Page 48 of Chasing Eternity

“Tasha—you all right?” Braxton’s voice, laced with worry, cuts through my panic.

In the blink of an eye, the ghastly apparition dissolves, and Braxton’s familiar features return, calming the storm of fear in my heart.

It was just a glitch. Surely, Arthur didn’t intend that.

Or did he?

Braxton traces a finger along my jaw, then trails a path down my neck, over my shoulder, and along my arm to where a third golden ring has appeared.

His deep blue gaze fixing on mine, he says, “You sure you’re okay?”

I push the thought away and press my lips to his, seeking refuge in his kiss.

“Always,” I manage to whisper. “Always when I’m with you.”

23

I wake before dawn.

The augmented reality lenses, now abandoned on the nightstand, have taken with them the vivid sunflowers and irises, the golden wheat fields, and Van Gogh’s swirling, star-filled skies.

Gone, too, is the fleeting, horrific vision of the hollow-eyed skull that momentarily replaced Braxton’s face.

In their absence, the room reverts to Braxton’s signature moody aesthetic: walls painted a deep charcoal, aged leather couch, and a collection of dark themed art, including Caravaggio’sNarcissusand Henry Fuseli’sThe Nightmare—each piece casting its own display of shadow and intrigue.

Stepping quietly from the bed, I leave Braxton to his dreams and make for the shower.

The warm water cascading over me is exactly the balm I need after a night that transcended all expectations. Our connection, so deep and full, has rendered me tender in the very best way. Though it wasn’t my first time, last night opened a whole new realm of experience, infusing me with an overwhelming sense of love and belonging. Just thinking about those intimate moments makes my heart overflow, leaving no doubt that Braxton is my everything, as I am his.

Another flash of that pale-boned skull flits across the canvas of my mind—a harsh and brutal reminder that last night is gone. Now it’s time for Braxton and me to talk, to come up with a strategy so we can plot our next moves before Arthur sends me out to locate the Star, with either Elodie or Killian riding shotgun.

With a towel draped around me, I wander into Braxton’s large walk-in closet. Unwilling to face the prospect of slipping back into last night’s dress, I search through stacks of the most high-end loungewear money can buy, looking for an old pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt I can borrow. Just as I find what I’m looking for, Braxton comes up from behind me.

Encircling his arms at my waist, he presses a single, sweet, tantalizing kiss to the side of my neck. “Come back to bed,” he coaxes, his body enticingly warm, his voice an invitation, hinting at all the possibilities awaiting my consent.

I pause, tempted to follow him anywhere. Then turning to face him, I trace the tip of my finger along that perfectly imperfect bend in his nose. “Wish I could,” I say.

“No need for wishes,” he counters, sealing his words with a soft kiss on my forehead. “Here, in our sanctuary, there is literally no one to stop us from doing what we want. Inside this room, we make our own rules.”

If only that were true.

“No one to stop us except Arthur,” I say. “Oh, and Elodie, of course. And let’s not forget Killian, who’s somehow managed to make a miracle of a return.” I sigh, the weight of those names dragging me back into a reality far removed from the blissful escape of last night.

The light in Braxton’s eyes instantly fades, casting a dim gray pall that reminds me of turbulent, storm-tossed waters roiling beneath an unsettled sky. He runs a hand through his hair, his voice tinged with resignation. “How about this?” he says. “You get the coffee going, I’ll take a quick shower, and then we’ll sit down and figure things out.”

After I’ve relayed an abbreviated version of everything that transpired when we were apart—the time spent with my dad, reuniting with Song, my brief glimpse into Arthur’s plans for remaking the world—Braxton fixes me with a look, and says, “You should meet up with Killian.” His words are so unexpected, I nearly spit out my coffee.

“You can’t be serious?” I sink deeper into the soft, worn leather of his couch, disbelief etching my tone. “After everything I just said—that’s what you choose to focus on?”

A shadow of deep discomfort crosses Braxton’s face as he shifts uneasily in his seat. “Look,” he says, “I’m glad Song and Anjou are safe. I’m glad your time with your dad was well spent. As for Arthur’s plans, while it’s certainly alarming to know he’s going to eliminate large groups of people and erase entire timelines, it’s not one bit surprising. Arthur curates. It’s what he’s always done. But now, it’s up to us to find a way to stop him. And while I’m not at all thrilled by the idea of you meeting with Killian, he does work closely with Arthur, so who knows what you might learn? Also, there is wisdom in the adage about knowing your enemy.”

“That’s from Sun Tzu’sThe Art of War,” I find myself saying, the words pulled from the secret well of knowledge hidden inside me.“Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.”The familiarity of the quote surprises me as much as it does Braxton. “I don’t know how I know that. It just came to me.”

Braxton gives me a look that straddles the line between admiration and concern. “Seems like the visit with your dad really did make an impact.”

I trace the rim of my coffee mug with my finger before taking a sip. “Yeah, but so far, it’s mostly just quotes and random facts about art, nothing that feels like it’ll be of much help. Though my dad did say I need to trust that it’s there and that it’ll come to me when I need it the most.”

Braxton sighs. “Well, at least there’s some thread of hope. I’m still kicking myself for wasting so much time with my grandfather—questioning the true nature of destiny and time.”

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