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14

Sylvia

B reathe. Just breathe.

The back window of the motel room led directly to the woods stretching behind the building. I ventured deep enough among the trees to hide the motel from sight.

I could almost pretend that there were no humans for miles and miles.

I inhaled deeply, shakily, as though the fresh scent of cornflower and thyme might heal me from the inside. Peace washed through me with each brush against greenery, clean air filling my lungs. Every forest was sacred. Even this one, with its heavy air, held tranquility like a communal prayer.

My satchel, brimming with the fresh herbs I had foraged, bumped against my hip as I flitted about to keep busy. I carefully arranged cornflower petals in a runic pattern upon a branch—a private offering for the stars to gaze upon. Such formal gifts were typically reserved for Solstice celebrations with the entire village, but a near-death experience felt like a worthy enough occasion.

Wings aching, I was tempted to have a seat on the branch, but perfect stillness would bring me no comfort. The remnants of magic exhaustion and my brush with iron continued to throb through my body and soul. My heart lay in pieces, desperate for commiseration.

Yet, my first instinct was to flee when I awoke in the motel room an hour ago.

I had scrambled off the pillow and sprang into the air, expecting to find myself back in that awful fighting arena with a throng of hunters jeering at me.

But there was only Jon, his expression rising with relief—only to fall again when I flew right past him. He said something—perhaps an apology or a question—but I didn’t listen. I stammered an excuse that I was low on rosewater and needed to forage. Even when he offered to put salve on the iron wound I couldn’t heal, I fled without another word.

He didn’t give chase.

My reasonable excuse was that I couldn’t bear to be inside. Couldn’t bear to be confined within a structure so damn human .

The whole, cruel truth was too tangled in brambles for me to touch. Facing near death at his hands had finally made me realize it.

I loved him, and it was too late to save myself from the ache that would come with it. I loved him, and I wanted to howl at the sky for the entire world to hear.

I love him, I love him, I love him.

But what did it matter, if fate seemed determined to keep us apart? We were constantly pushed to the brink, nearly destroying each other as we fought across the tethers that separated us. Love wasn’t always beautiful. It was fucking poison when you couldn’t have what you wanted.

I didn’t even know if he felt the same way. From where I stood, all of our assertions to not get attached felt flimsy. But perhaps he was stronger than me.

One of the petals in my offering was askew. In my haste to fix it, I crumpled its delicate texture. I gritted my teeth, tempted to sweep the entire pattern away in a fury.

Stars , could I not do this one simple thing right?

The tears I’d muscled down threatened to resurface again, but I set the damaged petal back into the arrangement. I supposed that was fitting—one twisted piece in an otherwise perfect collection.

The stars see perfection differently than we do, my love . Mother’s voice was calm and certain in my memory.

An ache burrowed through my chest. Embarrassment flashed through me in the same instant. How many times had I brought up my family, my old home, or lost friends in the past months? Each restaurant the hunters introduced me to had me rambling about Mother’s cooking and the Elysian kitchens. Each new animal was an excuse to note down every detail for Hazel.

I’d quelled my pathetically redundant mentions in recent weeks, but that didn’t mean that the memories haunted me any less. I didn’t stop thinking of Mother and Hazel with any amount of space between us. I thought of them every minute.

When I was with the hunters, sometimes that gaping hole in my heart felt less cavernous. Now, it felt bottomless and vast. Unfillable. I just wanted to see my family right now. Just for a moment.

My gaze drifted to the forest floor below me. Before I knew it, I was gliding down to land at the foot of the oak tree. I pushed aside dead leaves, my fingers moving for the soil packed beneath. I could have traced the symbol blindly. My fingers plunged into the soil, my heels burning as I crouched, moving hurriedly—forming the spectral rune.

After stealing a glance around the woods, confirming my solitude from humans and safety from birds of prey, I laid down on the ground and whispered the spell.

I blinked in the dazzling familiar periwinkle. I breathed deeply—not that there was air here exactly. No breeze. No earthy scent of the forest. I flexed my hands in front of me, noticing the ache from my strenuous fight absent now. The iron wound marring my shoulder was gone—my skin held no blemishes here, other than the traitor mark I couldn’t see.

Home.

The single word gave shape to the rudderless magic in my blood. I didn’t care that the nomadic journals warned against it—I willed my memories to resurrect around me. Smoky images of willow fronds danced through the luminous void first, then whirling earthen walls. It was dizzying, like I was flying without spreading my wings.

Home.

My fingers curled, my intention strengthening without reservation. Shadowy, dim surroundings took form around me. I was nestled deep under the earth, with soft moss crawling over parts of the domed ceiling above me. My family’s hearth room in Elysia.

The details wavered like trying to peer through a foggy window. Each clicked into place with startling clarity the longer I looked at each spot. The wide stone fireplace was crackling gently. A stove sat beside it, radiating heat I could nearly feel as a dented kettle of herbal tea simmered. The counters were wooden, surfaces worn smooth and gleaming from years of use. Shelves dominated one wall, packed with jars of dried flowers, spices, and berries.

Two arched corridors led off from the hearth room, leading to the two bedrooms. I muscled down the sudden urge to sprint toward the hall that led to my old bedroom, to burst inside and collapse on my quilted bed beside Hazel.

