Page 81 of The Curse of Ophelia

The fire in the distance pulsed—the orange glow lightening to vibrant gold for a fraction of a second, illuminating her—and my knees wobbled beneath me.

How—

Her face was in shadow, the light a halo, but that hair. The beautiful, soft golden hair that I had dreamed of nightly—I would recognize it anywhere, even under the thin layer of soot that coated it now.

The way it curtained her face—a shield to hide her deepest thoughts. How she always wore it tumbling down her back and lashing around her shoulders, whether training or riding or lounging among the wildflowers. It caught the light now just as in my memories.

Even from this distance I could feel the warmth of her body against mine, as if not a day had passed since I last held her. My hands tingled with the memory of soft skin that hid the depths of her soul from the world. The flicker of hope I had lost filled my veins in a roar of flame that rivaled the memory of her mouth against mine.

I opened my cracked lips, forced my voice through my dry throat, and exhaled, “Ophelia.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Ophelia

My spine stiffened as that husky, strained voice reached my ears.

The ghost of a voice that had haunted my waking and sleeping hours, pulsed with every step I’d taken, and echoed every beat of my heart for over two years.

I hurried down the passageway, no longer taking care to stick to the shadows. All that mattered was finding the source of that voice. It couldn’t be—it made no sense. Still, I ran.

My feet stumbled over one another in their haste, limbs shaking with every ragged breath. Ahead, I could make out the outline of a cave, no door or gate of any kind blocking it. That was where the whisper had drifted from, but my mind refused to believe what my ears heard. It was afraid to believe what my heart wanted. Afraid to let it break again.

Tension bracketed my muscles as I inched closer to that cave mouth, drawn to it. To whatever—whoever—lay beyond. What if this was a trap? A test of the Spirits. A trial to find out what I was willing to lose.

But did it really matter? Whether it was a facade or the real thing, I could not ignore it.

So, I stepped forward, and when I crossed into the dim cave, my soul lit up in flames, its missing piece in sight.

My jaw wobbled, eyes stinging. I was suspended in disbelief, body numb. My breathing quickened through the sobs working their way up my throat.

He hung—hung—from the ceiling, chains on his wrists pulled so tightly that his feet barely reached the ground, a matching set tethered to his ankles. The scent of blood mixed with sweat hit me, but his chest rose and fell slightly. Breathing. Alive, the thread of his soul tied to mine seemed to say as it tugged on the Bind.

“Malakai.” My voice was a crackle of doubt against the warm air.

Those hooded forest-green eyes hadn’t left my face.

“So formal.” His lips parted into a whisper of a smile, and even through the dirt and blood, that gleam that met his eye was my undoing.

Something within my chest unlocked, tears spilling down my cheeks. I catapulted to him, colliding like two stars shooting through the sky. He groaned, but leaned into me, and I clung onto him. Thank the Spirits. He was here. Alive. Whole—but not undamaged.

Worn leather and honeysuckle was so much stronger than it had been in my memory, overpowering the blood and rust. Even here, despite his state, he still smelled like mine.

My hands locked behind his head, and I didn’t miss the fact that I was half supporting his neck, but our lips crushed together before I could ask. I sighed into him; he tasted like home. My body lit up, heat coiling within me. The darkness I’d muddled through for years receded with every stroke of his tongue against mine.

Pressed together in a darkened cave, two years of longing unfolded into that moment, and I could have stayed like that forever. But the coppery tang accenting his cracked lips reminded me where we were.

I broke the kiss reluctantly, rested my forehead against his, stared into those heavy-lidded eyes that held a piece of my soul, and wept. Even through blurry tears and chains, he was the most beautiful sight, this moment sewing up pieces of my heart. Despite my vow, I truly thought I might not live to see him again, and that truth I’d avoided facing quaked through my body. If I had my way, I would never look away from Malakai again.

“How—” I couldn’t finish the question, but how and who and why…I would get all the answers, and then I would slice the throat of every person who had a hand in him being here.

My fingers continued to support his head, his hair so much longer than I remembered. Like it hadn’t been cut in years. It was thick and lush beneath my hands, but among that tangled mess lay a labyrinth of fresh scars and matted blood. A fresh one shone along his jaw. Each brush of my fingers over a raised bit of flesh sent a tangle of hatred through my body.

Who did this to him? Angels, I’d grind their bones to dust.

Malakai…my North Star…come back to me. How often had I repeated those words when this was what was being done to him? My pulse pounded—both my heartbeat and the one awakened by the spear.

It was that steady adrenaline that held my shocked frame upright as I pulled the dagger from my thigh and poked the tip into the first lock at his wrist. Barely knowing what I was doing, barely able to reach—dammit, did he have to be so tall? —I maneuvered the blade. Please, please work, I begged any Angel or Spirit that may be watching, but kept my expression neutral, sensing Malakai’s half-closed eyes watching me for any hint of trouble.

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