Page 144 of Chasing Never
“If I were to come back,” I say, “perhaps I would not be the same. I might not love you. Perhaps you would not love me.”
“Give it time then, Darling. You waited long enough. You and I have learned nothing, if not how to wait.”
There is something about his sincerity. It’s nothimthat draws me in quite so much, but his words. No, not his words, but the way they speak to a hole I did not know was there. It’s as if they’ve filled a leak—or, at the very least, wish to. A leak I did not realize until now was the cause of the mildew in my soul.
I do not feel for him. But I feel the truth of his words like the sting of an adder.
“Please, Darling,” says the man. “Please come back to us.”
I glance between the man and the child, then make my decision.
CHAPTER 63
ASTOR
My child—my boy—struggles in my arms as I watch my wife drift away from me.
“Goodbye, Nolan Astor,” she whispers, her voice not hers at all, but infused with a weariness that only comes with age. “I truly am sorry for the pain I’ve caused.”
And then my wife begins to fade, her shadowed edges disappearing.
I open my mouth to shout, to scream at her to stay, but then footsteps sound through the door guarded by the sphinx. Darling pauses, slowly turning her head to face the newcomer.
In stumbles Kendra’s Seer, Malia. She’s carrying a baby in her arms, his blond head resting against her shoulder. A bewildered look is plastered on her face, and she glances back and forth between me and Wendy, her gaze finally landing on my wife.
“You’re not her,” she says. At first, I’m enraged by the way Malia’s shoulders sag in relief.
“What? Did you not wish to face the woman whose infant you ripped away?” I ask, heart pounding with rage.
Malia’s brows scrunch in confusion. “You’re the Youngest, aren’t you? Here to rescue us?”
When Darling doesn’t answer, Malia shakes her head, stumbling over her words. “Or, if not me, then at least my little boy.” She holds her arms out toward Wendy, the child stirring and struggling to stay at her chest. “Please, take him. He can’t stay here in this wretched place. Not with her. Please.”
Darling cocks her head at the woman who betrayed her, then turns toward me. “That child is still in need of a wet nurse,” she says. “You may go with him.”
Malia’s eyes go wide, her hands trembling as she grasps her child close to her. But I’m barely paying attention. My mind is too busy replaying something Malia said.
“You’re not her,” I whisper.
Darling looks at me, the features of her beautiful face obscured by shadows. She sighs, as if relieved. “You understand then.”
I take a step toward my wife, unable to stop the grin from spreading across my face. I likely look feral, insane, but I care not.
“You were wrong, Darling,” I say.
“I’m not Darling,” she says.
“When you saved my life, healed my Mating Mark by reweaving the tapestry, you said the end of the tapestry rewove itself. That it showed me kissing the Middle Sister.”
My wife shakes her head slightly. Her chin juts like she’s about to say something, but I beat her to speaking.
“But you only assumed it was the Middle Sister you were seeing.”
I can’t tell if Darling’s eyes go wide—not with the shadows obscuring them. I can’t tell if the way she catches her breath is in realization, or something else.
All I know is that one second, I’m holding my son.
The next, I’m holding my son, and kissing my wife.
