Page 68 of Fated In Forever
But the price of my freedom would haunt me forever—the severed bond, the love sacrificed for duty, the knowledgethat somewhere in the realm of shadows, Malachi waited alone with his terrible, magnificent power, bound to the darkness that had remade him.
The portal spat me out into watery daylight and green grass and the overly sweet scent of phlox and roses. I rolled to a stop on solid ground, staring up at a pattern of thick Hawthorne leaves I recognized, etched against a gray sky, The Book still clutched in my arms.
I was back.
And I was utterly, completely alone.
30
EVANGELINE
The earth beneath me smelled of rain and growing things. The overripe scents, all these colors were jarring, after seeing nothing but black and red for who knows how long. For a moment I could only lay there, my lungs burning as they adjusted from the sulfurous air of the Underworld to the sweet, clean atmosphere of the living world.
I stared up at the tree and I swore tiny sparks of golden magic danced amongst the leaves.
Slowly, gingerly, I pushed myself up.
Grass—real, living grass—brushed against my palms, soft and cool and gloriously green. The portal behind me collapsed with a sound like distant thunder. I turned to look, but there was no trace of the gateway that had brought me back from the realm of the dead, save for a faint scorch mark in the grass at my feet where I had tumbled through.
I rose unsteadily, swaying slightly as the world tilted sideways. Everything felt too bright, too solid, too real after the ethereal shadows of the Underworld. Colors made my eyes water. Smells made my nose run.
Ah, hello allergies, my old friend.
Laith Castle was only a few steps away, yet here I stood, clutching an old book like a lifeline, debating about going inside.
Because the longer I stood here, I realized something was wrong.
Rolling hills stretched out before me, green and lush under a sky dotted with white clouds. In the distance, I glimpsed the jagged outline of cliffs, tasted the salt tang in the air, the way the wind carried the scent of seaweed and brine
The castle walls were the same, yet... different. Muted somehow, as if I were seeing everything through a veil. The blues of the sky were darker, more mysterious. Even the sunlight was filtered, as though it had to struggle through a web of shadows to reach me.
I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the brightness, and that's when I saw them.
Dark as night veins ran beneath my skin like a network of black lightning, pulsing with a rhythm that matched my heartbeat. There were so many, starting at my fingertips and tracing their way up my arms, disappearing under the sleeves of my torn-up shirt but clearly continuing their sinister path beneath the fabric.
Just as dark as Romulus’s.
Identical to Ravok’s.
“No,” I whispered, flexing my fingers and watching the dark veins respond to the movement. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
But even as I spoke the words, I knew it was. I’d had them before, vague suggestions, so faint I could have pretended they didn’t exist. But these, in the bright light…
A gust of wind swept through the gardens, sending strands of hair whipping around my face. I caught one between my fingers, holding it up to examine it in the sunlight, and my heart sank further.
Black. My hair was filled with black strands, dark as theshadows that had surrounded me in that otherworldly realm. My golden curls the color of honey were gone, and when the wind caught them again, each strand moved with an otherworldly fluidity, as if it were made of liquid shadow.
Fucking hell.
I sank to my knees in the grass, The Book clutched to my chest.
Something clinked in my pocket, and I pushed my free hand inside, only to yank it back out, the ends of my fingers burning.I remember that particular, cursed burning sensation.
Cautiously, I tried again, and this time, my fingertips found the fabric-wrapped hilt of the cold iron blade…and the smooth, carved edge of an obsidian swan…then the second one. The world blurred in front of me and I bowed my head, reminding myself to keep breathing.
Malachi had done this. He’d sent me back here with a powerful weapon—two of them—and a reminder of him, something he’d made with his own hands.
The dark veins pulsed again, along with a sensation I recognized all too well—power.