In the center of the kitchen, a round table sat with chairs neatly tucked around. The clay pot I had crafted when I was seven was at the center, stuffed with wilting wildflowers that threatened to overwhelm it. The table was set for tea, with a plate of ginger tarts at the center—all the makings of a quiet Elysian morning, when it was just Mother, Hazel, and me in the comforting solitude of our dormitory.

As the dizziness passed, and I stopped looking for holes in the illusion, my gaze stilled on the table.

It was set for four .

Above the fireplace, a family portrait was hung, aged bronze framing the canvas in subtle ivy designs. Frowning, I stepped deeper into the memory, tasting the moment frozen in time. That painting hadn’t hung there in years; Mother had long ago tucked it into a spare wardrobe, wrapped in a sheet. Which meant—this was the Elysia from my childhood.

I stood before the painting. I hadn’t thought about it or even seen it in years, but my mind conjured it so clearly as though it had never left. The four of us—laughter sparkling in every gaze. Blissfully unknowing of what lay ahead.

Mother’s red hair spilled down her shoulders in waves, the way mine did when I’d been little. Father was seated beside her, his strong jaw and flinty blue eyes complementing her regal features. His chin-length tawny blonde hair was exactly how I remembered it. He often joked boastfully how lucky he was that both girls took after their radiant Mother—apart from Hazel, who shared his striking eyes.

He was holding Hazel in the crook of his arm, her cheek resting against his chest. She’d been such a round, giggly toddler back then—a terror even before her wings fully developed.

Stars , I missed her.

And then there was me, standing all of eleven summers, trying to look older than I was and likely fighting the urge to squirm with impatience. An odd mix of compassion and sadness gripped me as I stared into my own face.

Suddenly, everything felt too real. Sensations were supposed to be muted in the spectral realm, but I could practically smell the fragrant steam wafting off the tea. If I closed my eyes and focused, I could picture my family behind that bedroom door. Mother and Father fussing over Hazel.

I took a step toward the door, my mouth dry. I swore that was the dulcet rumble of my father’s voice. Would I be able to see them all here? Speak to Father beyond the grave?

My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob. What would I say to him? The murmured conversation continued. I could hear them clearly now—

From the other side, the doorknob rattled and turned.

I gasped, staggering back. No, I couldn’t do this. My back slammed into the dining table, sending a chair onto its side and porcelain teacups shattering on the floor. I felt gravity give out beneath me as I whispered the release spell in a panicked, hurried breath.

Back in my body, I wrenched upright, sucking in a deep breath of clean forest air.

“ Fuck !” I frantically swept my hand through the dirt to break the rune—as though the memory might chase me back into the real world.

I sat with my knees to my chest, grounding myself to the sounds of the woods around me. My breaths labored, heart thudding in my chest like a hummingbird trying to break free of a cage.

Even for a first attempt, the illusion had been vivid. The nomadic journals hadn’t been so blinded after all. If I had devoted more energy, perhaps I would have seen Father there—Hazel and Mother in the golden light of my memories. It would be enough to make anyone want to stay. Perhaps never leave at all.

Snap .

I flinched at the sound of a twig crunching. My wings flew open, lifting me into a hover—out of reach, at least seven feet in the air. I’d been vigilant for owls and hawks while I wandered, but as I strained my ears against the ambient humming of insects, this rhythm was distinctly human. Slow, deliberate footsteps over fallen leaves.

My mind immediately went to Rhett. After what I’d done to him, of course he would hunt me down and strip me for parts like he’d intended for that poor siren.

Though my surface wounds were healed, my graze from the iron still left me shaky as I tried to muster magic to my hands. This time, I had no gem shard to help me. Frost curled up to my elbows. It would have to be enough. No one would thaw him out this time.

The moment the man’s shadow emerged from the trees below, I shot a hard line of frost at his head.

The man cursed, his deep voice carrying in the trees as he ducked. The tension in my shoulders went slack.

“Hey, take it easy before you pass the fuck out again,” Cliff called, peering up at my tree. He held up his hands in mock surrender before dusting off his long-sleeved tee from remnants of frost. He spotted me and offered a sportive little smile in greeting.

Embarrassment mingled with relief. “I thought you were…” I swallowed, glancing through the forest. No more footsteps. Only him. I shook my head. “What are you doing, anyway? Here to babysit me?” The words came with more bitterness than I’d intended, but I couldn’t shake the image of the boys conspiring to take shifts to keep a watchful eye on me after the events at the outpost.

“Stealing your idea. It’s nice out here,” he said. “Good place to get drunk.”

“It’s nice over there , too.” I pointed off in a random direction of the forest.

“Move me.”

“If you’d like to stay for target practice, be my guest,” I said gamely, summoning particles of ice around my hands.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Light up that magic again, and I won’t share any of this.” He pulled out his favorite flask and gave it an enticing shake. If there was ever a time to get a little drunk…

No . I needed to stay vigilant.

But a few sips wouldn’t hurt.

“This is whiskey,” he said, falling to a seat at the base of my tree as I drifted down to meet him. “ Don’t chug it.” He poured a bit into the cap for me and handed it off.

I perched on his bent knee and raised the liquor to my lips. “Doesn’t stop you.”

I thanked him quietly, eyeing him suspiciously over the metallic rim of the cap.

“If you came out to tell me what a dumbass I am, save it. I don’t need a lecture,” I said before he could open his mouth.

