Page 83 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

According to this, he spent six days in the realm of the dead, speaking with every soul who wanted to share their stories and legends, and it took him a full year to mentally recover.

Each page contained a sketch, the weapon’s origin and method of creation, and any power they possessed. Some listed a last known location, but most didn’t. A select few even managed to list the names of those he spoke to, or the last known owner.

I flipped through until I found two familiar daggers drawn in black ink, Sacrifice and Severance scrawled across the top and underlined.

Below Sacrifice was Adonis’s dagger, drawn in exact likeness. He’d even used red pigment to shade the bloodstone in the pommel.

Origin: Southern Sea

Method of Creation: Forged in sea Fae smithy. Cooled in the waters of Calypso’s maelstrom. High syren’s blood encapsulated within the stone to harness power.

Elevated Ability: Certain death to those wounded by its blade. Those wounded lose the ability to heal entirely. Wounded vulnerable to disease, but will likely die before infected.

Last known location: Unknown

Last known owner: Unknown

Soul interviewed: Killian Blackheart

*Special note added at the request of soul: Due to the blood it holds, dagger possesses its own hunger. The more it feeds, the hungrier it grows. Will distort mind of owner in search of satiation. Will never reach satiation.

My heart beat so loudly, I could’ve sworn it echoed off the walls.

“Hunger?”

I read and reread the section until I was nearly cross-eyed.

Adonis didn’t know that, but it made sense.

I’d never known him to be a moral person by any means, but he’d never been as violent and sanguinary as he’d become.

The sick bastard who tortured me in those dungeons was not the same person who forced me to sit and talk with him over coffee ten years ago.

A drizzle tapped against the skylight, and I tipped my head back to watch it fall. The burn in my eyes and throat returned.

Rain used to wash this feeling away and offer what I needed: strength, peace, renewal. As of late, it only took—but I almost felt guilty for my body’s reaction, like I was betraying a lifelong friend. The sky hadn’t changed. Storms hadn’t changed.

But I had.

I dropped my eyes back to the book in hand when a deep rumble of thunder vibrated my bones.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath. Lightning cracked, and I flinched at the flash of white. Narrowing my eyes at the skylight, I whispered, “It’s still ridiculous.”

Like a drunk moron, I waited for a response. None came.

I glanced around as if there would be anyone to see my insanity and steadied my trembling hands, so I could actually read the next page.

Severance.

Beneath the dagger’s name was the sketch. It looked similar to its counterpart, but the details were different. Instead of a bloodstone in the pommel, it almost looked like storm’s eye. A cloudy, gray-blue stone sat wrapped in silver veins. The blade appeared thinner, too—thinner and sharper.

Origin: Southern Sea

Method of Creation: Forged in sea Fae smithy. Cooled in the waters of Calypso’s maelstrom. Storm’s eye encapsulated in spell-bound silver (differs from our spell-bound iron).

Elevated Ability: Severs connections of all kind, including but not limited to that of soul and body, soul and fate, soul and magic, mated bond, blood oaths, and in rare instances, soul and Goddess.

Wielder of blade will see every connection in their immediate vicinity.

Provides visual of connections. Does not provide the ability to read connections.

Last known location: Southern Sea

Last known owner: Killian Blackheart

Current Location: Unknown

Current owner: Unknown

Soul interviewed: Killian Blackheart

The Southern Sea, then.

Great. That narrows it down.

Exhaustion settled in my bones as I stared at the book with unfocused eyes. My shoulders sagged, and I dropped my head to my hand—until sharp pain sliced across my palm.

I gasped and clutched my wrist, expecting to find blood pooling in my hand, but my skin remained untouched.

“Rogue,” I rasped.

I blew out the candle, jumped to my feet, book in hand, and swayed from the rum. My hip hit the desk, and I shoved off towards the door—wall?

I staggered toward the entrance.

I hadn’t been in here long, but I would imagine it was quite frightening to watch me get slammed into a wall until I went through the damned thing.

I stood where I’d entered with a grimace. It looked as solid as it had before, but when I reached for it, expecting to feel stone, my fingertips moved through it like gray mist.

