Page 35 of Hellfire to Come
From me.
From himself.
And that was something I couldn’t deal with. Not now.
Not yet.
So, I turned and walked away, already thinking of the winding roads toward the reservation and the one female who might have the answers I so desperately needed.
Chapter Fourteen
BROOKLYN
The wind was cruel in the way only dusk winds are, neither warm nor cold, just persistent. It scraped over the land like a restless spirit, whispering through the brush, carrying scents of earth, ash, and something old. The reservation gate rose from the ground like a solemn sentinel, carved from aged cedar and etched with glyphs that pulsed faintly in the dying light. Wards shimmered across its threshold, an invisible veil humming with power.
And I couldn’t cross it.
I stood there, only a few paces from the boundary, the very air thick with ancestral magic that repelled every step I might dare to take. My body tensed against it, like the bones in me understood this land would not welcome me unless invited. Even Dominic couldn’t pass the wards since we had the mate link connecting us. Whatever magic the humans used recognized him as one of the Atua, one of my kind, because of me.
So, Dominic stood silently at my side. He hadn’t said much since we’d left the others, or after he doubled over in excruciating pain when he tried to dart toward the gate. He didn’t need to. His presence alone steadied me, kept the storminside from ripping free and swallowing everything in its path. He understood why I was here—why I had to do this alone. And he didn’t blame me for making him one of the unwanted at the reservations. If anything, he looked proud, carrying that quiet satisfaction that the magic had recognized him as my mate.
“Let them know who will be coming for them if they touch a hair on your head,” he told me with his chest puffed up. If I was not emotionally, physically and mentally drained, I would’ve laughed until my sides hurt. This male was seriously something. So endearing. But I couldn’t allow myself to enjoy it. To enjoy him.
I’d left Alice pale and burning, her breathing shallow and uneven. Rowan, even more ghost than male now, was barely holding on to life. And Samir, silent and locked away with his secrets, gave me nothing but more weight for my already overburdened shoulders.
I couldn’t fix all of them. I wasn’t a healer. But I could beg. And I could bleed if that’s what it took to remedy what my presence in their lives had destroyed.
“I don’t know if they’ll let me in even if I ask,” I murmured, my voice barely audible against the wind. My fingers flexed unconsciously at my sides, the phantom memory of Alice’s limp weight still clinging to my skin. “They’ve never allowed anyone like me to step foot past this gate. And I don’t blame them.”
Dominic finally spoke, his voice low and steady. “Then we wait. If it takes hours, or days… we wait.”
I turned to look at him, my eyes tracing his profile slowly. “Even if she’s dying?” The words choked behind my clenched teeth.
He didn’t blink. “Especially then. We do this right. Or not at all. You can’t help Alice if you die. I will not allow it, Brooklyn. Don’t ask it of me. I’m begging you.”
I exhaled slowly. The patience and love in him could crush mountains, weather all storms. It made me ache with gratitude and fury at once. Because I wanted to break down the gate, tear through the wards with every ounce of rage and desperation I carried but that wouldn’t bring them to our side. Dominic was right. If I do that, it would only confirm their fear of what I was.
So, I sat down in the red dust just outside the threshold, arms wrapped around my knees, eyes fixed on the path beyond. The land stretched out in golden silence, the grasses whispering secrets only the old souls could hear. Somewhere past the trees, the community waited, and beyond that was the shaman.
Laughing Crow.
The one shaman I had not only heard stories of, but seen, once, from a distance. A woman cloaked not in feathers or robes but in quiet strength, eyes sharper than bone knives, heart stitched with fire and water both. She owed me nothing. I could offer her nothing but a plea and the raw wound of my love for a friend. That must mean something.
The sky darkened inch by inch, draining the color from the world and pulling my strength back with it. I couldn’t afford to wait for full night to reach the reservation, so I endured the sluggish crawl of fading daylight, holding out for that moment. Dominic crouched beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. Neither of us spoke. There was no need.
Time passed like a tide. Nothing moved.
Until a figure appeared at the far edge of the path.
A silhouette emerged at the edge of the path, framed in the final copper light of the setting sun. At first, I thought it might be a shadow, a trick of desperation and dying light, but the figure moved with too much purpose, too much rooted weight. A man. Broad-shouldered, tall, his gait steady as he approached the gate.
Dominic stood at once, eyes narrowing protectively, but I lifted a hand without rising.
“Wait,” I whispered. “Let him come.”
The man stopped just beyond the boundary line, his gaze sweeping over the two of us. He wore no uniform, no symbols of power or rank. Just dark denim, worn boots, and a flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves. But there was something ancient in his presence. Something unyielding.
“You’ve been here a long time, Jumlin,” he said, his voice low, unhurried. It had the cadence of stone warmed by sun, not unkind, but measured. I flinched at the insult. “You know you can’t cross.”
