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Val gives me a full snort before he flops into my lap, rolling onto his back, his legs flailing in the air and I laugh even harder at his antics. “Am I to assume this means you want a belly rub?” I tease, knowing exactly what he’s after.
He wiggles on his back, tail wagging furiously.
Amidst the laughter, a knock sounds at the door, and my heart stutters, but I manage to call out, “Come in!” through my giggles.
Darian’s impressive form steps into the room and dark blue jeans. As he enters, his black t-shirt barely covers the muscles of his tattooed arms, and they strain against his sleeves as they cross over his chest. The veins in his forearms are on full display, and as heleans on the door frame, locking his legs in front of him, I can’t help but appreciate the dark blue jeans that hug him perfectly.
For a moment, the mental image of him hulking out, turning green and everything triggers another wave of laughter and I find myself unable to stop as I rub Val’s belly.
Darian’s lips twitch, clearly amused Val embracing his canine mannerisms.
After a few long moments, I finally manage to collect myself and the laughter subsides as Darian clears his throat, his baritone voice still somehow gentle.
It’s the concern in his face that brings me crashing back to reality, “My brother has noticed your absence and has sent teams of hunters to find you,” Darian says, and I shift my gaze between him and Val as they share a look.
Do they have some kind of secret language or something?
I clasp my hands together in my lap in an effort to calm the nervous energy filling my body, “So what do we do?” I ask.
Darian’s brows furrow as he rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “We have a few options,” he begins, his tone serious. “Option one: We tell my brother that we will find the remaining amulets, but he must release your friend unharmed. Option two: We don’t tell him anything and we search for the remaining amulets ourselves.”
My head jerks back in confusion, the weight of Darian’s words sinking in. “We’re going to continue hunting for the amulets?” My voice filled with surprise.
Darian’s neck muscles visibly tense. “Yes,” he confirms, his voice resolute. “We are going to break the binding on magic ourselves.”
I gape at him, my eyes widening in disbelief.
He said last night that he doesn’t want magic back?
Was he lying?
Suspicion coats my body, and I start to wonder if I made the wrong decision in coming here.
His eyes burn into mine, doing nothing to calm my heart rate, “If we don’t find them,” he explains, speaking as if he has considered all possible options and outcomes, “Caspian will never stop hunting you. Your life, the lives of your friends and everyone you hold dear, will be caught in the crossfire. Not to mention civilian casualties.”
Glancing over at Val, his face looks somber as his gaze rests on the bed and my chest falls in resignation. With a last ditch effort, I voice the lingering question in my mind.
“But what about the ‘Gods’? Won’t they be displeased if we break the binding? Aren’t they going to smite us or something?”
As I gesture in the air with my fingers, emphasizing the word ‘Gods,’ and Darian shoots me a look.
The seriousness in his voice gives me pause, “Regardless of your beliefs, they exist, and I’d recommend against mocking them.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Well, forgive me if I don’t feel particularly grateful to the divine beings who banished their own ‘Darth Sidious’ to wreak havoc in my world.”
Darian chuckles at my Star Wars reference, and I shoot him a deadpan look before considering our choices and their potential consequences.
An extended silence stretches between us and eventually, I let out a resigned sigh.
“I suppose we have no choice but to inform him that we intend to search for the remaining keys.”
Darian raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“If we choose not to inform him, he might act impulsively, potentially endangering Tammy and others I care about. If we tell him we’re to find the remaining keys, he might call off the hunters, under the belief that he’s getting what he wants. The worst-case scenario of informing him is that we will still be pursued.”
Darian nods thoughtfully and pushes off the wall, making his way toward the bed. As he reaches me, he retrieves his phone from his pocket and dials a number before handing me the device.
“Just press send when you’re ready,” he instructs, “I’ve blocked the number. Try to keep the call brief. Even though it’s blocked, they can still trace it, but it will slow them down. They’ll need to obtain the call data from the carrier, which takes at least 24 hours.”
