Page 9 of Divine Fate (Cursed Legacies #4)

8

MAVEN

When I set out to reunite with my elemental, I didn’t envision having to drag his stubborn, beautiful, unconscious ass down a ridiculously long hallway with an audience of ghosts watching the entire damn thing.

I pause outside his old office and blow hair out of my face. Even with the grueling soreness plaguing my limbs, I must still be physically stronger than average, because I’ve dragged Everett this far without too much difficulty despite my injured ankle. I'm not sure if that's due to my godly side or thanks to all the irreversible experiments my body was put through over the years.

I'm just glad I'm not doing this while still wearing those fucking ice cuffs. I loathe restraints. They bring back too many memories of the Nether. Just feeling them around my wrists was enough to make me start disassociating.

I wipe my brow and glance at the specters that have been slowly accumulating around me ever since we entered Everbound.

“Good thing you guys are already dead, or I’d have to kill you for seeing shit this embarrassing,” I grumble.

Some ghosts look fresh, while others look faceless and foggy, like they’ve been here for a while. It makes me wonder if Syntyche has fallen behind in reaping souls. High death rates around the mortal realm must mean she’s busy as fuck.

Shoving the door open with my good foot, I drag Everett inside the cold office, which brightens slightly thanks to dim mage lights. As I try to catch my breath, I again find myself staring at the scar etched into the left side of his gorgeous face.

The shiny scar tissue is jagged, a darker shade than his pale skin, and runs nearly vertical. It crawls up his neck and over his jaw, passing the left corner of his lips on the way up his cheek and over his eye until it thins out and stops above his temple, bisecting his eyebrow on the way.

It’s not the most severe facial scar I’ve ever seen, but it completely changes his appearance. Where my elemental was once perfectly flawless, there is now an unmistakably savage harshness to his scarred beauty. His already stunning face now has a vicious edge that makes my pulse pound.

He looks like a scarred angel.

It’s fucking sexy .

I’m still ogling him when a ghost impatiently waves its hand in front of my face. I glance at the veritable crowd of dead people hovering around me and realize most of them are also checking out Everett.

Or maybe they’re just waiting to see if his ghost joins them, since his breathing has grown alarmingly shallow and he’s still bleeding.

Damn him for insisting on carrying me in that state.

Annoyed, I withdraw my new etherium knife. By the time I face the whispering ghosts, I'm holding my scythe again. Just as I finish reaping the last of them, a strange current once again ripples from the glowing scythe, directly into my system.

Abruptly, I’m jerked into a memory.

I find myself standing on a floating balcony, overlooking a crowd of richly dressed beings. I can make out glowing fairies, animals chatting excitedly in a language I somehow understand, and men and women who appear almost human, except for their angelic, feathery white wings. They stand beside nature spirits made of leaves, trees, pure water, earth, starlight, and more elements.

They’re all looking up at me and smiling. Cheering. Clapping.

Their applause is overwhelming, but a powerful woman’s voice beside me rings out effortlessly over the thousands below.

“For the first time in nearly three thousand years, it is my great pleasure to introduce another member into our beloved pantheon: the daughter of my dear sister Syntyche and our new goddess, Maven!”

“I’m not a goddess,” I say in this recollection, quiet enough that only the woman speaking should hear me.

Something is bothering me in this memory. I’m annoyed.

No—I’m livid , but I can’t remember why.

I catch the barest glimpse of the goddess beside me. She is built like a true warrior and fiercely beautiful, with fiery red hair, golden eyes, and faint scars along her arms, chin, and one of her cheeks. She’s dressed in gleaming golden armor and a crown made of fire.

This must be Arati, the queen of the gods, introducing me to the Paridisians. She brushes off my irritation, beaming at the crowd below.

“As you know, my niece lived no ordinary mortal life. Though we gods have no power in the Nether and therefore could not see where she was raised, we eagerly observed once she emerged—and lo and behold, she earned her divinity by rescuing thousands of souls and their future posterity from the very hell she once endured. Because her mortal life and death exceeded nobility, fate has decreed her future here in Paradise. One and all, welcome our newest goddess?—”

“ I am not a motherfucking goddess,” I snap.

Yikes. My voice carries much more than expected.

The Paridisians fall into a shocked hush, and Arati turns to glare at me just as the memory cuts off and another swirls into place. This time, I’m walking with Galene through a bizarrely idyllic forest dappled with otherworldly sunlight.

