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Where do I go from here? Is there a heaven, or will I become another ghost that haunts the streets of Shadowbrook? Unable to feel or touch the one I love.
“Amara, please take me to Shadowbrook.”
Amara’s eyes shimmer with empathy, reflecting the depths of my pain. “I’m sorry to witness your suffering like this. It’s evident that your love for Xavier runs deep, and the ache of losing him is beyond comprehension. I understand what it’s like to love someone so profoundly that their absence becomes a tangible ache.” She gently brushes away a stray tear from her cheek before continuing, “You are in no condition to travel, and I am forbidden from entering the city. I cannot defy the orders of my father, the king.”
“Please.” I look at her pleadingly. I have done a lot of begging today, begging my dad to save Xavier, begging for death to end this pain, and now begging for the chance to say goodbye. “I need to tell Xavier...” that I love him. “I need to tell him goodbye.”
“I cannot take you myself, but I know a man, a friend who will take you to your Xavier. Rest now, and I will take care of it.” She draws the sheet up to cover my shoulders and starts singing softly, weaving a haunting melody that seems to intertwine with my pain, heartache, and weariness.
I don’t want to surrender, yet I can’t keep holding on.
Amara’s song dissolves into the haze as darkness overtakes me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Xavier
Asaneducatedman—well,a vampire—I find myself questioning my intelligence. I departed from Lyra and made my way to the city, still tasting the astringent residue of anger from our heated argument that compelled me to leave.
While I wandered through the city, the notion of feeding from anyone other than Lyra troubled me. I knew it wasn’t right, and I had only said it to hurt her. As I passed the time, lurking in the shadows, my thoughts kept returning to our disagreement—our first serious disagreement as a couple. Regrettably, I had to acknowledge my wrongdoing. I had longed for Lyra’s affection, and I finally had it, but I carelessly disregarded her concerns and needs, succumbing to my own pride.
In the grand scheme of things, Lyra wasn’t asking for too much. She simply wanted to protect me and be together.
It’s unfortunate that it took me hours to grasp this realization because when I returned home, I discovered that Lyra was no longer there. She’d warned me that she would leave if I persisted, but I didn’t take her seriously.
Now, I sit alone, and the one thing I desire is not here because I drove her away. The absence of her presence amplifies my solitude, and the silence seeps into my bones.
Bloody hell!
How could I have been so blind to the consequences of my arrogance?
I’m a fool—an imbecile of the highest order.
Sinking onto the edge of my empty bed, I close my eyes searching for solace in the cool, stagnant air. But the scent of her, intoxicating and comforting, still lingers like a ghost.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips, and I run a hand through my disheveled hair.
How can I make this right?
The answers elude me, like the splinters of a shattered mirror reflecting only fragments of the truth. I must find her, face her, and beg for her forgiveness. I’ll reject the foolish challenge I accepted from her brother, Lucian, abandoning my pride and arrogance in the process.
But what if it’s too late?
Lyra is stubborn; her pride matches mine. What if she refuses to listen to me? Flowers won’t work, and neither will jewelry; I’m going to have to get down on my knees and beg for her forgiveness. Ah, the irony. On the first night we met, she told me she’d have me on my knees, begging her to spare me, and it seems like that’s exactly what’s happening now. But I have to find her first before any groveling can begin.
I contemplate my next move, but a sudden shift in temperature snaps me out of my thoughts. I open my eyes and fixate on the familiar azure spark dancing in the air, gradually expanding into a portal. Just as he has done countless times before, Marcus emerges from the portal, his black cloak swirling around his feet.
It is not the intrusion into my bedroom or Marcus’ unannounced arrival that drives me to my feet and propels me towards him in a state of absolute panic; it is the lifeless form of Lyra, her golden tresses cascading over his arm, her eyes sealed shut, her body mangled and drenched in blood.
“Oh God, no, Lyra,” I cry out, my voice hoarse. My hands reach out, I want to press my lips against hers to feel the warmth of her breath. I ache to touch her, to cradle her broken body in my arms, and to feel the rhythmic beat of her heart beneath my fingertips. But the fear of worsening her injuries or inadvertently causing further harm roots me to the spot. Tears of blood spill from my eyes, pouring down my face and staining the plush carpet beneath me, reflecting the anguish that consumes my soul.
Her once-beautiful face is marred by bruises and lacerations, her limbs twisted at grotesque angles, the jagged edges of broken bones jutting out from her wrist. She bears the marks of savage bites, each one a testament to the brutality she has endured. But it is the vicious wound on her shoulder, where a sizable chunk of flesh has been torn away, that sends a shiver of horror down my spine.
I have never feared much, but seeing Lyra like this fills me with a fear so deep that I can’t even put it into words.
The sight of Lyra fuels an urgency within me that eclipses any sense of rationality. All I can think is that I need to save her. She isn’t immortal, and although she has healing abilities, she might die from the extensive injuries she’s sustained before she is able to heal.
“Put her on the bed; we need to save her,” I urge Marcus. “I need to give her my blood. It can heal her. It has to.”
