Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Lily

Buttery sunlight fell in soft waves to the forest floor. Lily wanted to close her eyes, to revel in the feel of eternal dawn upon her skin. She did not need to look to know exactly where she was going.

He called to her. It swelled deep in her chest, her scarred heart pounding against her ribcage. The sickness at the similarity of this to feeling dulled, until it was little more than an ache in her temples. This was not Atticus. That pain – the pain he had caused – was merely temporary. Her true path lay ahead.

Four white trees stood in a perfect diamond. Lily stilled, cocking her head to one side. A man was resting against one, his sword tossed on the ground beside him. She could smell fresh basil and citrus, undercut with something smoky; a bonfire breathing darkness into the dawn. She feared her growing heart might crush her lungs.

His eyes were closed. Dark lashes brushed his cheeks, laying gently against an angry, thick scar that ran from his left temple down, down across his nose, coming to rest above the right corner of his full mouth. Brown hair, lightened by the sun, was tousled into waves. As she watched, his scarred hand twitched, as if wanting to grab for his sword.

He took a deep breath. She stepped closer, wanting to crouch before him, to fall to her knees and take him in her arms. She longed to press her head to his chest, to feel his heart beat against her skin.

His lips parted, and then, slowly – so slowly – his eyes opened.

Molten steel churned in the depths of his gaze. As they each looked, wanting to learn, to understand, the colour of his eyes began to shift. They lightened, his irises almost glowing in the soft, hazy sunlight.

She stepped closer, the movement shifting her weight onto her injured leg. She winced. He was on his feet in an instant, reaching for her. She ached for him, but before she could move towards him, his hands fell back to his sides.

She stared at him. Her heart thundered in her ears. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen – tall and well-built, broad and muscular, but with a softness in his eyes that seemed to yearn for her, just as she did for him.

“I don’t know why I came here,” she whispered. She traced his every shift, wanting to see every flutter and flicker of the colour of his irises. She’d been drawn to Atticus’s eyes, before; though they had been stunning, green and glossy like the spring foliage surrounding him, they had been nothing like this. These eyes could speak.

“It – it was like before,” she continued. “An urge I couldn’t deny. But…”

But it was different, too. So different. Softer and gentler, but infinitely stronger. As if she’d been walking one way, merrily and thoughtlessly, and this – this had made her turn around.

“But what?” he asked. His voice was deep, almost gravelly, but tender.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” And, truly, it didn’t. He was her past. Though she did not understand this, why she’d been pulled here, she knew this was the start of her future.

“I felt it too,” he murmured, nerves dancing across his strong features. Lily wondered at that scar, the most prominent, rising above all the others littering his skin. They stole across his face like creeping ivy, winding up his hands and around his wrists. The sword at his feet screamed warrior, and something in Lily balked. Would this man, so clearly at home on the battlefield, find her unworthy, too?

His sudden grin soothed her fear. “Well – I think I did. I thought I was having a heart attack.”

She couldn’t help but smile back. His gaze, his grin, were infectious. Raw affection swelled within her, strange and new but utterly right. This man – he had to be her…

But he couldn’t be. She stopped the thought before it could fully form. He could not be that to her. She’d had her chance – her one, lonely chance – and Atticus had stolen it from her.

Forcing aside her old anger, she allowed these new feelings – feelings of light and life and hope – to take its place. Meeting his eyes, her smile grew without her bidding. “That doesn’t sound good,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. More than fine,” he corrected quickly. She flinched, her injured leg pulsing, and he reached out to steady her. “Are you, though?”

He was everything she’d longed for since leaving the Blood Moon pack. He was safety and comfort, and, separate from her burning attraction to him, he felt… warm. She allowed herself to forget, just for a moment, what her purpose was. In that moment, she was just a girl, falling for a boy.

She leant into his touch. But she wasn’t just a girl. She was a rogue, an outcast – rejected. And this was no boy by her side. His strength made her feel safe, but this could so easily be a trick. He was a good head and a half taller than Lily, and she could feel the weight, the strength, behind his easy touch.

He could be a trap. He could be Efaffion’s tool. He could be anything, and, worst of all – he could kill her.

She pulled back sharply. He looked hurt, but she could not allow herself to feel sorry for him. Not until she knew more.

Leaning heavily against a tree, Lily schooled her expression into a false calm before speaking. Her hand hung limply as she gestured down at herself, at the cuts and grazes oozing blood. “I’ve been better.”

His eyes narrowed with concern. “What happened to you?”

She found herself lost in his eyes again. They’d darkened abruptly as he’d looked her over, gaze lingering on her bad leg and the cut down her face. She’d forgotten about her face – her leg hurt so much more – and she wondered how she looked, mussed and thorn-bitten, scraped and scratched and broken.

It didn’t matter. Not to her, not now. And, with the way he was watching her, eyes turning molten once more, it seemed it didn’t matter to this man either. Despite herself, she was struggling not to smile.

