Page 181 of Cherish

He doesn’t answer, but still I keep calling. Still I can’t stop.

If I stop, it will mean he’s really gone. And that can’t be.

Not now. Not yet. Not my Hudson. Not my heart.

Not my mate.

I scream until I’m hoarse.

I scream until every last flicker of hope burning inside me dies.

I scream until there’s nothing left. Of him. Of me. Of us.

And then I scream some more.

Eventually, my voice breaks under the stress, and I close my eyes, let myself drift away in a tsunami of pain so great that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find my way back to the surface again.

I’ve fought this feeling, fought this wave so many times before, but I can’t fight it anymore. Not now, when darkness is closing around me, pulling me into its arms—into oblivion—where I belong.

99

Just Dew It

I don’t know how long I drift like that.

Long enough for the buzzing to stop and the bees to once more disappear.

Long enough for the soft lavender of dusk to paint itself across the sky.

More than long enough for the bear to pull down a honeycomb and drag it under the tree with him.

As I drift, caught somewhere between anguish and apathy, the world around us starts to change. The wind blows stronger. The grass grows longer. And the thousands upon thousands of wildflowers covering the area around the tree grow taller and taller and taller.

They grow up from beneath us and then they grow over us, wrapping themselves around our arms and our legs. Twining themselves around our bodies. Covering our hands and feet and heads until we’re no longer visible. Until the wildflowers and the grass and the tree and the water are all that there are.

At first, I don’t realize what’s happening—don’t realize what this means. But then the tugging starts, the flowers pulling me down, down, down into the dirt I’m laying on, and it hits me. These aren’t just flowers. These are our funeral wreaths—in a meadow covered in graves.

The first trickles of panic meander through me as I realize what’s happening. To Remy. To Jaxon. To any of my other friends whose lives might still be hanging on the brink. To me.

The earth is absorbing us, here in this garden of souls. Taking us back from whence we came.

The panic turns to anger, because this isn’t right. This isn’t our time. Once again, I turn my head and look at my friends. But none of them have moved. Even Remy is laying exactly where he fell. But at least I can see the shallow—so, so shallow—rise and fall of his back as he breathes.

And then I remember what I should have remembered all along. My strings, as vibrant and colorful as any patch of wildflowers.

I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly as I prepare myself for whatever I may find. And then I do what I should have done long hours ago. I dive deep inside myself and look for the strings that have become as much a part of me as my gargoyle.

They’re there. Oh my God. They’re all there. Macy’s hot-pink string is thread slender, but it’s there. Remy’s rich, deep forest green string—so different than the blazing green of my demigod string—is thicker, stronger, but it’s definitely tattered in places. Jaxon’s black string, Flint’s amber string, Eden’s purple string. Heather’s red string. They’re all still there. Scuffed up and worn nearly clean through in places, but they’re still there. Mekhi’s yellow string is so translucent that it’s barely noticeable, but it’s still there as well.

And so is Hudson’s. Oh my God, so is Hudson’s. The mating bond is still there. Its shine has dulled, its blue has gone murky, and there’s a spot—one terrifying spot that has my heart in my throat—that’s so shredded that it looks like any movement at all will break it forever. But it’s there, propped up—I see now—by my missing platinum string.

My gargoyle wasn’t gone after all. It was just there, beneath the mating bond, holding Hudson and me together until I could do it for myself.

Which means we have a chance. We all still have a chance. And I need to make that chance a reality. I need to find a way to tap into all the strength, all the heart, all the soul that these people have shared with me this last year and find a way to get them out of here and bring them home.

My brain is still sluggish, my body is still battered all to hell. But I take a deep breath and force myself to think through the pain and the cloudiness. There must be a way. I just have to find it.

Turning my head to look at Remy, again, I can’t help but notice the bear sitting comfortably beside the lake, shaded by the elm. He’s got the honeycomb on the ground in front of him, and I watch as he devours a claw full of honey.

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