The drink burned my throat, but it was the gentle look in Cliff’s eyes that made the tears I had been holding back spill free without my consent.

“You’ve been through some tough shit today. You came out the other side of it but… I didn’t think you should be alone,” he said.

I sniffled, wiping my eyes hurriedly though I knew it was too late. I allowed my walls to drop, swallowing as I looked at him, beseeching. The mere extension of kindness made the weight of everything crash down on me with renewed heaviness—fighting Jon for our lives, the car swerving into the water, the dark stares of the elders as I was banished from the only home I had ever known.

“Can you just—can you tell me everything is going to be okay?” I croaked out.

Cliff studied me hard, and I could see a tough shit, sweetheart talk on its way.But he surprised me—cupping his hand around me with a solidity that made me feel molten and safe, the way he might’ve thrown an arm around my shoulders.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” Cliff murmured .

I indulged the heat of his touch for a few moments. My exhaustion deepened, beckoned by the delicious comfort that Cliff’s presence promised. His familiar features—strong jaw dusted with a faint five o’ clock shadow and mossy eyes—were a solace in any storm. No longer a predator hunting me, but my ally. My friend.

But I could be stronger than this. I wiped my puffy eyes on my sleeve, pushing him away.

“I’m not convinced,” I mumbled.

Cliff rolled his eyes, cracking a wider smile. “Oh my God . What do you want, then?”

“A do-over, starting with yesterday,” I said, looking down at my distorted reflection in the whiskey. “Maybe all of this would have turned out differently if I could have just kept my shit together in the car with that damn storm. That’s when everything started going to hell.”

“Sweetheart, things started going wrong when you decided a haunted house was a good place to spend your Friday nights.” Cliff chuckled, throwing back another sip from the flask. He sucked on the liquid for a moment, his gaze turning flighty. “On the road during the storm… I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I know those panic attacks aren’t your fault.”

I blinked. An actual apology ? From him? “Back home, I would take myself straight to the ice caverns if a thunderstorm was brewing. It was a safe outlet for the inevitable magic that burst from the panic.” I wiggled my fingers with a bitter smile. Weak. Always so weak. “Maybe my magic could’ve protected me better if it was storming out there today.”

“Hey—you handled yourself just fine. Pretty badass, actually,” Cliff said. I gave him a flat look that only emboldened him. “Seriously! I swear I saw one guy piss himself when you got the upper hand with that spear. The back and forth was insane. If I wasn’t shitting bricks myself, I would’ve thought to record it. ”

His voice lifted with fervor that was hard to refute. A smileghosted my lips at the thought that some of the cruel onlookers had suffered a little indirect misfortune at my hands—much to Cliff’s obvious relief.

I took a thoughtful drag of my drink. “Sounds more like you were turned on.”

He hesitated for too long before scoffing, “You wish.”

My mouth dropped open in surprise, and laughter promptly mingled with my tears. “ Stars , you were!”

“Don’t kink shame me.” He nudged my left shoulder lightly, but his eyes widened when I winced at the contact. “Fuck, Sylv. How bad does it hurt?”

I peeked at the angry red mark and shrugged. “More annoying than anything. I think I’m going to have to heal like a… human .” I shuddered dramatically.

His smile didn’t entirely mask the worry in his eyes as he glanced at the gathering clouds overhead. “Looks like rain soon. Will you be okay?”

“Those don’t look like thunder clouds. Trust me, when you grow up paranoid about storms, you learn to tell the difference.”

His brow furrowed, gaze searching. “What happened with you and storms, anyway?”

“Jon hasn’t told you already?”

When he shook his head, my insides stirred with a feeling I couldn’t place. When we had first met, Jon shared everything I told him with Cliff. At some point in the last two months, something must have shifted.

“When I was a child, my father and I were training far from the home willow—as far as we were allowed, anyway. He’d chosen the storm by design. He was showing me how to morph heavy rain into icicles without slashing myself to ribbons. And… he’d been experimenting all day, so he used gem magic to ke ep from tiring out.”

I chewed my lip at the memory. His paling face, his fluttering eyelids as I cried for him to get back up. The unpolished ruby glinting dully in the mud.

“The gem magic overtook him,” I said. “For hours, I was alone with the thunder bellowing at me.”

Cliff sucked in a breath, shaking his head. “What a way to go.”

“No—he recovered,” I said. “He was lucky. The healers yelled at him when he was back in their ward, though—I’d never heard them do that before. It wasn’t until a few years later that his obsession with gemstones finally ended him.”

“I’m sorry.” Cliff’s eyes flickered away from me, resting on a random tree ahead of us. After a measured pause, he asked, “Aren’t you worried that’ll happen to you?”

“I don’t have his ambition,” I said.

“Well, that’s just bullshit.”

“Really,” I insisted, chuckling ruefully. “Besides, I’m not having much luck getting my hands on a full gemstone, so what’s there to worry about?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You used that little gem to turn Rhett into an ice sculpture, didn’t you? Any power left in that thing?”

I’d glimpsed it on the nightstand before fleeing the motel room. Each day I hadn’t used it felt like a victory. And now… “Empty,” I said bitterly. “It’s nothing more than a worthless stone now.” My throat tightened at the knowledge that I’d likely tuck it back amongst my things anyway. “Mother said that Father would have wanted me to have it. I suppose we have them to thank for escaping with our lives.”

