Page 109 of Gift from the Stone

“Very funny. Yes, and if I can’t figure it out, there’s a group of very capable men here to teach me.” She smiles as she side-eyes her four where they’re saying their goodbyes to Oakly’s and my Nexuses.

“Ready, little wanderer?” Draken calls out.

“I’ll see you soon, I promise,” I tell Aria, pulling her into a tight hug.

I doubt my dreams are going to keep leading me into hers now that she’s free and where she’s supposed to be, which is a bittersweet feeling. She’s become such an important person in my life.

“Got any sage advice for me before you go, Fortune Teller?” Lyker asks.

“The only piece of advice I have for now is don’t be a dick.” I smirk. Everyone laughs as Lyker’s face fills with mock offense. He probably thinks I mean in general, or as the new Alpha, but really, I’m talking about with Aria.

Stepping into my guys, I wave bye as we become shrouded in darkness. It’s been a clusterfuck the past two days, and I feel overwhelmed with responsibilities I have no clue how to handle.

Cleaning house in the Terravile pack is a huge accomplishment, but yet, it’s just the start. The guys still have to interrogate all the new prisoners, Tillman still has to give a debrief of everything he discovered from the Elders’ minds, and half the time I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to do.

It’s a hard pill to keep swallowing, knowing that any knowledge I already have, things that could really benefit me every day, is locked away in the stone around my neck or will only appear when a vision comes through. I feel clueless, until suddenly, I don’t.

I’ve pieced it together. The memories started when I was around six, but I don’t know when they stop. Hell, I could’ve seen this mysterious CC the day before my birthday and have no clue. And that shit both intrigues and pisses me all the way off.

“It feels so good to be home,” I breathe as we step out of the transport.

“Thought you were looking forward to traveling, little wanderer?”

“I am, but I’d like our travel to be at least somewhat leisurely. Not fighting for our lives and dropping criminals off at swanky dungeons,” I retort.

When Draken first bitched about how “nice” Rebel Castle was for prisoners, I figured he was just being dramatic like usual, but no, this time he was being for real. Their accommodation is much more generous than what they deserve for what they’ve put the people of Elementra through.

“How about you grab a bath, then we’ll get some sleep. The shit show can wait until tomorrow,” Draken says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we make our way inside.

“That sounds perfect.” I sigh.

After the four of them escort me to my door and make their way to their own rooms to shower, I make a beeline for my oasis. The smell of eucalyptus instantly fills my senses, and the sound of water falling into the tub causes my shoulders to drop in relief. That is until I strip my clothes off and get my first look at my new addition sitting about an inch above my belly button, adding to my small collection.

When I changed both last night and this morning, I refused to look in the mirror. I didn’t want to see the evidence of what happened. I wanted to avoid it until I was in the comfort of our home. Now, I count nine. Nine pearly white scars mar my skin.

I never realized my natural healing was ten times faster than normal people in the nonmagical realm until I got to Elementra, but my father and Donald must have known. Even without the access to a healer or healing vials, blackened eyes, sliced skin, and the bruises that constantly covered me always healed within a few days. When Donald broke both the bones in my forearm, that was an exception that took around six weeks in a cast to fully heal.

The only other exceptions were the eight other scars that litter randomly across my sides and stomach. I remember each of the times those scars were left. Each time, my father had me strapped to a table, slicing my skin in precise cuts. Never too deep, but always enough to leave a river of blood pouring beneath me. He would end his session by cutting me once with a different knife than the one he’d been using. I can remember how badly they burned. It was as if the knife was melting my skin off.

It dawned on me the moment in the arena when I ran my finger across the raised, already healed skin on my stomach, that each of those times, my father was using an enchanted dagger. They’re the only marks he ever left on me to scar.

Sinking into my bath, I try to erase the insecurity that’s trying to creep up my neck. I hate the way the scars make me feel, make me look. Sure, they’ve made me stronger, who I am, blah, blah, blah, but I still don’t like them. They’re a constant reminder of the torture I had to experience.

I’m not sure how long I sit here, completely zoning out as I watch the waterfall dump gallons of clean and pure, magical water into the tub, but the sound of my bedroom door closing drags me back to reality and out of the warm swirling escape.

Dressing in only my robe since I neglected to grab clothes before coming in here, I walk out of the bathroom and stop as I see Tillman with his back turned toward me, alone in the middle of the room. His beautiful large body stands tensely like he was nervously waiting for me to come in here.

“Tillman.”

“Will. I made you a new sleep gown, robe, and slippers,” he says quickly as he turns to me.

“Thank you,” I murmur, smiling as I reach for the new ensemble.

Hurrying to my closet, I strip my large, fluffy robe off and pull on the beautiful lavender floor-length nightgown. The silk material is so breathable and weightless, it glides over my body like a second skin.

The feel of it is so soft and thin, it’s like wearing nothing at all. The long-sleeved matching robe ties around my middle, accentuating my waist and showing off my curvy figure. I absolutely love it.

“How do I look?” I ask, doing a little twirl out of the closet.

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