Dim bulbs lit the hallway, and the richly woven carpet caressed the bare soles of her feet. They were on the top floor, so it didn’t take much to climb the stairs to the roof.
Darkness greeted her as she stepped outside. The stars were so far away, and the lights of the city so far below. Gwydion stood at the edge of the building, staring down.
Kirby was glad she’d found him in this life. He was patient with her processing her past lives, he was fun, and he was incredible in bed.
He was also haunted. She saw it when he thought she wasn’t looking—the distant stare and the shadows that hung in his gaze. As a Red Cross nurse, she’d seen that look dozens of times with her patients. She could clean and bandage wounds, but chasing away their torment was outside her training.
“You can join me if you’d like.” Gwydion’s voice was soft, and he never looked in her direction. “I promise I won’t let you fall if you don't want to.”
Odd qualifier. She approached with hesitation, her heart hammering in fear again. She gripped his hand tight.
“Look over the edge. I’ve got you.” He didn’t tug her closer.
She crept up to the ledge, forcing her limbs to move despite the terror that wanted to lock them in place. When she stepped up next to Gwydion, he wrapped an arm around her waist. The city was so far down. The smattering of cars, with their long hoods, tear-shaped wheel wells, and canvas tops, looked like toys.
“Are you all right up here?” He asked, his grip tight on her hip.
If by all right he meant scared out of her wits. But she trusted him to keep her safe. “I’m good.”
Silence swept in around them, as most of New York slept. She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, and staring out at the world. Could they stay like this forever? If they never left this rooftop, would she stay alive this time?
“It’s tempting, isn’t it?” Gwydion’s voice sounded distant.
To stay here forever? Had he read her mind? “What is?”
“To take a step forward. To see what it’s like to fly.”
No. The vehement denial slammed into its opposite in her chest, and bile rose in her throat. She’d never wanted to end her life, but she had. She'd fantasized about it off and on, for years.
Kirby swallowed a whimper at the conflicting thoughts of life and death.
“I used to wonder—if I fell far enough, would it be enough to finally kill me?” Gwydion sounded as lost as she was.
She banished the foreign element of her mind that understood the sentiment behind his words. “Do you think about dying a lot?”
“Depends on your definition of a lot. Now that you have your wings, would you like to fly with me?” He extended his hand.
No, she screamed in her own head. That other bit of her pushed forward, tangling her fingers with his. Fear surged inside, but it was wrapped in calmness and anticipation. Two halves of her argued.
When Gwydion stepped forward, so did Kirby. It was simple—one foot off the edge, and let gravity do the rest. They tumbled down, into a pit of blackness with no bottom. Falling. Spinning. Never hitting ground.
Kirby jolted awake again. The light from the hallway spilled in under the door, and the TV droned on with some syndicated supernatural bullshit. Was she awake this time? No one was in the room with her. This was the tiny little room in London she’d fallen asleep in. The dagger sat on her nightstand, the faint light in the room bleeding into the soft leather sheath.
Knowing she was awake didn’t push away the lingering traces of overlapping dreams. Go figure that the nightmares weren’t gone. She refused to let Mark’s ghost haunt her, but she had no idea how to convince her subconscious of that decision.
She climbed out of bed, fighting with the hazy dreams, clawing to put them in a box and lock them away.
Clothes. She needed those and air. She yanked on jeans and a T-shirt—the uniform of indoctrinated TOMs around the world—and grabbed the dagger and her room key.
The falling sensation rushed around her as she stepped into the hallway. The air, blowing past her face and whipping her hair out behind her. The second dream had been a memory, but it didn’t end that way in real life.
She couldn’t remember how things had gone instead, but in the dream she’d so desperately wanted Gwydion’s words to be true. Hoped that, if she fell far enough, she’d hit the ground and not get up.
Kirby made her way to the stairs. Her room was on the fourth floor, with only two more floors above, and the staircase was an easy climb.
She wasn’t surprised to find the door to the roof locked. She couldn’t pick locks. Was she super strong now? Enough to force it open? Nothing in her past said that was an option, but the past hers were kind of pussies. She wrenched the handle, expecting it to give way.
It refused to budge past a wiggle.
She had to get out there. Why? Because sanity was on the other side of that door. Her dream-memory was wrong to hate the fear. If that was what waited for her, it was another flavor she’d never tasted.
She was the reason they’d survived the explosion in London. She’d done something similar in Kuwait. Kirby turned her focus inward and grasped for a shield she’d only summoned by mistake so far.
A warm glow sped through her veins and encased her body in an invisible bubble. She didn’t see it when she opened her eyes, but she felt it. She twisted the handle on the door again, and this time it gave.
When she got back to her room, she’d call the front desk and tell them it was broken. Wouldn’t do to have just anyone wandering out here.
There was no one else here, which made sense, given the trouble she’d had gaining access, but disappointment flitted inside at not finding Gwydion waiting.
Compulsion guided her feet to the edge of the building, where she sat, one foot dangling over the side. This was nothing like the roof of the Waldorf Astoria in 1942. A dozen electrical fans whirred behind her, choking the air with their noise. The street was near enough below that she could make out license plates on the cars.
