Page 97 of Sorrow & Strangers

I pant, the silence bouncing off the trees and slamming into me. I hadn’t realized how loud the anger was until it was ousted. Exhaustion washes over me, and I fall back. I brace myself for the pain I know is coming when I hit the ground, but it doesn’t come. Something catches me, and I let my head loll back, too tired to actually turn it. Looking over my shoulder, I expect to see someone behind me, supporting my weight. Instead, there are two thick vines at my back, holding me up.

Surprise shoves through the haze surrounding me. I blink a few times and catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Letting my head fall to the side, I watch in muted amazement as the forest flourishes. The trees seem to shiver, the leaves above whispering and then settling as the trunks thicken. Flowers bloom, displaying petals that have been hidden for a long time, their faces pale. The underbrush rustles as small animals emerge from their burrows, curious about the shift happening above. Birds start to sing overhead, basking in the golden beams of sunlight piercing the clouds as vines crawl over the forest floor like brilliant green snakes.

The forest appeared vibrant before, but it wasn’t. It was living in fear.

I rest for a few minutes before gathering my strength and pushing off the vines, bracing myself against the trunk of the nearest tree. It feels alive to me, and I close my eyes as its sense of relief washes through me. When I open my eyes, my breath catches in wonder. If I thought the forest was beautiful before, it is nothing compared to what I am seeing now.

A tear slides down my cheek at the sight, and at the overwhelming sensation of home. I fall to my knees, and the forest once again protects me, softening the ground beneath me.

The flora will flourish whence the Seelie returns.

I have returned, and even now, my power is coursing through me, completely unconstrained. There is no hiding it anymore, no repressing it. I have broken the dam, and I have no fucking idea of the consequences for that.

It starts to rain, a gentle, steady fall that will cleanse the ash and stain left in the wake of the fog. It is another kindness to me, making it difficult to differentiate between my tears and the raindrops. The trees shift their branches, trying to shield me as much as they can, and I allow myself to sob. I curl up on the soft forest floor and I cry.

I cry for Connor.

I cry for my past.

I cry for my lies.

I cry even more for my truths.

I’m not sure how long I lie there crying, but eventually I’m scooped up into strong arms, and I immediately know who they belong to. He is the last person I want to see, the last person I want to be here. Yet something inside me warms in his presence. Unable to deny the unwilling safety I feel at being held in his arms, I relax and press my face against his neck, allowing myself to unravel completely.

Chapter Forty-Eight

The Stranger

Iheard her call for me. An echo on the wind, a silent plea, a scream for a reprieve from the torrent of agony she lives with. The ashes of the carnivorous fog still drift in the air, the trees whispering to one another, alive and free for the first time. The wild magic that manifests as the carnivorous fog is not supposed to be defeatable. You can only neutralize it, and even that is risky. Only a powerful, experienced sorcerer has a chance of surviving it. It requires them to perform a convergence, in which the carnivorous fog is transformed into raw power. They can then absorb it into their bodies to balance it out.

Summer eradicated it, meaning she unraveled raw, untempered magic. The only way she could have accomplished that was to be more. More than pure arcane ability, pure possibility. She is pure potential.

She sobs into my neck, and even as I open a portal to my bedroom, I shift to make it easier for her to bury her face in deeper. She won’t want to go home, not when she’s completely drained and vulnerable, and Rafe and Alice are waiting to pounce with questions.

So that leaves one option. My bedroom is nondescript, with no personal photos or items. Truly, it’s a place I sleep and not much else, but it is comfortable. The four-poster bed occupies most of the space. The sheets are soft, and the icy-blue comforter is plush and warm.

Summer doesn’t seem to even notice the change in environment, other than to hold on to me tighter and try to burrow closer. I can feel how cold she is, and I know it is because she’s expended too much power, far too quickly. I’ve done it myself more than once, depleting my power in moments of great desperation. She’ll need food and sleep, but first, she needs to get warm. I can’t do that with my avatar. It’s made of magic and air and only mimics a human shape. It produces no heat.

I drop my avatar, switching it to a glamour of a leopard shifter. He has dark red hair and dark eyes, and his height and build are close to mine. Selfishly, I want the glamour to be as much me as possible. It is bad enough that she can’t look into my true face and eyes.

Activating one of my runes, I increase the heat of my body and sit on the bed before tucking her as close as possible. I press a gentle kiss to her forehead, holding her tight as she processes the emotions she went through in releasing the part of her she has repressed for so long. I don’t know how long we sit like that, with her cradled in my arms, but she finally drifts off. Tears slowly dry on her cheeks, and even in her sleep, her breath hitches with small hiccups left in the wake of her sobs.

Part of me doesn’t want to move, not even a little, but she needs more warmth. Shifting carefully, I keep her pressed against me as I slide us both under the covers. Hours pass, and she continues to clutch at my shirt tightly, her nails curled into the fabric. Would she cling to me this tightly if she were awake and knew it was me? Or would she retreat behind those walls she pretends are strong enough to keep me out?

She would run. She would hate this if she were awake.

The runes on her skin flicker in her sleep, her power nearly depleted. The iridescent marks are closer to a dull white. If they dim completely, they will be useless. All the spells and magic stored in her body will be nothing more than lines on her skin.

Lacing our fingers, I close my eyes. For a second I allow my glamour to fade, needing to concentrate if I am to feed her bottomless well. I cede a good portion of my power, and even so, it’s barely enough to stabilize her.

I doubt even I have enough raw magic to fill her limitless potential. Most are shallow ponds, and greater magical beings might be rivers or lakes. Summer is an ocean. One that never seems to end. Her repression of her power is the only thing that lets her go unnoticed. I doubt she realizes it should be an impossibility. There is a reason lockboxes and such wards exist. We are merely vessels of potential. The primal power that lives inside us does not like to be caged. It can turn feral. If that happens and it breaks free, we are powerless against it. Yet she’s lived her entire life with her powers suppressed. It’s just another way her existence is a challenge to the rules of the realms.

Her runes stop flickering, and she sighs contentedly. She continues to hold on to me, perhaps sensing that I am the reason she is feeling better. She’ll be hungry when she wakes up. I press a kiss to the crown of her head, not wanting to leave her, but knowing I should prepare. My glamour returns, and I squash the regret that turns my stomach at the small boundary between us. Even though I keep it thin, it still stands as a barrier, keeping me from truly feeling her touch.

“Let me get you food, princess,” I whisper softly, brushing her hair back from her face.

She moans sleepily and rubs her face against my chest. It takes a moment for her fingers to relax enough for me to slip from her hold. I tuck the blanket around her before darting downstairs. While I heat up some leftover soup, I make a sandwich, stacked high with protein, before hurrying back to her side. Placing the plate and a cup of soup on the bedside table, I kiss her forehead again, unable to resist the moment of intimacy before I wake her. She stirs slightly at the touch.