I let it flow—the haughtiness, the warning, the irritation that had been trying to fight its way out of me for the past few minutes. Memories of blood flowing down my hands came with it, more questions and confusion rising right alongside
I needed to destroy something, the heat of the fire magic rising to the challenge at once.
At least I still had that, I supposed. A strong desire to wring necks, strictly speaking. I was fairly certain it wasn’t a good thing, either.
“At least they had one good memory before they left.”
“False love is no good memory,” I snapped.
“I’m still in love with you,” he spoke as the sky rolled with sound. It was the power of the earth seeming to magnify his words, to make them seep into me and ignite something I had forgotten I still possessed.
I looked to him, my eyes wide as the words slammed into my chest, sucking my breath away into the chilly air, and the images of blood and death left with it.
I searched his face, his eyes, my focus running over old scars and the dreads that were quickly growing on me. Part of me was frantic to find the lie in his eyes, to have him break out into a laugh and declare his words only in jest. He held my gaze, instead, the warmth in his eyes wrapping around me so tightly that he himself might as well have been holding me.
I couldn’t move if I tried.
I needed to, though. I needed to move away.
I couldn’t let those words float between us with hope, commitment, and devotion on their backs like the lifeline I needed.
I couldn’t let him think that everything was the same.
It wasn’t.
Not anymore.
“That’s part of the problem, Thomas. Like you said, I’ve changed. Everything has changed.” I tried to keep my voice strong, to keep the same depth of the person he knew intertwined with each word, but the person I was faded into nothing as I wilted under the warmth he projected toward me.
I might as well have been singing a 1920’s love ballad for all the good my attempt did me. The 20s were a terrible time for music.
“Change is not always a bad thing, Wynifred. Sometimes, it has to happen to show us who we really are and set us on the right path.” He spoke as if my foolish attempt to push him away had been nothing more than batting at a fly.
Everything felt heavy as his words began to sink in, my already pained heart beating faster. I tried to project my pain into what he had said, project that agony and the loss that I was doing my best to keep hidden in the pit of my stomach.
Right then, it wasn’t doing any good, though.
I didn’t want this change.
I didn’t want Talon to die and say it was meant to happen, that it had to happen to set us on the right path. It upset me. I could feel the anger rising, Even if I knew it shouldn’t.
I knew that was not what he meant.
I clenched my teeth together as I looked at Thom and saw the man I had spent so many years with, whom I had cried against. I remembered Talon, the man I had bonded myself to, the man I had said goodbye to and watched disappear into a fog with a smile still on his face.
Be happy.
The anger vanished as the memory of Talon faded back into the dark recesses of my mind. Then the part of Thom’s words that I had so diligently ignored banged against my skull like a bass player on a sugar high.
Sometimes, change has to happen to show us who we really are.
So we can find ourselves.
I knew it was true, but it still didn’t mean I wanted it.
“Well, this change hurts,” I gasped, my voice breaking as I clung to the blankets that lay over me, the soft cotton that I was sure would still smell like Thom if I got close enough.
“I know.” Thom reached forward, his hand smothering mine in a heart stuttering motion that sent both uncomfortable tension and eager palpitations through me. “I know. To lose someone you love—”
“It’s more than that.” My voice was stronger as I pulled my hands away from him. “He was my mate. He was my other half. And I loved him as much I did Rosaline, as much as I did you.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It’s confusing trying to decipher if the love was real, if any of it was.”
My heart had forgotten how to beat. The heavy, lead cage clamped so tightly around it I was sure it would fall right to my toes, a solid mass of bleeding, useless flesh.
That was it.
That was what it was about.
More than who I was and what I had become, it was knowing the most treasured parts of my life were real—Thom holding me at night and reciting poems in French. Talon bringing me flowers and dancing with me in the lamp light. Rosy cuddling into my collarbone, her breath hot on my skin as we tried to sleep.
Those were who I was, and they were the memories I treasured more than any other. Still, they all intersected in a jumbled mess. They all felt like a dream and not like a life I had really lived.