. Even Beckham is momentarily impressed, his attention honed on the angelic figure, who now shifts his focus to the journal. It’s possible he never expected Beckham to actually hand it over.

“Arrik!” Velis shouts as Alex makes a nosedive, rolling out of the way just in time and lobbing his mother’s journal through the air like a football aimed at Arrik. But Arrik doesn’t so much as move for it, and Beckham, true to his erratic nature, cuts across his path, intercepting it for himself.

“Are you insane? Don’t give it back!” Velis roars, knocking the journal out of Beckham’s hands with another block of ice. Meanwhile, Arrik snatches my wrist, attempting to dash off with me, but the wish I made won’t allow him to abandon Velis .

“Revoke it, Dolly,” Arrik demands, voice urgent.

“I can’t,” I whisper, fear seeping through as Alex breaks free from the ice around his fingertips. He’s already in the air again, the blood-fueled bow drawn taut.

“Argh!” Arrik growls, frustration boiling over. He scoops up the journal, thrusting it against my chest, before darting up beside Velis. Crouching low, Arrik launches himself into the air, catching Alex around the middle. The two crash to the ground, locked in a violent struggle, wings and limbs entangled.

“This isn’t part of the plan, Lolly!” Alex shouts, fury dripping from his voice. “The oldest one wasn’t supposed to come with!”

“Right,” Arrik grits out, teeth bared. “But that’s how you fight destiny, isn’t it? With chaos .”

It’s the sigil of Célesteen. Fate and its defiance. I think maybe he means the one among us who isn’t even ‘supposed to be alive right now’—a deliberate wrench in the gears of fate?

Alex pulls back his bow again, but before he can fire, Arrik hurls a splash of thick, dark ink from his fingertips, splattering across Alex’s face, momentarily blinding him.

“Arrik and Velis!” I shout, mustering all the authority I can, “I wish you would apprehend his bow!”

Two sets of eyes—my djinn, my protectors—lock onto Alex, their movements perfectly synced. They blitz across the battlefield with inhuman speed and precision, powered by the force of my command. Beckham watches from the sidelines, like he’s out on a field trip.

A small explosion bursts on the horizon, and when the smoke clears, Alex is gone. Velis and Arrik stand back-to-back, breathing hard under the now-clear sky, each with a hand on Alex’s bow.

I’m not entirely sure what just happened. We’re back in Jeb’s apartment, surrounded by a mess of books and paperwork, with Alex’s magical bow lying ominously on the table. Velis has less than a day left until his supposed death, yet no one seems particularly worried—not even Velis, though the knot in my stomach says otherwise. This could almost pass for a typical family gathering—if typical family gatherings involved four hot genie brothers.

“Knock it off, Beck,” Velis mutters, shrugging his brother away, barely looking up from the journal.

This is not how I imagined an emotional awakening. Beckham, the mean-spirited triplet, is acting like an overstimulated toddler at the mall—bored and eager to provoke, poking at things he shouldn’t, pestering Velis constantly, all while clearly angling for my attention. With three bodyguard babysitters ready to step in if he loses control, he’s more of a nuisance than a threat. Meanwhile, Velis is absorbed in his mother’s journal, flipping through the pages in search of the secret Alex hinted at.

While Velis pores over the journal, Arrik lounges on Jeb’s camelback couch, looking exhausted from yet another sleepless night. It’s clear he was up doing more research than he let on.

“I thought the plan was to go to the palace,” I say to him softly.

“That was your plan. Not mine.” Arrik hums his reply.

I’m beyond confused.

Velis remains quiet, likely reliving moments from his childhood and learning new information about his mother, who passed away when he was young. The journal is written in a language I don’t understand, but the meticulous handwriting suggests she kept extensive logs. On my other side, Arrik is equally quiet, his arm draped over the back of the couch, just inches from my neck, close enough that I can feel a prickle of awareness. Now confirmed as my arrow-pointed lover, he’s likely giving me space to process everything.