If she fell, it would hurt like fuck—probably break a few bones—but it wouldn’t kill her. The drop wasn’t far enough.
She slid the onyx blade from its sheath. The city below provided enough light to bounce off the blade and fall into the shadows of the runes carved on the hilt. She didn’t need to read the text, to know it said Ill is it to leave the right undone.
The words clenched around her chest in a way she didn’t care for. They tied her to a past she didn’t want to admit was hers. But the longer she stewed in the memories, the harder it was to ignore how much she felt in each one. Physically and emotionally.
She dragged the tip of the knife across her palm. Pain seared through her at the number of nerves she hit, and blood welled up from a cut that healed the instant it was created.
This agony was hers. It was tied to a past she recognized—one she’d had a say in, whether or not her decisions had been the right ones.
Kirby made another slice that vanished as quickly as the discomfort, leaving a streak of dark red as the only reminder she’d been injured. It’d be nice if the wounds inside healed as easily.
The door creaked behind her, and all of her senses cranked to full alert.
“Thanks for taking care of the lock for me.” Gwydion’s teasing comment calmed her again. The impulse to jump into his embrace snaked through her, the way it had for both him and Starkad when they walked into the diner. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and kiss him until her lips ached.
That’s what any past her would have done by this point in their relationship. And she was going to have to admit those lives were hers. That didn’t change how she felt now, so she stayed put. “I was a little surprised you didn’t get to it first.”
“The view up here isn’t as great as in New York, and to be honest, it kind of breaks my heart.” He joined her on the ledge but kept his back to the city and his feet on the roof.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to do for it. But I’d rather see this place thriving and alive with new energy, the way it is now, than it be a pile of rubble.”
She slid the dagger back in its home and set it on the rooftop by his feet. “Would you rather witness the changes or not survive to see them?” She would never dare have a conversation like this with Starkad. He was kind and sympathetic and wanted her to heal, but she felt his frustration and disappointment. She hated to be the cause of that. Gwydion would understand.
“You mean what we talked about in New York, all those years ago. I don’t have the death wish I used to. I want peace, but I want to find it in this world.” Gwydion glanced sideways at her.
“Me too.” Her voice cracked, lacking conviction.
He settled a hand on her planted bare foot. Warmth and comfort seeped into her skin. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said. “If you don’t feel the same way, I won’t judge. I’m here for whatever you need.”
Tears pricked her eyelids. Hearing him confirm he understood her darker thoughts lodged like a lump in her throat. She swallowed back the relief and confusion. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” The confession slipped out. Did she feel that way?
Yeah.
“I lit into Starkad for taking my choices, but I don’t know how to make my own decisions. My entire life, I’ve let the current carry me. When TOM stripped my world from me—” Kirby needed to stop. She didn’t talk about this with anyone. Even Starkad didn’t get to hear her musings about the night he’d saved her. But the words wouldn’t be held back. “I didn’t know at the time I was trying to kill myself, but when I thought I was dying, there was so much relief. No one could tell me what to do anymore, but I wouldn’t have to figure it out, either.” She choked on a sob and almost held back the wave of emotion rushing through her. “I’m such a fucking coward.”
“No.” Gwydion managed to pour force, understanding, and sympathy into a single syllable. “You’re a billion things, but coward isn’t one of them.”
“Maybe not in my past lives, but now...”
“Especially now.” He squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t matter that we don’t know each other. I’ve been where you are. Not for the same reasons, and there’s a part of me that argues mine weren’t nearly as good as yours are. I’m not telling you to stop feeling that way, but I am saying, whatever it is you feel—good or bad or angry or happy or anything on the spectrum—I’ll sit through it with you.”
She couldn’t talk about this. If she slid into a pit of darkness, it would take too much to climb out. That wasn’t an option on mission. It was barely an option when she was home alone, having no idea why Starkad had jetted off to some new place without her. “Can I fly? Am I capable? I have wings,” she said.
Gwydion raised an eyebrow and stood. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “We did in New York.”
The rest of the memory flitted back into her head, carried on gusts and updrafts and freedom. Back then, they had stepped from the ledge together, but they didn’t plummet in an uncontrolled spin. She’d soared, with her hand clutched tightly in his. New York City, Staten Island, and the Atlantic Ocean had stretched out beneath them. It was dark and inky and stunning. And then they’d come back to the hotel, breathless and laughing. Filled with joy.
Kirby’d never been that happy in this life. The realization gnawed a hole in her heart. Flying wouldn’t give her that feeling, but she could use a little freedom right now. “I want to try again.”
“Okay.” Gwydion tugged her to the center of the roof. “I’m not jumping off ledges with you, though. At least until you have a little lift.”
Another snippet of memory tickled her mind. “But you can fly too.” She hadn’t been holding him up in New York.
“I can, but it’s never the same for me alone. And Min’s private jet is far more comfortable for transatlantic trips.” He didn’t have wings. Flight was just one of his gifts.
