Page 59 of Eternal Light (Fated in the Stars #5)

The voice is layered. Tone upon tone, each word echoing in Nix’s mind—his soul—just as it had been all the other times They had spoken to him.

Those moments from the past rush through him—the memories he’d forgotten. Not just when he was a child in the forest, or crawling down the hall of Dawson’s apartment building, or trying to surface during the agony of his transition.

New memories, from a million other occurrences.

Through thousands of lifetimes, Their voice has been a part of his DNA, down to the cellular level.

He is the Goddess, and They are him. He is Chosen.

He doesn’t even need to agree; he just opens his bonds further, letting Their love and truth fill him to overflowing.

“Stop.”

Aleksander’s remaining eye widens as the tainted vortex of souls he had stolen is sucked back into his chest, where it does not belong.

Once freed, his blackened soul is unable to hold them, and they continue to emanate outward in waves, surrounding him with a smoking black aura.

It is time for Them to stop this, once and for all.

“Aleksander,” They say, “It is time for you to return to The Plain. We have heard enough. Seen enough.”

They are filled with more sorrow than They have ever felt before—almost as much as when They let Their Sun God mate abandon Their children and Their home.

“We regret Our decision to allow you to continue to tip the balance of Life in this life, as you have done, every time over.”

They have always believed in second—even third—chances, but never before has there been such a corrupted soul in the fabric of time.

Time flows through Their fingers; flashes of the worst moments—not even all of them—stream from Their memories. While Humans are not usually within Their jurisdiction, those who access Their Plain most certainly are.

The fountain of life that They have given is of Their creation.

It is of Them.

Their purest essence.

A gift.

It is only now that They have finally gathered all They need to purge this soul from time. After so many lifetimes and planes of existence, now They have these men, in this configuration, in this time, with Their Chosen to lead them.

“It is time,” They murmur, moving Their Chosen’s small fingers to Aleksander’s ruined forehead.

The black churning mass stings Their Chosen as it is the antithesis of all he is, but Their Chosen is brave, used to pain and suffering.

They feel another sliver of regret for those times when They had lost Their Chosen to a simple pendant forged, not to thwart Them in a master plan, but out of simple, insidious greed.

Vowing, as Their Chosen persists through blistering skin, that They will never let him suffer cruelty again, in this life or next.

As much as it is in Their power, he will be blessed.

“It is time.”

They begin to draw the tainted souls through the corrupted one’s flesh, one after the other. His soul is so bloated with death magic that several have been set free before he finally resists.

“Hey! No, that’s mine. I earned it. It’s mine!” he shouts as They release even more into the ether, the destroyed souls returning to the magic from which they were created.

Each is judged in the freeing for their transgressions—some to be reborn as Their gift for unwitting sacrifice, in hopes they will atone in a new life. Others, however, meet their last incarnation, feeding The Plain and never to be reborn again.

“We unravel your corrupted soul, Aleksander Withers. You are Unmade.”

Their corrupted child screams as They strip his evil down to the molecule, until nothing remains.

There is grief and remorse, but also relief that—finally—it is done.

They allow Their gratitude to overflow, and They let Their blessing fill Their words:

Thank you, Nix. You are Our Chosen; Our gift. Live well, child, you are blessed.

Nix feels Them go—feels the softest hand through his hair, and lips on his cheek right where They had kissed him as a child.

They may be gone from his mind, though never fully from him.

As he clings tightly to his bonds and with Jamie’s steady arms around him, he can finally let go.

***

“Back off, Fuzzball,” a woman’s voice says firmly, and it’s met with a responding growl from Rowan-wolf.

“Give him some air. I could have stayed home with the lovely Tsuki if I’d wanted to smell dog breath, Rowan.”

“Mom, Ro, be nice, please,” Nix mutters.

It’s decided: being a wolf has done no good for Rowan’s manners. It’s as if all his human niceties have been scraped away or buried under his fur. It’s not like Lauren can’t handle it, but still—what will everyone think?

There’s a chuckle and a squeeze, followed by a flood of patchouli, basil, and vanilla billowing out from beneath him. “I think they can handle it, Angel.”

It’s enough for Nix to open his eyes as the rest of his senses come online.

The sun is high over the water, slicing through the clouds in streamers of bright shades of gold, yellow, and orange. It’s ethereal. Almost divine, casting the rampart in alternating pockets of light and dark.

“I’m happy to see you in one piece, my dear,” Lauren says warmly, one of her rare smiles gracing her face. “Though I’m sorry I missed the showdown.”