It hurts .

It hurts knowing I’m one person with two hearts beating for me. It hurts knowing they might have been compelled to feel this way. But it hurts a little less knowing that Arrik was, as always, two steps ahead of everyone else and that there might be a way out of this mess.

“So what is your plan?” I ask quietly, drawing Beckham’s eavesdropping curiosity while Jeb scowls at us from across the room, clearly annoyed that we all returned sooner than expected.

“I have no plan,” Arrik admits, gesturing to the book he brought back from the manor this morning. “But I do have a theory: The only way to befuddle destiny is with pure, unfiltered chaos. That’s why we agreed, last minute, to bring Beckham along—a little chaos to help throw off destiny. Planning is worthless. Wanna get high?”

He offers me a joint he just conjured, and Jeb snaps his fingers to summon a miniature vortex over our heads to suck up the smoke.

Honestly? Why not.

I take a hit, letting the smoke soak into my lungs and seep into my veins. Leaning deeper into Jeb’s velvet couch, I try to pass the joint back to Arrik, but he waves it off, indicating that I should offer it to Velis instead.

An olive branch? A . . . pot branch.

Velis doesn’t get high often—not as often as me, and certainly not as often as Arrik. But I’ve caught him smoking without me a handful of times. He takes a drag, stifles a cough, and then hands the joint back to Arrik before returning to his mother’s journal. He pauses, glancing up at me.

“You doing okay?”

I nod. “You?”

He nods back, and then in my head, “ Do you feel safe? ”

You make me feel safe, Velis, I think back.

He smiles, brushing my hair from my cheek and coaxing my face closer to his. “Same, baby.”

Dreamy boy. With a dreamy gaze. And this heavenly light radiating from him. That godlike light was so much fainter when I first met him. It’s because he’s settled into himself. He doesn’t need to front as much, and he seems more certain in his convictions. The way he’s stood up to Beckham. The way he’s humbled himself and risked everything for us time and again. The way he’s opened up to me about things he once kept so guarded. Losing and regaining his empathy. Facing off with Amoira and Grandpap. Standing before everyone rooting against him and claiming his lairdship. And rationalizing this incredibly sticky situation between his brother and me.

Velis has grown.

I love it, and him. And I want him to be happy, forever and ever. Every night snuggled up together. Every morning goofing off in bed. And everything in between. I feel it so strongly in my soul.

There’s zero chance I’m letting Alex take him from me.

And yet, through all that desire, swirling at my back, there’s a deeper, darker want tugging at me.

Arrik also makes me feel safe. Over everyone else, I trust him to deliver us out of this tangled web. Because he’s smart, composed, never letting his emotions cloud his judgment, and he’s not afraid to break the rules. There aren’t many people he cares for, so the ones he does, he cares for fiercely.

I’ve never felt so fiercely... cared for . By anyone.

And I enjoy sitting beside him. I enjoy wandering beside him. His intellect, his confidence, his wit. He’s also changed. Or maybe just revealed more of himself. And there’s always been an itch in me to find out more—to see what else lies within such a complex, selectively selfless person.

Velis warms the lives of those around him.

But Arrik makes you feel extremely lucky to have been one of the few chosen.

Arrik’s knee taps my thigh, and I’m not sure if it’s intentional, but I hope it’s not.

“Make yourself useful,” he barks at Beckham. “Order food. ”

Beckham, who was nosily poking around a shelf, spins and points at his own chest like he’s surprised to be included.

He’s no longer chained up, but I’m not worried—Arrik did a sweep of the room to lock up any weapons. They’re even baby-proofing the place for him now.

Beckham lifts his eyebrows at me, harboring not-so-secret glee over being acknowledged, then pulls out his Ray to place a delivery order. “Nothing living, I assume?”

“I prefer my food non-living,” I quickly reply.

With Velis absorbed in his mother’s notes, I lower my voice for Arrik, who takes another drag, though I know it doesn’t really affect him. I wish it would work for you, I think at him.