“What was the point of matching me to them if they were just going to be left behind like this? What game were you playing, binding us together like that?” Paradise Maven asks.

Galene smiles softly, her all-seeing kaleidoscope eyes shifting between all the colors of the rainbow. “There was no game, my fearless one. That was all you.”

“I think I’d know if I was?—”

I cut off, recalling the intimate moments with my quintet. During sex or not, as I grew closer to each of them in irreversible ways…

Galene nods. “It’s true. You bound them to yourself, albeit unconsciously. You see, we gods derive our power from worship. As you grew closer to your quintet, who worshipped you in their own way, you naturally became more powerful. As a revenant, you could not access many abilities that were your birthright. However, you gained access to your holy magic—the very same magic that binds legacies together. Thus, your bound quintet and their broken curses.”

I’m quiet for a moment. “But if you knew I would end up here, why bother matching us together like that at all? Why put them through this?”

“Despite what is believed in the mortal world, we gods have no real control over soul matches. Whether those matches are platonic or epic loves, they are the design of fate itself, and fate is a force that even we gods must bow to,” Galene explains gently. “Whomever quintets belong with is out of our hands. I only foresaw that you would need your soul matches, though I admit that I did have to meddle in order to get all of your quintet to Everbound at the same time. An anonymous tip to the Frost family, falsifying correspondence with the Garnet Wizard, circulating rumors about an escaped wicked man for a certain steward of Limbo to follow…”

Her gentle voice fades away, and abruptly, I once again find myself beside Everett’s unconscious body. It’s jarring, having memories shoved back into my head like lost puzzle pieces.

I slump onto the floor with a grimace at the soreness lingering in my limbs. My scythe once again turns back into a knife that I tuck away.

If I unconsciously bound my matches to my shadow heart before, does that mean I can use the same holy magic to bind them to me now?

I snap to attention when Asher Douglas knocks loudly on Everett’s ajar office door, striding through it bundled in a ridiculous number of jackets.

“Damn it, Frost, I know you don’t sleep anymore, but I need some fucking shuteye if I’m going to keep putting up with?—”

He cuts off, halting in place when he sees me. His hand drops to a small gun at his hip.

I scoff. “If you're going to attack me, at least use something fun. Like a knife. Or a mace.”

Gods, it’s been too long since I got in a good fight with someone wielding a mace.

Douglas makes a face, pulls out a flashlight, blinds me with it for a second as he checks my pupils more thoroughly, and finally grunts as he clicks it off again.

“Okay, you’re officially the freakiest thing I’ve ever encountered. How did you even?—”

“Heal him now, ask me questions never,” I advise, testy thanks to the pain flaring up in my shoulder and ankle.

The bounty hunter shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about me being a “cosmic cockroach” as he kneels beside Everett. He removes the tattered trench coat and blood-soaked shirt underneath to take a look at the deep claw marks.

Seeing such a nasty injury on my elemental makes my throat tighten painfully. I can't stop remembering how defeated he looked as he lay there on that damn street staring up at the ghoul that was about to end him.

If I’d been a moment too late…

No. I can’t think about that.

Douglas is focused as his hands light up with soft green magic over the injury. His eyes glow slightly, too, reminding me that he has a gift for sensing magical signatures, even his own.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him use healing magic up close, and I catch the microexpression of pain that flashes over his features when he starts healing the worst of Everett’s wound. It’s so subtle that someone raised in a normal world of expression would’ve missed it.

But like everyone from the Nether, I grew up deciphering the tiniest changes in expressions. It’s not hard to figure out why a legacy would have that reaction.

When he sees me analyzing him, he shooes me away. “Give me room to work, you fucking zombie.”

“Feeling the pain of those you heal. What a poetic curse,” I muse, admiring the sadism.

Douglas startles before pinning me with a glowing glare. “Look, however you figured that out, you keep your fucking mouth shut about it.”

I glance down at the impressive progress he’s already made on Everett. He seems extremely skilled at healing, despite his curse.

“I'll heal you next. Pretty sure that's why Frost summoned me at all.” He flicks a glance at my bloodstained shoulder. “Vampire bite, right? Should be fast enough.”

“Don't bother.”

“Look, telum. I’m beat and I don't really give a rat’s ass about your little ouchies, but Frost pays better than anyone, so if he says to heal his creepy Undead girlfriend?—”

“It won't work, so drop it.”