Her giggle felt foreign but good. “Let’s do this.”
She didn’t have to reach as deep, to figure out how the flying worked. The knowledge was on the surface, summoning her wings and lifting her into the sky. Gwydion floated up to join her, and tangled his fingers with hers.
Kirby cut a straight line into the sky, the wind tearing at her clothes and biting her cheeks. When they were high above everything, including the tallest building, she glanced at Gwydion.
He nodded. She wasn’t sure what it was in response to, but she let inspiration propel her.
They hovered in the air together, looking out over the city and the channel. Then she pointed herself at the ground and dove.
This was the sensation from her dream, but there was no fear here. Kirby was in control. She understood how far and fast she could go. She pulled up short before the rooftop, and they touched down lightly on the dusty concrete.
This was incredible. Her heart still soared above them. She threw her arms around Gwydion’s neck and crushed her mouth to his.
He gripped her hips hard and returned the kiss, his desire swirling with her happiness. The hammering of her heart against her ribs was powered by something other than terror or doubt. This was incredible.
She pulled away with a gasp and met his gaze. A hint of reality slithered in, stealing her smile.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly.
If she answered honestly, she’d ruin the moment. But the truth was jagged inside, insisting she let it out. “I’ve been going hard since the mission in London, and the one before that. If I slow down, like I did tonight, I’m going to slide. I can’t do that.”
“You can.” He slid his hands to the small of her back, holding her close. “If that’s what happens, that’s what happens.”
“No.” That was so impractical. Her depression and self-loathing were liabilities.
He brushed his lips over hers. “Yes. You push through the darkness when it occurs. I’ll hold you, if you want. Or I’ll sit in the other room and slide chocolate under your door, if you’d prefer. And you come out the other side.”
Kirby wanted to be comforted by his words. A little spark inside pleaded for her to believe him. But he didn’t understand. She was reckless and had a death wish, and her actions were going to demand a price she was unwilling to pay.
Chapter Ten
Gwydion hated parting ways with Kirby and sending her back to her room alone, but after the highs and lows—literal and emotional—it was for the best. Not that he would have turned her down if she asked him to stay, but he wouldn’t be the one to propose it tonight.
The next morning, her smile was too bright and her voice too chipper when she answered her door. She’d talk when and if she was ready. He hated being pushed into soul-bearing, and would resist the urge to do that to her.
“May I treat you to breakfast, m’lady?” He offered his arm.
Her smile loosened, and she hooked her hand around his elbow. “I’d love that.”
Aeval was going to love meeting her. Especially with Kirby looking a bit like a modern fae herself, in a gauzy blouse and loose, flowing skirt. The clothing had to be a gift from Min, but it was deceptive. A long slit was hidden among the folds on Kirby’s right side, and Gwydion guessed she had the knife she’d been playing with last night strapped there.
As with most things in Bangor, it was a short stroll to the coffee shop. They moved away from the hotel and the modernization fell away rapidly, giving way to older buildings that hummed with more of the magic that made Gwydion’s blood sing.
“I remember this place.” Kirby’s voice wove into the underlying symphony.
“I didn’t know you’d been here.”
“Not here, specifically. And not now. Before. When you and I met the first time. The air feels the same.” She sounded distant but calm. “When more than just a handful of fucked-up kids knew the old gods were real. When the god who commanded the trees told me I was the most stunning creature he’d ev
er met.”
He remembered that too. It sparkled brightly in the sludge that was his past. “You were. You are.”
Her laugh was light. “And yet, you’ve said that to so many women since.”
“Only a handful, and it was what they wanted to hear.” Gwydion wouldn’t hide any part of his history from her.
Kirby slipped her hand into his. “How do I know you’re not just saying it to me?”
“Because it’s not what you want to hear.”
“That’s true.” Her ego was attached to something other than appearance. She’d been raised to know she was beautiful and that it was one of her greatest weapons. “My memories told me I had A List in my last life.”
He smiled at the call to the past. Each time they had sex someplace new, she would say it had always been a fantasy—sex with a doctor, sex with an entire battalion sleeping in the next tent, sex in the dressing room at Macey’s—and that she was checking it off her list. “I’m not sure if you ever actually did, or if you were making things up as we went along.”
“I’m not telling. But I had an impressive list after about six months with you,” she said playfully.
They’d been stationed in Kuwait together. She was clergy, and he was a doctor. It was how they met. They were far enough from the front lines they never saw much action, and as the conflict wore down, they spent a lot of time getting to know each other. “Do you have a list now?” he asked.
“No. What does a girl like me put on a list like that?”
Fair question. “Sex in your own bed, without worrying about the consequences. Missionary position, I’m guessing.”
“You could help me tick that box?”
“I’ll tick as many of your boxes as you let me. Again. And again.”
Her laugh was as magical as the currents that ran through this part of town. “What about going to the movies without constantly looking over my shoulder? A moonlit walk on the beach without wishing I had something more powerful than a dagger strapped to my thigh? Would you give me those?”
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