Cliff tipped the flask to his lips instead, pulling a long swallow. “Gotta say, I envy you.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I quipped, rolling my eyes.

He nudged my shoulder for this, giving me a half-smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m serious. I mean—having a father who actually gave a shit. Seems like he was a solid guy before the gemstone stuff.” He looked away, jaw tightening. “Can’t fathom seeing eye-to-eye with my old man like that. Hell, he made it his personal mission to make sure I knew what a fuck-up I was to him. Every damn day, like I might forget it.”

“Your father—” I nearly swallowed down the words, a vice around my heart. “He hit you?”

His eyes dropped, smile so tight it was almost a grimace. “On special occasions.”

Horror rippled through me like a silent, seeping wound. The Elders of Elysia left discipline to each family, only involving themselves in extreme cases that surfaced—but it was rare. So rare. I’d only once heard that Damian’s uncle grew volatile after a particularly festive Solstice feast. It was difficult to imagine Cliff as a soft-faced teenager. He won every fight he entered. I’d seen vampires cower from his advance.

I stirred from my drifting thoughts as Cliff set down his flask, pulling out a set of three tactical throwing knives from his jeans pocket. I hadn’t noticed the slight shape jutting against the denim earlier, but I had long since learned to temper my surprise when he pulled weapons from his person. His demeanor was contemplative, almost sullen as he unwound the leather case on his lap and grabbed the first knife in his hand, pinching it by the blade.

“My old man was a hunter—just deer and rabbits. No demonic bastards,” Cliff said, more to the blade than to me. “By the time I was eight, he had a Savage Rascal in my hands and dragged me out with him every weekend on his trips. I hated it. Not the noise so much as the killing part, watching the light leave the animal’s eyes. First time I landed a shot—lodged right in the buck’s neck—” Cliff paused to give a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “I cried, and he smacked me for it. Wouldn’t let me look away as it died.”

Cliff’s wrist twitched in a quick flick. Air rushed as the blade soared across the clearing and embedded itself in the trunk of the tree across from us with a clean thunk. He glanced at me as he reached for the next knife, revealing the guarded glint buried there. My heart ached, but I didn’t dare breathe a word. When was the last time someone had offered him comfort, had hugged him?

“See, it was a decent shot but not good . I missed the heart because I’d been shaking so bad. I remember begging— begging him to kill it for me. Bastard let it suffer until the light went out for good.” Cliff sucked through his teeth and threw another knife. It landed directly beneath the first, separated by six inches or so.

“As I got older, he kept bringing me along on those hunting trips, and I kept getting better. Turns out I had a natural aptitude for precision once I stopped shaking like a leaf. He even shelled out five grand to hire some douchey tutor from out of state. The day I outdid that guy… Only time I ever caught my father looking proud of me. And for a second, I thought things would be different.”

“I’m sorry,” I finally croaked. Months of wondering—and now, I didn’t know what the hell to say. He was offering me something more valuable than any amount of money or gold—a piece of himself.

Cliff shrugged, offering a humorless smile. “It wasn’t all a waste. When things hit the fan with Jon’s dad, we were scared shitless and I was the only one who could land a shot on the son of a bitch—besides Tammy of course, when she finally found us.”

He threw the last knife, completing the perfect constellation in the tree.

“Your dad was a fucking asshole,” I said, after pulling together my thoughts.

This pulled an appreciative chuckle out of him. “Well, maybe he did have a point along the way. Look at me—violence is all I’m good for. At least now I’m killing things that actually deserve it. ”

My throat felt so tight, I could barely swallow. Stars, I wanted to be human if only so I could cup his cheek this very instant, force him to look back at me until he believed what I knew of him.

“Gwen told me you ran from this life once,” I ventured.

“I was young. Moment of weakness.” Cliff smirked, reaching for the flask. “Don’t pity me, Sylv. I’ve made peace with a hunter’s death.”

“But what about living ?” I persisted softly, leaning forward. I thought of how Jon lit up when he allowed himself to contemplate another future. “Jon and I are impeccable company naturally, but… Don’t you ever think about a family?”

His laugh was deep and full now. “Can you imagine me with a couple of kids and a mortgage? Don’t waste your worrying on me. This is my choice, and I’m good with it. Saving people beats the hell out of going to some stuffy Ivy League university to land a job as a corporate tool.”

I pursed my lips, sipping at my whiskey. It was nearly drained, to my surprise.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?”

Cliff nodded, studying me. “You want that? Family, kids, the whole nine yards?”

My stomach flipped a little, but my head felt buzzy and light. Whiskey was delicious and I couldn’t remember why I ever gave Cliff a hard time for nursing a glass.

“You’re asking hard questions,” I pouted.

Cliff shot me a goading smile. “Are you tipsy already?”

“Duh.” I rolled my eyes at him, but I thought hard, trying to picture it—wings heavy and flightless, a baby in my belly. “My mother asked me so much over the last few years, I got used to saying ‘ no ’. But now… I’m not sure anymore. Maybe with the right partner, someday. ”

“You miss it? Elysia?”

The sound of my home village on Cliff’s lips still sent a shiver down my spine—equal parts pleasant and chilling. “I don’t know. I miss parts of it. Probably not as much as I should. Not as much as I miss my family.”