Asher Douglas completely ignores my words as he finishes with Everett and moves on to me. His hands light up with green magic and hover over my shoulder, but as I expected, nothing happens.

He makes another face. “You’re just too fucked up for normal treatments, huh?”

Guilty as charged.

Douglas sighs long and loud, like this is beyond annoying. He glances at the doorway to make sure no one is passing by, checks that Everett is still unconscious, and then fixes me with a serious stare.

“I can still heal you if you swear by the gods to keep your mouth shut about it.”

I arch a brow, curious. “Fine. I swear by myself.”

The caster scoffs, missing my inside joke, before focusing on my shoulder again. This time, his hands light up with a soft white light, but his eyes don’t glow. Tingling power washes over my shoulder as liquid warmth, vanquishing the pain at once. I can sense the magic spreading further, soothing the lingering aches and soreness I’ve felt since waking up. If Douglas feels the pain this time, he doesn’t show it.

I glance at his glowing hands. “This is holy magic.”

The same untraceable power that Pia—no, Galene—used to heal me even when I was a revenant. The same kind of magic I can supposedly wield, once I finally figure out how.

Maybe this is the only kind of magic that can heal me now that I’m a demigoddess and not a revenant.

He moves on to my bitten ankle without having to ask where the pain is. “Yep.”

“You’re a saint?”

“None of your damn business. But no.”

Aside from Silas, this is my first time meeting another hybrid caster. I guess holy magic plays nice with all other types of magic.

Douglas finishes and touches my shoulder. It’s clinical, but my stomach still lurches. I jerk away from the contact, leveling him with my most withering look.

“Whoa. Relax. Message received.” He shifts to a crouch, wisely putting distance between us while squinting at me. “Hey . You could’ve killed me while I was hunting you months ago. Why didn’t you?”

I roll my shoulder, relieved that I no longer have to tune out the pain.

“Your death would have been less fun than fighting you again in the future. Also, I don’t take lives without good reason. You haven’t given me a reason. Yet,” I tack on so that he knows we’re not about to get chummy.

“Huh. Fair enough.”

Not one to linger, Douglas grunts as he picks Everett’s unconscious body off the floor before stepping into the attached professor’s quarters. Aside from the frosted windows and ice everywhere, it’s clear this is where Everett has been living since everything happened.

The towering bounty hunter deposits Everett on the bed, stretches, and turns to leave, but I cut him off.

“If you tell anyone I'm back, you won't have time to regret it before you're dead.”

“You're not much of a people person, are you?”

“Pot, kettle.”

He barks a laugh. “Believe me, I'm not interested in complicating my life by getting mixed up in whatever shitstorm you're about to create. As long as Frost keeps paying the big bucks, I'm the best ally you'll ever have, so your secret’s safe with me. Now move, because I've got a lumpy pillow and five shitty hours of sleep calling my name.”

I lock the doors once he’s gone, sensing fresh protective magic wards laid over them. Then I sit beside Everett on the bed. Either I spent the last six months getting lazy in Paradise, or resurrecting just takes a lot out of a bitch, because just sitting on a comfy bed like this makes my exhaustion ten times more noticeable.

Everett shifts slightly beside me, immediately taking my full attention. Relief sweeps over me when his glacier-colored eyes blink open in tired confusion. Then he bolts upright, the temperature plummeting even more around us—until his frantic gaze settles on me.

“Oh, fucking gods on high,” he rasps, pulling me into his arms immediately. “It was real.”

His slight mint scent surrounds me as he buries his face in my neck. His breathing picks up into the same erratic pattern he was trapped in when he whisked me back to Everbound. He's shaking as it grows even colder in here.

I hold him back just as tightly, but when I shiver, he inhales sharply and practically launches off the bed to get away.

“Damn it. You're too cold. You're too cold and it's all my fault and you can’t get close to me again or you might?—”

“Everett,” I say, trying to calm him down.

It’s too late. He's panicking again, dragging bloodstained hands through his white hair as he stumbles slightly, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

As someone who’s had more than my fair share of trauma-induced breakdowns in the past, I find it’s best to be snapped out of it. I move to his side. Ignoring his protest, I take his hand and pull him into the attached bathroom. I slip out of my boots, set my etherium knife on the counter, and reach for him.

“No. Stop. You can't keep touching me,” he chokes out even as I start removing his ripped clothing. “I’m too volatile right now. If I make the wrong move, I might freeze you or hurt you or?—”

“Does the plumbing still work?” I check, stepping behind the glass shower wall.

