by Dee Garcia
I guess no one ever truly knows how they’re going to go, right?
The point is, I already died. Was supposed to be dead; a cold, lifeless body washed out to the sea. Callan changed that when he found me, and while it warms my mangled heart to know at least one person cared enough about me to save me from myself, the balance of life cannot be disrupted.
There is no life after death, or at least, there’s not supposed to be.
You die, restore that energy to its rightful place within the earth, and if you’re lucky enough, you’re born again into a new version of yourself. Into a new life.
I almost laugh aloud, hearing Callan’s reasoning in my head.
This is your rebirth, he’d say, the clean slate you were longing for.
Perhaps in some twisted, alternate universe, he’s right. This, however, is not that universe.
It’s also not the universe where I can allow him to put his hands on me again.
As exhilarating and mind blowing as the entire scenario was; to be kissed like that, held like that, to be wanted so fiercely… God, I’d never felt anything like it in my life. Peter never kissed me that way, even in his most passionate moments. He never touched me like that, never possessed me so wholly to the point I felt so disconnected from reality.
It might’ve seemed that way at the time, but I didn’t know any better.
I didn’t think something of this magnitude actually existed.
All the more reason why I can’t let it happen again. I promised myself last night that I’d stay away from him, that I wouldn’t be alone with him. And I have to stick by that—in the same way I’ve promised myself I need to stick to my decision.
No matter what.
Temptations may run strong, but I’m not weak. I’ll do what needs to be done.
Wouldn’t be fair to either one of us at this point, really. Hook admitted he’s been waiting for what seems like forever and a day to get me beneath him—or beneath me, I should say. An admission I still haven’t been able to fully process.
Why allow him to take comfort in my presence; to grow accustomed to having me at his side, in his home, when there’s an inevitable expiration date looming over my head?
A date death has penciled into its busy, lengthy schedule to finally reclaim the soul it was supposed to have dragged away days ago.
Or you can feed.
That voice again. The part of me waiting to preserve my essence for eternity. I wish I could tell you I haven’t thought about it, but—bloodlust is real. It’s very, very real. Callan wasn’t lying or exaggerating for my benefit.
Not at all.
And now that I’ve had a taste, although minuscule enough, I want more.
More of it. Of him.
A whisper of guilt ripples through me following that thought, then comes the fire. Still boggles my mind how I can jump from one emotion to the next in almost no time flat, anger especially.
It’s this very reason I need to stay strong, as far away from Hook as possible. I’m here because of him, having to make this decision.
Or maybe he’s saving you. Persia’s still out there…
Imagining how Persia feels about me now is both terrifying and despairing. I’ve never known anything other than love for her. Same as Izzy…
An aggrieved sob builds in my chest, one I know I won’t be able to hold back my longer. Who would do something like this? Why? She’s a child.
The Fae.
Second time my brain goes there. I want to believe it isn’t true. I mean, it can’t be possible. Onyx Hollow is kept with a boundary spell.
But your father and his men can come and go.
I gasp. Could he have lured her?
That sob I was talking about? It bursts free. I feel like I’m drowning, sucked in a quicksand of sorrow. A layered sorrow, because it’s not just grief over Izzy; it’s Aester, my mother, the girl I was before Peter left me. The same girl that fell so deep into the typhoon of depression that she lost all sense of herself within it.
I don’t want to live with this pain anymore, with this ugliness deteriorating me from the inside out.
I just want to be free.
Knock, knock!
Head snapping to the door, I find Hook beneath the threshold, eyes kind, yet concerned as ever.
Tired.
Because of me.
Wiping the tears that had begun streaming down my face, I feign the best smile I can manage and take a casually deep breath. “What’s up?”
He offers a lopsided smile in return. “Can we talk?”
My stomach flips at the sight of it.
I hate that the first thing I notice is how handsome he is, all dark hair and strikingly light eyes. That signature outfit of his, slacks and a crisp, ebony dress shirt, fits him like a glove, as always.
Shoulders.
Finely-cut arms.
Toned abdomen.
That’s all I can see right now. How they felt beneath my palms as his explored my—
I force that tantalizing image from my mind. “Sure, but can you leave the door open?”
Callan seems disarmed by my request, cutting his gaze to the hallway, but he agrees nonetheless, stalking over to my bed. “Oh, yes—of course.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you at least some sit over here with me?” Dropping onto the mess of sheets, he pats the space beside him.
No, the smarter half of me screams, but the masochist in me slowly drives me onto my feet, hauling me away from place at the vanity. “Fine…”
He watches me move without a word to spare, raising every last hair on my body in recognition. Each step toward him feels like I’m summoning the flame, a place where only temptation and irrationality reign supreme. I’m willing myself to stay strong, to remember how succumbing wouldn’t be fair.
God knows how long that’ll last, though.
I’ve not even made it to the spot he suggested when he asks, “Firstly, how are you feeling? Do you need anything?”
You, my desires screech.
Shrugging, I plop down onto the bed, ensuring there’s a decent amount of space between us, and rake a hand through my hair. “I’m okay, just a little tired.”