He nodded, shadows in his gaze. Another gulp from his flask before it was finished and he let it drop in the grass beside him. “Yeah, I get that. You miss what you wanted it to be.”

“I wish I knew for sure if Mother will be waiting at Aelthorin when we finally arrive. I keep imagining arriving after all this effort, all this time… Only for the village to turn me away in disgust because of this thing.” I leaned the cap against my knee and drummed my fingers against the traitor mark unfurled over my cheek.

“You remember what you do to the people who fuck with you?” Cliff asked, a little too matter-of-fact for my taste. “You kill them.”

He looked like he was kidding, but I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t.

“That can’t be the only solution,” I chuckled.

“But it is the most effective.”

I snorted. “A fine introduction—‘ be nice to me, or I’ll kill you.’”

“ Works for me,” Cliff said.

My answering smile must’ve betrayed my dread. Something gave in Cliff’sexpression the way it so rarely did, and his hand shifted, sweeping me up in a sudden embrace to his neck.

“Hey—don’t worry right now,” he said, his deep voice resonating into my bones. “It’ll be fine.”

I nearly protested— you don’t know shit that it’ll be fine —but I felt so deliciously safe in his grasp, his body heat radiating into my bones, that I didn’t have it in me. I melted against him, letting my wings fold and relax. He smelled familiar, like cedar and whiskey and the cheap shower gel provided by the motel. It all amalgamated into a masculine scent that was uniquely him.

I felt pleasantly numb, my head buzzing. My anxieties had been cast across the meadow. I shifted in Cliff’s grip, taking him in. Under the hem of his dark tee, tattoos crawled up the strong curve of his neck. Not for the first time, I wondered what it would taste like if I gave that tribal swirl a gentle bite, sinking my teeth into his skin.

Stars , where had that thought come from?

While he was still stroking me, he said, “It’ll be good for you to be with your own people.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” I said into his shirt. “I knew you would ruin the moment.”

“Shut up. I mean, I’d be exhausted, too, if our places were swapped and I was the only human for miles. It’s not natural to be alone.”

“I’m not alone. And if I find a charged gemstone, then you and Jon will be my people, too.”

Cliff gave an odd pause. “Unless that spell is janky, or only lasts a day like you’ve been worried about.”

“Then you’ll be my people for a day,” I scoffed, warmed by the thought. I couldn’t see his face, but Cliff’s touch became so gentle I wondered if he wasn’t secretly pleased by it too. “Didn’t you come out here to make me feel better ?”

“Let’s say your family’s really at the village,” he said, softer caution in his voice. “Say this place welcomes you with open arms. Your first choice is to stay there, right?”

“I… Of course.”

“Convincing.”

“Is it too much to want both?” I blurted, frustrated that I’d allowed liquor to loosen my tongue this much. “To have a home without losing you two? ”

He scoffed. “Let’s not bullshit each other. You mostly mean Jon .”

“I care about you, too!”

“Sure, but we’re not the ones frolicking in comatose-city every other night.”

“The invitation is still open…”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the last three times.”

I giggled—and it felt good to laugh.

“Hey, serious question.” I leaned back, catching his eye. “If I was human, would you fuck me?”

Cliff’s eyebrows jumped up. As he recovered, I was pleased to see his eyes rake over my body appraisingly—matching the impish glint in my own.

“Yes, but it would be purely carnal,” he said, making a sweeping motion with his other hand. “No cuddling afterward.”

I grinned at him, dropping my head back onto his shoulder. “That’s what I thought, too.”

We shared a soft laugh. I felt him turn his gaze back out at the forest, and the rhythm of his stroking continued over my shoulders and side.

I let the quiet stretch for a few moments. I could feel Cliff’s mind wandering, his concerns lingering like a fog between us.

“I don’t want to hurt Jon,” I offered quietly. “He and I shouldn’t want anything to do with each other, I know . But we were meant to meet. I can feel it in my bones. Why is it so difficult?”

“I don’t know,” Cliff murmured.

“I didn’t ask to be like this—some freak ,” I said, my throat closing around the word. It was vile, but utterly resonated.

Cliff scoffed out a dry chuckle, unyielding to my festering self-pity. “We’re all freaks, Sylv. Some of us just wear it on our sleeves more than others.”

His fingers trailed down my wings comfortingly, lingering on the faint, jagged outline of the bullet scar that marred the elegant swirls. I stilled, feeling how he paused over the irregular membrane again and again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, soft and sudden.

I patted his shoulder, glancing up at him. “Ancient history.”

“Not to me. Your world wouldn’t have been knocked off its axis if I hadn’t…” Cliff stopped short, wrestling over his words. He shook his head, brow furrowed deeply. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, but I’m here . Till the end of the road—whatever that looks like for you.”

Warmth rushed through me—along with the startling revelation that Cliff was haunted by that first night. It had been his gunshot that had forced our fateful meeting, but sometimes I wondered if the stars hadn’t had some plan set into motion long before I had ever flown beyond Elysia’s perimeter.

Despite everything, I managed a watery chuckle. “What’s with all the petting? Were you that worried about me?”

“Nah, I knew you’d be fine.” He pointedly continued stroking me, and perhaps just to alleviate my tears a bit more, he added, “Actually, it’s starting to make me feel better, too. But if you tell anyone I said that, I really will chuck you out the car window.”