“I was captured by an eleve. Efaffion,” she added, disgust making her face wrinkle and her lips pout. “Not that that’s his real name, anyway.”

His face was soft and sympathetic, but a tiny smile was playing about his lips, seemingly unbidden. She pointed to the bridge she’d come from, not wanting to ponder any longer on what he might be thinking. The rosy haze clouding her vision was making it hard to focus, and that was precisely what she had to do.

They were still too close to the eleves – to Efaffion – for comfort. This man, help or hindrance he may be, needed to reveal his true motives – and soon.

“I jumper down from up there to get away. Then I had a minor run-in with another couple of eleves, and a leurcher, and then – well, then I found myself drawn to you.” She paused, her list leaving her out of breath. She eyed him closely, carefully, so tempted to trust him, to fall into his arms.

If she hadn’t been born a wolf, she never would have believed in love at first sight. But standing beside this man, his gaze doting, his smile daring, she thought that, even had she been a human, she might just have let herself believe for a moment.

Trick or trap or nothing at all, Lily gave herself over to her instincts. She had left her home behind, her family. All she had was the ring on her finger and the shredded clothes on her back.

She stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Lily.”

Tenderly – ever so tenderly – he took her hand in his. Scars met bruises. He smiled as though she were the only thing in the universe that mattered.

As their skin met, the last piece of Lily’s scattered heart found its way home. The final stitch was sewn into place and, scarred or not, it felt whole again.

This was exactly where she was supposed to be.

“Hello,” he said, holding her gaze. “I’m Elijah.”

She beamed at him, clutching his hand tightly. They stared at one another; no words could do their feelings justice. Electricity crackled in the air between them. Lily took him in, every single inch. She traced his scars with her fingertips, nudging herself closer, closer, to him. And then she was in his arms, his chin pressed to the top of her head.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he whispered. “It – it sounds weird to say. But I… I felt your fear. I came to find you.”

Lily froze. The spell broken, she pulled away just enough that she could look into his eyes.

He brought a hand up to his head and adjusted the hair brushing the top of his ears. Lily hardly noticed. Her heart thundered in her chest.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, eyes wide. “Why are we both here? I – I’ve already…”

“Already what?” Elijah murmured, hands moving to her shoulders. He ran a gentle fingertip along the line of her cut, mindful of the swollen skin around it.

She shook her head. “We can’t stay here. I don’t understand what this is, but – but whatever it is, we have to leave.” Unable to resist, she took his hand. He grabbed his sword as she tugged him away from the four white trees.

He stumbled alongside her. She could feel his eyes on her face, their grey heat blazing, but she kept her own gaze fixed forwards. Her leg was stiff with pain, but she ignored the tremors racing up and down her joints, ignored the blood seeping down her skin.

Gently, he pulled her to a stop. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. We can leave – you’re right, we should. But not this way.”

Her forehead creased. “How do you know? It all looks the same.”

He smiled tightly, concern marring his features. She couldn’t keep her eyes from darting to his scarred face, uncertainty making her stomach dip and plunge.

“I – ah.” His hand twitched in hers. “I’ve had a lot of time – and resources – to study these areas.”

It struck her then that she knew nothing about this man. Was he even a werewolf? He looked like a werewolf, with his broad, strong build. He certainly looked nothing like any of the eleves she’d met.

Between the haze of pain and the ever-present fear that the eleves might strike – or some other creature lurking in the forest – Lily had given little thought to her new companion. He seemed genuine – sweet, even – and with every step they took together, her worry that he was a trick sloped away.

She wanted to lean her weight against him, to rest her aching leg and swollen face. Part of her wanted to cry, too; to have a chance to process everything that had happened since awakening on her eighteenth birthday. Being mated to Atticus – no matter how short-lived it had been – felt unreal, more a dream than truth.

And this… this felt uncomfortably like that had.

Shaking herself, Lily pulled herself up to her full height. They didn’t have time for this now. Should they escape the forest with their lives, then – and only then – could she ask every question that was bubbling in her throat.

She nodded. He squeezed her hand softly, mindful of the cuts littering her dorsum and knuckles. “Lead the way,” she said.

He pulled her close, wrapping his arm firmly around her waist. She sagged against him, her legs trembling, her body exhausted. It was all too much. Allowing him to prop her up, they turned as one and, too slowly for comfort, began to wind their way through the trees – walking straight towards the hovering sun.

But forcing her thoughts aside did little to quell them. Her brain struggled through the tangled thorns pricking the inside of her skull. Her leg flared with pain with every step and, as the glare from the sun became almost too much to bear, her injured leg gave way. Bowed down by the quiet of the woods, she succumbed to the swelling darkness filling her frame of vision.

Dimly, she felt strong arms sweep her off her feet. Then there was only silence, and the steady beat of two hearts.