Hook nods just once, those full, lush lips of his thinning into a grim line. “That’s part of it since you’re not…”
“I know. I’m good, don’t worry. I’ve got this.” I try reassuring him, nearly reach over to set my hand on his, but he gives me that look.
One that screams, Bullshit.
“Do you though? You were just sobbing two minutes ago.”
I wonder just how much he heard.
How long he was standing out there and I was none the wiser?
“It’s helping the process.” I shrug again. “We’ve seen what happens when I bottle up my emotions.”
He hums, but nothing more follows. Clearly, it’s not something he wants to—
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Eyes flashing in surprise, my head rears back, pulse suddenly thundering in my ears. “Oh?”
“I hate to do this to you, to make you relive it, but some...information came to light last night. I need to know exactly what happened the day you decided to, well you know, and I need you to be honest.”
I’m left tongue-tied as his requisition echoes in my mind. Don’t know what to say. I’ve not shared this with anyone, didn’t think I’d ever have to. Don’t know if I want to, if I can. “Callan, I…”
“I know.” Reaching forward, he takes my hand, mimicking the same gesture I’d constrained myself from doing just moments ago. “I know, but I’m right here. You can tell me, and I promise you that when it’s all over, I’ll be honest with you.”
Be honest with me how?
I can’t ponder it for long. Skin sweltering beneath his touch, the words spill free long before I can stop myself, almost like my subconscious was anxiously awaiting to unleash the havoc raging through my mind.
�
��I didn’t wake up with the intention to do so.” I pull my hand free. “I mean, I’d thought about it in the weeks leading up to that day, but it was never more than a fleeting thought when the despair felt so utterly unbearable. My mother all but dragged me out of bed that morning, reminding me I’d made a commitment with Persia and she intended for me to keep it. That’s the only reason I got up, honestly, because it was Persia and Izzy. Otherwise, I would’ve ignored her as I had been.”
That tinge of remorse ruptures in the recesses of my mind at the mere mention of what I put my mother through. The pain she must have felt, the helplessness. Wanting to care for her daughter and stitch her back together but not knowing how.
Tears build anew just below the surface.
Tears I’m certain will drench my lap the further into this sordid tale I get.
“The entire trek to the sanctuary was an out of body experience. I can remember bits of it, vaguely, but in the same hand, I don’t remember anything, as though the walk itself never existed. First thing I fully remember is arriving at the huddle, ambling mindlessly into controlled chaos.”
“What was happening?” Callan quizzes, brows furrowed.
“I didn’t know it until Brielle rushed me, but they were searching for…”
“For?”
“Aester and N’Isabelle,” I admit on a gulp. My stomach churns just speaking their names.
I don’t want to retell this.
“I’m not sure anyone would’ve even noticed their disappearance had Persia’s door not been left wide open for hours.”
Hook seems to ponder this too hard but I don’t dare ask why. I can’t. I’m just trying to keep it together.
“What happened after that?”
“Guilt.” That’s the only way I can think of to word it.
“Guilt? What for?”
Something you’re not going to approve of me saying...
“Because it was my fault.”
Callan’s entire demeanor blazes. Those dark brows impend over stormy eyes, flawless skin reddening as outrage builds. “Tinksley—”
“Let me finish.” I don’t want to hear his rebuttal. I need to let this out. “You and everyone else might think differently, but that doesn’t make it any less my fault. Izzy should have been in my care hours before that. I promised Persia I’d be there as early as possible to pick her up and take her back home with me. Aester was only in the equation as a temporary stand-in given how early Persia was departing. Had I not been laying there, wallowing over Peter, I’d have been there to pick up N’Isabelle. Aester could have been on her way.”
“Is that when you decided to steal from me?” His tone is harsher than I think even he intended.
I can’t blame him. I did steal from him. “It is. I didn’t want to, I swear, but you’re the only person I knew would have what I needed…I’m sorry.”
“I could give three fucks about the sword, Tinksley. What I care about is that you used it to harm yourself. Where did you do it?” He’s barely containing himself to where he sits
“In the Atrium…”
“The Atrium, seriously?”
All I offer is a nod. I don’t have words for what it’s like to have to relive this, aloud no less.
I finally settle on the dais. Seems fitting after all my performances. Obviously, there isn’t an audience present at this time, but we’ll pretend there is. A dark, depraved audience intrigued by violent delights. I imagine them all sitting there, eyes rapt on my disheveled form. Cajoling eyes, sinister smiles, anticipation for bloodshed thick in the air.
Just the thought sucks the air from my lungs.
Drops me to my knees.
Bursts open the flood gates yet again.
More tears. They’re back with a vengeance, falling freely and uncontrollably from my eyes. Vision drowning in grief, I set the sword before me and stiffen my hold on the rough cordage. The bristles prickle my palms, almost mockingly when I wince.
How will I ever be able to handle what’s to come if the simple feel of rope grazing my skin hurts?
Exactly what the rope is for, remember?
So I could have something to bite down on as I screamed in agony…
That memory.