“Consider my lips sealed— Oh! ”

My giggle seized up when his gentle touch swept under my wings and grazed the base of them at my back. The contact was thoughtless, but it stole the breath from my lungs and made warmth flood me like wildfire.

“Don’t touch me there!” I blurted, squirming.

He stopped at once. “Shit—did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s…” I snickered, resting my forehead against his neck. “Stars. That spot is sensitive , you know what I’m getting at?”

Cliff pulled me away like I’d burned him, gaping at me in horror. “ Ew , did I just give you a fairy boner? ”

My face surged with heat, but I burst into laughter. “Oh, shut up! As if you’re not going to fall asleep memorizing what Jon and I looked like pitted against each other.”

He almost denied it.

When Cliff unlocked the motel room, I pulled to a shocked hover just past the threshold.

“Are we under attack?” I breathed.

The wardrobe door was entirely removed from its hinges and propped against the wall. The supply of silver lay strewn about, bullets and blades half-sorted. The paper they’d lifted from Rhett lay atop it all. I couldn’t bring myself to examine the sheet, not with the way Jon sat at the edge of his bed, head in his hands with a half-empty bottle of liquor threatening to spill its meager contents on the sheets beside him.

“Hey, man,” Cliff said far too casually as he closed the door behind him. “Dumb question, but you doing okay?”

Jon looked up, blinking hard like he’d only just noticed our presence. He averted his eyes from me and regarded the broken closet door.

“Oh. I was—I was just trying to put away some clothes. Dunno what happened.” He started to get up to fix it, but Cliff ushered him back to the bed.

Stars, I’d never seen him so drunk. His high cheekbones were flushed, giving his eyes an unfocused, glossy sheen. His wavy hair was disheveled with a lock falling across his forehead that I longed to reach out and tuck back into place. He sank into the bed, head resting heavily on the pillows as the room no doubt spun around him. Despite everything, my soul tugged at the sight of him—wanting nothing more than to offer some kind of solid comfort.

But as I watched Cliff prop a second pillow under his head, I wasn’t sure I could do it like this.

“Thanks,” Jon mumbled.

“You know the drill. If you puke, you’re on your own,” Cliff said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Jon scowled at this. “ Jódete. I’m fine.”

I glided over the nightstand, weaving between them. The way Jon’s face fell at the sight of me nearly threw my resolve.

“Would you grab the burlap bag in the bottom drawer?” I asked, turning to Cliff. I didn’t miss the way his expression clouded for a moment. We both knew what was in that bag.

“Sure that’s a good idea?” He gave me a somewhat reproachful look as he moved to pull open the nightstand drawer.

I landed delicately on the pillow and faltered, registering that the concern buried in his gaze was for me , too. I offered him a small smile.

“This spell won’t drain me like typical magic. I promise. If anything, it recharges me to visit.” Although it didn’t do the same for Jon… I imagined he would benefit in another way. I worried my lower lip with my teeth, softening my voice as though Jon wasn’t lying directly beside us.“I think he needs to see me.”

“Sometimes I think you make up these magic rules just to shut me up,” Cliff muttered, setting the bag down and loosening the drawstring.

I smirked. “If I’m lying, then I’m learning from the best.”

I knelt and gathered fistfuls of the earth we had collected in North Carolina. It had become bone dry from our travels, more difficult to work with as I hurried to form the spectral rune across the taut surface of the pillowcase. Jon watched me intently, but he didn’t say a word, either in protest or encouragement.

“Keep an eye on things out here?” I asked, glancing up at Cliff.

“Yeah, I think I can handle five minutes of guard duty.” He sat on the neighboring bed, sketchbook and pencil in hand.

I traced the circular rune with the brush of a fingertip and whispered the spell. I met Jon’s gaze, searching for a kernel of consent. He placed his hand next to me in answer. Magic roaring in my ears, I touched the side of his hand and pulled us both into the spectral plane.

Our private sanctuary blossomed around us. We were no longer on the motel bed, now standing before each other on ground that seemed smudged with the horizon. Soft and yielding, yet firm under my feet. I felt the dampness of sweat on my brow vanish, my clothes becoming lighter. The colors of the space weren’t as sharp as they usually were—perhaps due to my own partial inebriation.

The stark quiet of the plane felt like an embrace, a gentle hum of magic and energy as our minds met.

Jon cut a strong figure before me—little more than a head taller than me here. His cheeks were still flushed and his gaze glassy, but my heart still fluttered at the sight of him. Reachable, touchable, mine .

I rushed to close the space between us, taking hold of his arms with a gentle smile. He tensed under my hands, starting to pull away like he’d been scalded.

“Stop wasting your magic on me,” Jon said.

“It’s not a waste.” I let my hands settle on his abdomen, lifting my chin to catch his eyes. “Do you want me to leave?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

Jon studied me. He swallowed and shook his head.

My smile returned, and I allowed my touch to stray with confidence, taking his hands in mine and squeezing. “I just feel like I can talk to you better here sometimes, when we’re eye to eye. You know? ”

He frowned down at me, the faintest smirk flickering at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not happening unless you conjure a stepstool in here.”

I snorted. Stars , he really is drunk .