Oh, thank Goddess.

I darted forward and ran smack into another wall. My head rebounded off the hard plane of muscle, and I stumbled backwards.

A hand caught my wrist and tugged me forward.

“Oh,” I groaned, rubbing my nose.

“Fuck, Ara.” Rogue sank to my eye level. “Are you all right?”

He scanned my face, and I waved him off.

“Are you okay?” I lifted his hand to inspect the wound. The room spun with the movement, but I blinked it away.

He’d already wrapped a cloth around his palm, but even with off-kilter vision and dim lighting, the red stain on his white bandage was clear.

Anger flushed my cheeks. I held his hand up to him, as if he hadn’t done it himself. “Why?”

“I didn’t know how else to reach you.” He ran his uninjured hand through his hair. “It looked like you fell face first into the wall—then through it? I’m assuming you couldn’t hear me in there. I tried shouting, banging on the wall, everything.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It was a last resort.”

“I didn’t fall,” I said. “I was pushed.”

His brows pulled together before he pinched my chin and turned my head side to side.

I swatted him away. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for a head injury.” His hand slipped beneath my jaw again. “I watched you go through. No one else was around.”

“Oh.” I waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not going to believe me, but I think it was Alden.

” Humor flitted across his expression with a quick twitch of his lips, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I’m serious. I felt a hand pushing me forward, and I cut my finger trying to fight it.

Then, he shoved with two hands. I think the entrance required blood, like Vaelor’s nook. ”

He still looked skeptical, but I huffed a breath of annoyance.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. His face softened, but when he opened his mouth, I held a finger over it. “No. No words.” He cocked a brow, and I held up the book. “I found this. It’s what Alden sent me after. Sacrifice is the weapon that can kill anything, and…Adonis does have it.”

I flipped the book open to the dog-eared pages and pointed to the note at the bottom.

His eyes scanned the text and lingered over the warning. “I wonder how long he’s been carrying it.”

“At least ten years,” I said. “Is it horrible of me to feel a small amount of satisfaction in knowing his mind has been warped and twisted the way he’s done to so many others?”

“Not horrible.” Rogue cupped my cheek and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Honest.”

Sad. It’s all…just…sad.

“I think I want to sleep,” I murmured into his chest, not having realized I’d wrapped my arms around his waist and melted into him.

He laughed softly. “I think you should.”

“Carry me?” I clung to him as my body grew heavier, knees weaker.

“I don’t believe you’d make it to a bed otherwise.”

He scooped me up, and I rested my head on his shoulder, grateful for how warm and strong and handsome he was.

He shook with a silent laugh. “Thank you, little storm.”

My brows furrowed, but I didn’t respond. Moving my mouth had become entirely too much work.

I sank into his hold, each breath slower than the last until I slipped into the realm between dream and reality, and suddenly, it wasn’t Rogue carrying me anymore.

It was fate.

I only wished she could be as gentle with the remnants of my soul as Rogue would’ve been.

Visions danced in my head: a sun-drenched hill painted with a rainbow of wildflowers, tiny feet on wooden floorboards, a tabby cat winding through the fence along an apple orchard.

If this were my afterlife, it’d be a sweet one.

I’d start by building a house. I could do it, given the right instruction. I’d spend years cutting down the right timber, carving, shaping, and stacking it in whichever way the books told me to.

I’d do it all with unskilled hands, because unskilled didn’t mean useless. I’d learn, so when Rogue finally joined me on the other side of the veil, I could welcome him home.

I’d place wildflowers in a vase on the kitchen table. We’d have a bookshelf of romance, and a large fireplace, and candles lit on every surface—but no weapons.

After we settled in, our family would join us.

Each and every soul taken too soon would pile into our small home, the air rich with fresh bread.

Cinnamon rolls would bake in the oven while caramel mead flowed endlessly, and laughter filled the room, laughter and smiles and hugs—reunions long overdue.

I vaguely heard the soft click of a door, then I stretched out over silk sheets. Warmth hugged me from behind, an arm thrown over my waist.

Safe.