DRAEWULF STANDS THERE WATCHING ME, WEARING Eogan’s body like a shroud.
It’s all I can do to fumble forward and grab the wall to my left and hold on, hold still, and pretend that the grief washing over me is any less painful than that a week ago in Faelen’s castle when I believed Eogan was dead.
I scoot as far from him as possible, to the large window in front of us that overlooks the ocean, and press my cold spine against the glass. Keeping my face toward the beast. “Why?” I whisper, and it comes out all jagged.
“Why did I kill him? I think you know the answer to that. Or are you asking why I’ve not killed you too? I think it’d better behoove you to wonder why I shouldn’t,” he muses. “Except perhaps the simple fact is, keeping you alive is far easier than offing you at the moment.” He slinks backward to a chair, which aside from a small table is the only piece of furniture in the black-carpeted, wood-paneled room.
My gaze follows him as he drops into the cushioned seat and rests his chin on his fingers. I refuse my tone to shake with the anguish near-cowing me. “You seem to have found it easy to kill my kind in the past,” I say bitterly. “So I’ll ask again—why? What am I a vessel for?”
“I can assure you, your kind were hard to kill as well, especially early on in the war when they were more numerous. Although a pact with your kingdom definitely eased the burden of eliminating them myself over the last hundred years. Placing them in your ‘safety’ camps was brilliant, really.”
He sniffs and looks back at me. “You’ve never met one other than yourself, have you?” When I don’t reply he adds, “Curious. I always suspected they’d saved a few in reserve. Funny though how things work out. If I’d known sooner what your kind were useful for . . .”
“They didn’t even know I existed.”
“How lucky for me. In that case, I shall tell you the male Storm Sirens used the elements very effectively, but not as effectively as you. You can call them forth on a plane unparalleled.” He levels a leer at me. “Or, should I say, you used to be able to call them forth.”
I settle a glare right back at him, but his gaze takes on a distant expression and drifts to the window behind me. I shiver even as the emptiness in my blood flares in my chest. The irony doesn’t escape me that this is more about Elementals, about myself and my race, than I have ever heard, ever been allowed to talk about in my life. And here he is, the animal I hate, explaining myself to me.
From the corner of my vision I see him twitch his hand and suddenly my eyelids drift heavy.
Keep your eyes open, something whispers from the depths of me.
But I can’t. My lids are suddenly too heavy and my head too sleepy.
I feel my body slump to the carpet.
My eyes flutter open. Morning sunlight spills across a room of white curtains and windows, with a wooden ceiling much higher than my head. I peer down at the bed I’m curled up on and trail my hands over the cool sheets before wandering them up to touch the sun particles the breeze is lifting through the air. I take a deep breath. The air tastes delicious. Like homemade bread and citrus.
Eogan moves from his spot against a window frame where he’s watching me. The honeyed light slips down his messed-up bangs before shimmering along his black shoulders. “I thought I might have to shake you awake.”
I rustle my hair and smile.
“Good dreams?” he asks.
“The best one yet.”
His smile broadens suggestively, and my face warms before his expression turns stiff. He walks over as I slide my feet from the bed, but before I can stand he’s bending over, taking my cheek in hand and willing my gaze to center on his. “Don’t get up.”
But I want to. I want to be with him. This is the future I want with him.
“I have to go alone this morning,” he whispers into my hair.
Go? What is he talking about? Go where?
As if reading my mind, he tips his head toward the open window where the sunlight’s pouring through. I squint to see beyond it, to the valley that looks familiar and foreign all at once. There’s sweet air coming from it—that honey-blossomed scent—and entwined in that scent is music—an ancient melodic refrain wrapping its notes into the breeze and ruffling around Eogan’s beautiful black hands and face and gaze.
The Valley of Origin.
My heart nearly jumps through the roof of my mouth.
“No,” I tell him. “You can’t leave. Not like this.” I will not allow it. I will not lose him this way.
He brushes my fingers against his lips and inhales. I try to yank away, but his hand grasps mine to hold it in place as he raises a brow and smiles. “There are worse ways to leave, trust me.”
He leans down and draws his lips across mine, his mouth caressing my own in a kiss.
It tastes of life. And death.
It tastes of good-bye.