His eyes flash in response, glowing faintly as he sinks deeper beside me.

“I assume Alex will come tomorrow,” I tell him. “Midday, if he’s sticking to his original forty-hour window.”

“Or sooner,” says Arrik. “To retrieve his bow.”

“Or sooner.” I swallow.

“Try wishing he wouldn’t be able to find it.”

I do, but Arrik’s eyes ultimately fizzle. Then, I try a whole slew of wishes—that Alex would forget where Jeb’s apartment is, that we would be untethered from whatever this fate is, and anything else our collective think tank can come up with, but none of it sticks.

“Causality is strict right now,” Arrik says. “But we’ve got the bow, the journal, and have already disrupted destiny. Mayree said she saw many outcomes. Planning is pointless. I say we just get fucked up and wait and see what happens.”

I’m not sure what good that will do, but he seems resigned to it. At any rate, he deserves a night off after everything that’s happened.

“Here’s something,” Velis says, shifting forward in his seat and making sure Beckham is preoccupied with the delivery person that just rang Jeb’s bell. “Read this day. She met Father in the vault to discuss my grandfather’s vessel, but it’s strange. She, too, calls it the ‘Lover’s Vessel,’ claims Father originally intended you to be laird of the manor, and that she planned to give my grandfather’s vessel...” He looks up from his mother’s elegant vintage diary. “To you?”

Enough to pull Arrik up out of his haze of weed smoke.

“Let me see.” Arrik snatches the journal from Vel’s grip, reading faster than his brother had, flipping page after page as though searching for something he’s certain is hidden within.

“She says she suddenly changed her mind and decided to give it to me instead. But... it was always supposed to be mine. That was what my grandfather intended. Giving it to you would have gone against his wishes. It says that she thought that by giving it to you, you could change them .”

Arrik’s gaze locks onto mine. “So what happened? Why did she suddenly change her mind?”

In the corner chair, Jeb sits with his knuckles folded under his chin, seeming bothered. More bothered than usual. I wonder why Alex chose him to get close to us in the first place. He’s the one that wants nothing to do with any of us.

Unless it’s just because Jeb tends to draw male masters.

But why become his master anyway?

Maybe Jeb is wondering the same thing.

Or not.

He shifts in his chair. “Fate manipulation. Confusion between which one of you is unlucky enough to be fated to a human. And the fact that a person correcting fate is urging Dolly Jones to court Arrik. If I didn’t know better, I would think Mother had something to do with this.”

“Nice contribution, Jeb,” Beckham says like a condescending prick. “But even Grandfather doesn’t have the power to manipulate soulmates.”

“As I said, if I didn’t know better .”

Even Granddaddy, the evil warlock dragon slayer, can’t manipulate a thing like fate ?

And then something else occurs to me. Velis said Alex called him a ‘usurper.’

. . .

More powerful than a djinn laird’s magic. More powerful than a genie and human’s bond. Across time and space, it breaks all other rules. It’s fate.

. . .

If I had to guess, your fate has been tampered with.

. . .

I can’t change anyone else’s destiny but your own. And some wishes are worth more than your soul would allow.

. . .

Arrik told me all three of them felt a connection to you the first time they saw you. Maybe because destiny was using them in part of its ploy to get you to me.

. . .

Their goal is to make a deal with you. If they can get you to wish my soul power over to them, I’ll be dropped out of the running. Only my master has enough pull to wish something like that.

. . .

Really, the only one who could have wished it is you. It would have created a bit of a paradox in that the djinn would be forced to make it but would get no payment in return—a self-fulfilling wish in some regards.

. . .

Everything I’ve learned from my time with the Reilhander family snowballs into a theory.

“Could... I have done this?” I pull four sets of genie eyes in my direction. “Mayree said my fate was tampered with. But... nobody can change my destiny but me.” I search every one of those four sets of eyes for an answer. “Right?”