Felix is still here because I can’t let him go.
Callie wiped a man from existence, adding more scars to her already battered heart, and Connor is left leading a pack of shifters that hate him, because for years, I did nothing while the Alpha abused his son.
Every time Nolan feeds from another stranger, more of his soul dies, and still I keep silent, too afraid that my friend won’t forgive me if I act.
Donovan? I fail him daily. Lecturing at him because I don’t know how to save him.
Now, my parents. I can’t seem to be the good light nephilim. I’m constantly fighting my purpose instead of appreciating its importance. As if I’m too good to help the dead.
My father releases a slow breath, unaware of my swirling thoughts, and admits, “The dark nephilim’s path requires a more external form of preparing, which made Donovan’s training a continued active part of our daily lives. Under the demands of helping him, I think we may have neglected you. We relied heavily on texts, books, and your natural scholastic talent. In the process, I fear we made you feel like your purpose was less important.”
I feel like the worst son on the planet as I let him both praise me and take the blame for my failings. Clearing my throat, I place a single hand against my stomach, my lies and guilt burning within me.
“I know light nephilim duties are important,” I murmur, my gaze shifting back to the clock. It feels like this conversation is taking hours, but the minute hand has barely moved. “We counsel the dead so they can move on.”
“Yes, but we do more than that. We give spirits an opportunity to fulfill their last wishes and safeguard them while they make peace with what is to come,” he explains, his dark eyes pleading for me to appreciate what he’s telling me.
The guilt grows inside me, festering throughout my body, because my father has discovered my lack of commitment... and he blames himself.What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be the perfect son they deserve?
“Fighting demons is important, but so are lost souls,” he continues, trying to convince me to care. “Death comes for all of us. Light nephilim are what can make the difference between a soul going to heaven and eventual reincarnation, or suffering eternal damnation.”
It becomes difficult to breathe as I think about Felix and how I’ve been failing him as his guardian.Could Felix go to Hell because I’m not helping him move on?Those responsible for his family’s death are burning in Hell. His unfinished business is done… but he’s still here. The thought that I’m dooming my friend because I’m not fulfilling my responsibilities makes my heart rattle in my chest in angry, uneven beats.
“Your mother and I planned to give you the rest of the school year, but since it appears you’re interested in starting certain nephilim duties now, it’s time we focused more actively on your training,” he informs me, a resolute expression replacing the sadness in his eyes. His tone implies there will be no negotiating on the matter, and the shift jars me out of my panic.
“You need to start experiencing what it’s like to be surrounded by the sick and dying. It can be an ugly business,” he carries on, laying out the punishment for my actions. “We don’t want you to be alone while you’re first learning to navigate it, which is why two weeks from now, you’ll start volunteering at Twin Cedar Pass Hospital. Specifically, the hospice ward. They’re understaffed and could use the help. Also, you’ll start joining us and observing when we help spirits pass on.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply warily.
The idea of spending what little time I have left before my pilgrimage surrounded by those on the verge of death makes my stomach turn, but I guess that’s the point. This will be my life. Better to start it in small doses and build up my tolerance to it all.
“I know it’s a heavy weight to bear,” my father admits, while standing from his chair. He holds out his hand to me. “But they need us. We’re the only ones who can help them.”
I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. He wraps his arms around me in a crushing hug.
“I’m so proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. Despite your foolishness last night, you’ve truly been the perfect son,” he whispers harshly in my ear, the emotion in his voice like a dagger twisting in my chest.
No, I’m not.
“The souls you find will be lucky to have such a generous and compassionate person to help them move on.” He pats me on the back, then lets me go with a nod toward the door. “Tell your mother that my lecture scared you straight, and you’ll never do anything to worry her like that again.” He pauses for a moment, before adding, “Then grovel and apologize… a lot.”
Offering up a weak smile when really I want to shout how imperfect I am, I answer, “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Son, if you ever need to talk—about anything—we’re here for you,” my father offers, not aware that I just can’t.
They can’t know how far I’ve fallen.
“I know,” I rasp, hoping he doesn’t notice how my fists clench.
He nods, then while turning toward the desk, orders, “Good. Now get, before I remember I should probably ground you.”
“Yes, sir,” I repeat as evenly as possible.
My feet sound like muted thunder as I speed out of the room and up the carpeted stairs. Racing to my bedroom, I feel like I’m being crushed by everything around me. My past. My future. My actions and inactions. My responsibilities. My shortcomings. All falling on top of me like an avalanche that will eventually bury me whole.
Air wheezes from my lungs in rapid pants as I use what little self-control I have left to carefully close my bedroom door behind me. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get a full breath.
Images from last night blur across my eyes. The blood on my hands. Lifeless eyes staring up from mangled bodies as I buried them in the forest. Callie sobbing in my arms. My friends shocked and broken in different ways. All because I chose hubris instead of asking for help. Because I went against my purpose.