Whatever his answer is, I don't catch it as I turn on the shower, turning the dial to hot. I sense the slight ripple of a common magic warming charm before the shower head begins spraying me with hot water.

Thank the fucking universe. Warmth.

“Come here,” I tell Everett, not caring that my clothes are now sopping wet.

He's still breathing too fast. He readjusts his ripped shirt several times before stripping it off entirely, taking a tentative step closer, then away again. In the dim light and through the fog of glass, I can barely make out the big scar traveling down and across his torso until it stops over his right hip.

Finally, Everett demands, “Are you still hurt? Did Asher heal you?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Right now, my elemental is in a state of shock. I need to get him to focus on something until he can breathe fully and think straight. I'll just have to be the something this gorgeous legacy focuses on.

Oh, woe is me.

Through the glass, he holds my daring stare for a moment before swallowing and removing the rest of his clothes. I didn't turn on the light in here, so the only light comes from the lamp’s glow through the bathroom doorway. It's still enough light that I can make out each of Everett's small, anxious ticks as he steps behind the glass with me.

As soon as the hot spray hits his cold skin, extra steam clouds this space—but it doesn't freeze, thanks to the magic that I suspect my meticulous elemental hired someone to put on the plumbing.

I take one of his hands, guiding it to my wet coat. Everett hesitates for only a moment before gently stripping me out of the wet clothing. I don't miss his shaky exhale of relief when he doesn't see an injury on my shoulder or ankle, but he immediately grabs the nearest soap and loofah to clean the dried blood off of me.

My attempt to calm him down is working. With each second that ticks by, his breathing stabilizes until he's wholly focused. He doesn't argue when I reach for shampoo to use on his hair. When my fingers tangle in the silvery wet strands, Everett moans softly, letting his forehead drop to mine.

His voice is ragged. “Even if it’s not hurting you, you shouldn’t touch me. You have no idea how much I'm not worthy of you. Now more than ever.”

“Shh. You'll get soap in your mouth.”

“I failed you. I failed all of us. And I know I'll never deserve your forgiveness, but I need you to know that I'm so fucking sorry and?—”

While his mouth is still open, I slip two shampooed fingers inside. Everett recoils, gagging and spitting out the taste of soap. He sputters at me in indignant confusion, successfully ripped out of that spiral of self-hatred that I plan on never hearing again.

“Your mouth was spewing shit, so I cleaned it out for you,” I inform him, reaching for the body wash next.

“Maven,” he whispers. “I'm serious. I…changed. I did things I'm not proud of.”

I pause, finally considering what unpleasantnesses that might encompass. “Women?”

“What?”

“Did you fuck other women?” I clarify, trying to keep my tone conversational even though I just broke the cap of this body wash bottle as electric jealousy sears through me.

It's a reasonable question. Everett is an incredibly sexy legacy with needs. He's not a shy virgin anymore, so maybe he decided to speed up the mourning process by getting with other women. It's not like he'd have a problem finding willing partners, end of the world or not.

I don't blame other women for hopping into bed with my gorgeous elemental, but if he mentions anyone by name, I'll have to kill them for touching what's mine.

Everett has been staring at me for long enough that I'm about to repeat the question—but all at once, I'm hanging upside down, thrown over one of his shoulders. I gasp, scrambling to grip onto his wet frame as he storms out of the quickly icing-over shower. I'm abruptly pinned to his bed with him above me, cold water droplets falling from his wet hair onto me as cold air prickles all over my wet, bare body.

In this light, I can finally see the pure, savage fury etched into his beautifully scarred face. It takes my breath away.

“Tell me you did not just fucking ask me if I was sleeping with other women while I spent months in agony trying to remember how to fucking breathe without you,” he warns darkly.

“Everett—”

My pulse jumps when one of his hands suddenly circles my neck, the gentle pressure making my lips part. His ice eyes bore into mine.

“Ask me again. Ask me if I cheated on you.”

“Technically, it’s not cheating since I was kind of dead,” I point out.

Yikes. That was the wrong thing to say. He’s even more pissed off now.

“I got one good thing in life. You . And just like that, you were gone. Dead in my arms . Do you have any fucking idea what that did to me?”

The raw brokenness in his voice hurts me.

My poor snow angel. I reach up to cradle his perfect face, drawing it closer until I can kiss his scarred jaw.

“I’m beginning to,” I whisper.

And then I kiss him.