I can’t.
“I’m sure the evidence is still there,” I say softly. It has to be. My blood will stain its floors forever. “After that, I stumbled blindly through the Woodlands, until I made it to the edge and—”
“I know the rest.” He lifts a hand, looking away from me. Processing the truth, the extent of it all.
That look gets me thinking. What version of this tale had he concluded in his head? Surely it wasn’t this. He wouldn’t be speechless if he had.
Or he tried avoiding those thoughts altogether?
“Are you going to tell me why you needed me to tell you all of this?” I knew this conversation was going to have to happen eventually, I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.
Soon is all you have, remember?
Elbows to knees, Callan leans forward, sighing, “It wasn’t your fault…”
“It was.” Why does he have to do this? Just as I told him last night; there’s no coming back from what I’ve done. Him trying to convince me this isn’t my fault to give me a false sense of peace isn’t going to do me any favors.
Head hanging between his shoulders, he cocks it enough to eye me, holding my stare. “It wasn’t. Pan is at fault.”
Is he serious right now? “Peter? That’s not possible. He’d already been gone for three weeks.”
Hook shakes his head. “No, he wasn’t. He was still here. He wanted to leave, but didn’t know how to access the portal. Went to the sirens for help.”
The world stops spinning.
“How do you know this?” I’m not even looking at him. I can see right through him, visions of Peter occluding reality.
“Marlena told me last night. Said they fooled him, told him he needed a sacrifice.”
A sacrifice? Did Peter actually…
Thank you for always loving me. For accepting me. You helped make this part of my life bearable. My greatest wish is that you’ll find the love you deserve. Because you, of all people, deserve it. -P
“No.”
“Yes,” Hook asserts, robbing my lung of air.
“Marlena knew Persia was leaving.”
“She did. In turn, that’s information she passed to Pan, along with their plan. Evidently, he was so desperate to leave, he agreed to the terms. Laid low within the Cove until the day rolled around. As soon as Persia was out at sea—”
“He swept in and took them.” I’m speaking on my own, relaying this crippling realization on autopilot.
He was here...this whole time. He was here, tucked away in Sirens Cove while I laid in bed feeling like I was dying. All so he could proffer a sacrifice for his own gain.
One I still don’t understand, haven’t been able to figure out.
Why did he want to leave?
“Unfortunately, yes.” Callan’s confirmation brings me back to the here and now.
My vision refocuses on his austere face. “Tell me they’re okay. Please tell me they’re okay.”
“N’Isabelle is according to Marlena.”
What’s left of my heart drops to the very pits of my stomach. “And Aester?”
Not a flinch reflects my way, which says it all. “The girl was his sacrifice.”
Aester.
“Oh my God. Aester.” There’s isn’t a sheer second to grab hold of my strength. The floodgates burst and my wits obliterate. “How could he do this?”
I’m moments away from caving in on myself, paralyzed by the torment claiming me limb by limb. Peter may have been the one to stain his hands, but it’s still my fault.
Still my fucking fault.
As the sobs begin to rack through me, I feel strong capable hands, maneuver me from my spot, hoisting me into his lap.
Somewhere, in the distant plains of my mind, alarm bells blare. I igno
re them and willingly melt into him, praying to Aester—wherever she may be—to forgive me.
I’m so sorry.
“At least N’Isabelle is safe,” Hook repeats, squeezing me tighter.
“Is s-she really, though? W-what about Persia, does she know yet?”
“Marlena said they have her, too.”
“What?” I shoot backward. “Why? What do they want?”
“To be freed from the waters.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s a spell, one which unbinds their kind from the water. They can come and go as they please, no limitations.”
“So they want Persia to do it?”
“Persia’s help would be beneficial, but no, they want the girl to do it.”
I don’t like how that sounds, not one bit. Persia is powerful—very powerful. Yes, Izzy will supersede her one day, but I doubt her magic can rival that of her mother’s right now. So why her? “Can Izzy even do that?”
“According to Marlena? Yes. I believe her, too. That little girl is...well, gifted doesn’t quite cover it. I mean, you know. You know her better than I do.”
I do, and Persia’s told me of all the trouble she likes to get into, but to cast a spell on her own? That’s news to me.
“What happens if she casts it?” I hope he’s not about to say—
“She can die. It’s a powerful spell.”
No. No, no, no.
“How has Persia not slaughtered them yet?”
“They’re both in a slumber. Won’t last much longer from what Marlena explained before I kicked her out.”
Her name is really starting to irk me. I know sirens can be vile, but I never had an issue with them. Not until right now anyway.
“Did she want your help?” I blurt sourly, welcoming the heat that begins building in my veins once more.
Better I be angry than a blubbering mess.
“She did, and I declined.” He seems quite proud of that tidbit, flashing a quick smirk. “She’s betrayed us, Tinksley. I don’t give a damn that she wants to be free. She could have gone about this in a different manner. Instead, she chose trickery and deceit, covertly so as you can see. I rarely give people chances and I’m not about to start with her. Betrayal isn’t something to be taken lightly.”