But Jon’s playful chuckle rapidly faded as he continued to gaze at me, eyes growing wet. My breath caught as he pressed closer, freeing his hands to cup my face. Despite the slight unsteadiness from the alcohol, his hands were still so much bigger than mine, encompassing my cheeks completely. His thumbs brushed over my temples, sending a shiver down my spine. The spectral plane masked some of the sensation, numbing the places where callouses should have been against my smooth skin and stealing his natural warmth.

Jon searched my face like he was looking for an answer. I remembered the man I’d first met in Dottage Mansion—the hulking shadow that captured me without remorse. It felt like that man had died, replaced by him , his dark eyes flooding with tears the longer he looked.

“I’m sorry, Sylv,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” I said, placing my hands over his. “It’s alright, Jon.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “That look on your face when I had you pinned… It ripped the soul out of me.” Jon grimaced around the words. “You thought I was going to kill you.”

My breath caught. I tightened my grip on his wrists, glancing down—remembering how it felt to have the air stolen from me in the Pit, the way he’d prowled beneath me.

“Not for a second,” I said.

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Fuck. I lifted my chin, forcing my eyes back up. His expression withered at the truth that shone there.

“Jon—” I started.

He shook his head. A tear snaked down his cheek, and he sank down to his knees, hands sliding down to my waist. He looked up at me. “I’m so sorry . No soporto que pienses de mí como una bestia, me mataría. ”

Any other day, I might’ve been enticed by the sight of Jon on his knees for me. What woman wouldn’t be? But he was so shattered, and I couldn’t bear it. I sank down with him and pulled him into my arms. His weight nestled heavily against me, anchoring us together.

“It’s not your fault—not anyone’s fault except those bastards who put us in there,” I said. I chewed my lip, hesitating before adding, “I know you’d never be cruel. You’d want to give me mercy.”

“No.” Jon shuddered in my arms, his head heavy on my shoulder. “You don’t understand—I’d let them skin me alive before it came to that, Sylv.”

There was something fierce and ground-down in his voice, even when choked by emotion. It made hairs prickle on the back of my neck. I couldn’t help but believe him, even as Gwen’s aggrieved face flickered through my mind. She claimed Jon had used another hunter— Luke —as bait, and I struggled to merge that idea of Jon with this one.

I couldn’t bring myself to question him. Not when he was like this. Not when I was too laden with exhaustion to bear the knowledge of such a heartless act.

Turning my head, I kissed his temple and murmured, “ Eres un huevón. ”

Jon stilled, pulling back to look at me. His brows were pulled together, a curious glimmer of—was that laughter behind his eyes?

“What did you say?” Jon asked.

“Cliff told me it meant ‘heroic.’ Stars , did I pronounce it wrong?”

“A better translation is dumbass —but I probably deserve that.”

I groaned, embarrassment curling through me.

Jon gave a soft chuckle—my treasured reward. “You should know his priority was to insult people in as many languages as possible. Most of what I taught him are obscenities.”

I remembered Cliff calling me cielito when he’d offered his advice, and now I puzzled over what harrowing insult had flown over my head. I made a mental note to freeze his flask into a block of ice when we returned to the motel room.

My arms tightened around him, as if holding him could protect him from the darkness preying on his mind. “Let me try again. I’ve been practicing.”

“Practicing?”

“Learning Spanish,” I said.“Some from the computer, some from Cliff when he’d help.”

This wasn’t how I had imagined it—exhausted and half intoxicated. I wanted to give him a piece of his world—something I was learning to hold, too.

His eyes softened in a way that made my breath catch. Jon was so often the honed weapon he had been forced to become—steely and sharp and unyielding. It felt beautiful, remarkable that my words could make that steel bend—even a little.

“You’d do that for me?” Jon asked.

I watched the tension in his shoulders ease, his lips parting slightly as though tasting the kindness, unsure whether to trust it. My fingers tangled in his hair, gently combing through the dark strands.

“I know how much it means to you. How it reminds you of home,” I said. I pressed my lips to his temple as I worked around the foreign words. “ Tu eres mi vida. ”

Cliff had provided no translation for that phrase—only promised it would drive Jon crazy. I pulled away, searching his face for a sign.

“How did I do?” I asked, uncertain.

For a moment, Jon didn’t say a thing, just looking at me like I was something not quite real. His gaze— stars , that gaze—turned molten and raw. Jon’s arms circled around me, pulling me close. Then, finally, in a rough whisper, he said, “Good. Real good, Sylv.”

I let myself melt, surrendering to blossoming warmth in my chest. With our bodies tangled together on the ground, I could feel myself becoming lost to him, my restraint dissolving as his breath curled against my hair. It was dangerous to let this feeling rip through me—how I wouldn’t just learn foreign words for Jon. I would follow him into any battle. I would kill for him, to protect what goodness hadn’t been stolen from him yet.

I love you .

I tried to cut the thought back, but the sentiment was coursing wildfire in my veins. I was far too late. My greatest gift to Jon would be to keep my silence—even if a part of me cruelly wanted him to know. I wanted him to ache with me. To know that we were doomed and to suffer together.

He wouldn’t feel the same—he couldn’t possibly. I’d always been difficult to love, and we had promised each other…

He pulled back, searching my face before crushing our lips together. I could barely breathe, and I wished I could taste him properly—untethered by the numbing perfection of the spectral realm.

“How do you do that?” Jon murmured between kisses.

“Do what?”