Her hand moves gently over his hair, smoothing it with care, before tilting his chin up slightly, her touch gentle.

“He was epic,” Luca chimes in from beside him, wrapped in a gray blanket and sitting between Finn’s legs.

He’s holding Nix’s hand in a firm grip, but Nix can feel Finn’s fingers resting on his pulse as well.

“I have no doubt about that,” she says with a smile, then stands from her crouch. “Come on, Gideon, we best make sure things aren’t going to shit.”

Gideon’s eyes go wide at being included, but he only runs a hand over Nix’s hair before following after.

“When did she arrive?” Nix asks no one in particular, watching her walk away in her black tactical gear, her graying black hair tied in a high ponytail.

Rowan heads off in the other direction without a word.

Without a word. Ha. Wolves can’t talk.

“About fifteen minutes ago?” Finn whispers. “You collapsed after Withers, uh…” He raises his eyebrows and waggles his fingers in a flyaway motion. “They swarmed the house like ants. She said she knew we’d need cleanup and someone to run interference with the civilians.”

About twenty people move purposefully across the rampart, bagging Aleksander’s clothing and the knife, while others pack candles and iron shackles into a large box.

Jamie and Leo are speaking with another agent nearby, Jamie waving off a Were medic.

When Jamie catches his eye, Nix blows him a kiss, grinning when his cheeks flush red.

The agent glances over at them and smiles indulgently before saying something that makes Leo nudge his alpha and laugh.

Rowan-wolf returns, carrying his torn clothing in his mouth. He drops the bundle beside Finn and sits, placing a paw on the zippered pocket that crinkles under the weight.

Finn sighs but unzips the pocket. “I miss your opposable thumbs, Ro.”

“I like him like this,” Luca whispers, moving closer to Rowan so he can lean in and rub his face against the soft fur.

“I like him quiet like this, too,” Finn says, opening the snack packet. “Can I just give it to him, or is there something you need to do?”

Rowan-wolf rolls his eyes before shimmering light envelops his body, leaving him in his person-form again.

“Nah, I got it. Nix? Gray?” He offers them both the tiny bags of animal crackers.

Nix leans back into Grayson’s warm chest, letting him bear his weight.

“Thank you. But maybe you should…” He waves a hand at Rowan. “…well, you’re buck-naked.”

“Yeah, so?” Rowan shrugs a single broad shoulder.

With zero restraint, Luca slides a cold hand down between Rowan’s legs until he swats him away with a yelp.

Laughing quietly, Grayson slips a soft hand inside the back of Nix’s shirt, sliding it around to rest over their babies.

Nix hadn’t realized it was what he needed until it was happening, as touch and food do wonders for his fatigue and brain fog.

“You’ve got fans,” Luca laughs, pointing over Rowan’s shoulder at three agents who are frozen, staring at Nix’s very handsome mate’s very impressive dick.

He’s considering giving them a piece of his mind for their audacity in ogling what’s his, when Rowan wisely grabs Leo’s suit jacket from over the wall to cover his lap.

“I think they liked what they saw,” Finn laughs, flinching immediately afterward, pressing a hand to the back of his head.

“You would know,” Rowan retorts, waggling his eyebrows. “But seriously, how is your head?”

“I’ve not had any complaints so far.”

It feels good to laugh, because not one of them has complaints about Finn’s head game.

“Seriously, though. You’re okay? I felt our bond go out before, and I was worried,” Nix asks.

Jamie makes his way over, while Leo is stopped by Lauren with a hand on her son’s arm.

Nix doesn’t watch them, as mother and son seem tentative and unsure, and neither would appreciate the audience.

“You should have seen him,” their leader says, pride warming his tone.

Jamie runs a hand over Finn’s hair, careful of his injury, before sitting down beside Grayson and Nix on the cold stone.

“He tackled Withers, ready to end him like an avenging angel.”

“Jay, no.”

It’s not false modesty that causes Finn’s bond with Nix to twinge—it’s shame.

“What? Why? You were fucking amazing,” Jamie says, surprise clear on his face.

Finn shakes his head and squares his shoulders, his belief in what he’s going to say clear in his firm tone. He’s dead serious.

“Look, I’d do it again. The Goddess knows he got what he deserved, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I dedicate my life to doing no harm and…if I didn’t have to do it again, that would be good, too. I will not be proud of it, you know?”

They fall silent for a moment.

Nix catches Finn’s eye and smiles, reaching for his hand. “You’re a good man, Finn Merritt.”