“Make me forget how I was drowning just a moment ago.”

His breath curled against a place behind my ear, making shivers shoot down my spine. My back arched as Jon pressed a trail of kisses down my neck. “ Que rica ,” he breathed. “You’re so soft. When I’m here with you, all I can think about is the things I wanna do to you. It’s fucking agonizing. ”

A soft moan escaped me, but the slur in his voice gave me pause. My shoulders slumped. I wanted to give in to the primal urges racing through me, forget everything like we were in the middle of a revel. I could imagine trees rising around us. Soft moonlight. Glittering stars. I could make the illusion rise around us with crisp clarity—I knew I could.

But not like this.

I gently removed his hands from my waist.

“We’ve both drunk too much,” I murmured. My voice tightened, tenderly tracing the strong line of his jaw. “I just need you to be alright before we leave. I… I want you to fall asleep with peace in your heart.”

This disarmed him more than any magic or monster I’d seen him encounter. He gave me a long, odd look before leaning in to kiss my forehead. “You’re too good. Too fucking good,” his voice rasped against me, chilling me.“I’m poison to you.”

“Stop it. You’re not —”

“I am ,” Jon said, leaning back.

His gaze flickered to my cheek-to my traitor mark—and over my body, where a myriad of scars and scrapes were cloaked by the plane’s perfection. His eyes, even clouded by whiskey, moved like he had committed the location of each of them to memory.

“You’ve already been branded and banished because of me,” he went on in a low voice. His hand traced along the hem of my cropped blouse, where the outline of a mottled purple mark should have been. “Because we took you. Because you saved me. What if I’m not strong enough to fix what happens next?”

His expression clouded, gaze far away and seeing past me. “There was something off in my dad—something that made him a prime candidate for possession, like it was drawn to him. It’s going to catch up with me sooner or later. Maybe there’ll come a time when I don’t have a choice and I…” He breathed out sharply, and I saw a glimmer reflected in his eyes—a real fire. “I’ll be the death of you.”

From the corner of my vision, I glimpsed a plume of smoke rising in the spectral plane. A house in the distance succumbing to raging flames. I pointedly turned from it and cupped Jon’s face to do the same. I brushed his tears away and pressed my forehead to his as though I could bleed tranquility into his mind.

“Jonathan Nowak, you will not frighten me away.” I grabbed his face and met his eyes firmly. “If you want me gone, then I swear on the stars themselves that I will leave. But you have to say it.”

He trembled. Then he pushed past my hands and buried his face in my hair. “I’m too selfish,” he said in a wavering voice. “ Te amo, carino —” The last word choked off with a soft sob.

I shushed him gently and held tight around his shoulders. I kissed away the tears on his cheeks until they stopped. When I looked over my shoulder again, the shifting image of the house was gone. Jon’s breathing was steadier. I sighed with relief.

I attempted a fragile smile, shifting myself into his lap, looking down into his face. “We’re made of stronger stuff than whatever destiny you think is running through your veins.”

A glimmer of something familiar struck in his gaze. “Fuck destiny?”

“Yes—fuck destiny,” I said, grinning.

Around us, the sky and ground softened in hue. His fingers brushed the wound on my shoulder—where it should have been.

“I can’t hurt in here, remember?” I assured him.

Jon frowned deeply, his touch delicate nonetheless. “What does it feel like out there?”

“Jon…”

“Please. Tell me. ”

Even in this state, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily in his stare. He knew as well as I did that I’d never made direct contact with iron before today.

That moment—when the iron chain had seared against my skin—was the last thing I wanted to think about, but it lived with overwhelming clarity in my mind.

“Like everything about me was stripped away until I didn’t exist—only the pain,” I said. “I’m lucky it was just a graze. Any longer, and my magic would have been completely snuffed out for who knows how long. Even being near it was horrible—this awful numbness, hot and cold at the same time.” I shuddered.

“You can’t heal it away?”

“I tried, but it won’t budge. I may be rivaling you for nasty scars soon.” I found his hands, locking my fingers through his. “Can you put your salve on it?”

Jon’s eyes lit up so readily, I nearly melted. He leaned his forehead against mine, sighing. “Promise me you’ll actually sleep tonight, too,” he whispered. “ Please . You’ve been through enough.”

My throat tightened. “I promise.”

To my relief, we made it back to reality before his telltale nosebleed could make its appearance.

Still seated at the edge of the bed, Cliff looked up from his sketchbook. He eyed Jon with concern as we came to. But when it was clear that Jon was no longer falling apart at the seams—just a little intoxicated—Cliff gave me a grateful nod and came over to sweep the dirt back into the burlap pouch.

I glimpsed what he’d been drawing. The lines were rough and hurried, as though he might lose his memory if he didn’t finish it fast enough. It was the alp, partway between avian and reptilian form. A tiny figure hovered above it, delivering the killing blow.

Like something out of a legend .

Meanwhile, Jon rifled through his bag for the salve. He hadn’t touched it in weeks, seeing as I had taken over as the resident healer. I settled on the edge of the nightstand and allowed him to apply a fingertip of the salve. I didn’t dare complain about the sharp, menthol scent, though I burst into giggles when his sloppy coordination made him smear it up the side of my neck, too.

His medicine brought a coolness to the heat of the burn. Not the instant healing I had known all my life, but far sweeter than any magic because it was his .