But in this torture, my keeper exists. Even numbed and buried in the weight of my own broken existence, I cannot resist even the cruelest memories of her.
16
MAVEN
It turnsout the collar Del Mar put on Baelfire to prevent him from shifting wasn’t the only one he brought to Everbound months ago.
Asher Douglas heals my broken arm and bite marks, but Everett doesn’t notice the caster is using holy magic, since he’s busy trying to throw a blanket over Baelfire’s nakedness. He has to re-freeze the dragon shifter when Not-Baelfire immediately tries to burn his face off.
“His ass is still out,” Asher points out.
Everett mutters something about shifters being naked idiots before he glances at the mercenary. “Get a message to Commander Decimus. Let her know the feral dragon has been found and contained here. Tell her I’ll update her if necessary if she has follow-up questions.”
Once Douglas leaves Hearst’s old headmaster’s office, Everett shows me the other enchanted collars in one of the desk drawers. All I can think about is how humiliating it was for Baelfire to wear one in public like a common animal.
He’s sexy as fuck wearing a collar for me in the bedroom, but the idea of putting it on him right now, when he’s not evenhimself and he isactuallylike a mindless animal makes my stomach churn.
“It’s either this or keeping him frozen. Unless you have a better idea,” Everett says quietly, slumping into the chair beside the headmaster’s desk.
We’re both exhausted. The entire castle smells like smoke. It was difficult to sneak into the frozen-over headmaster’s office without any Reformists seeing me while they were cleaning up the aftermath of the dragon attack.
Baelfire is now frozen from the neck, ice sealing his mouth shut to keep him from spewing more fire. His eyes are still draconic slits that gleam with primitive insanity.
If he shifts back, he’ll be a bigger target again. Hunters may still be looking for him.
Keeping him in this form gives me a better chance to get through to him.
I grab one of the leather collars and study it. I don’t see runes, but since we couldn’t remove it the last time he wore one until I used revenant magic to destroy it, I suspect it has the age-oldmonomeilockingcharm on it. That charm is simple but ironclad and makes it so that only the one who locks an inanimate object can unlock it.
Meaning, unless we find another revenant wielding unlimited destructive magic, only I will be able to remove this collar once it’s on him.
“Unfreeze his neck,” I mutter.
Once it’s clasped firmly but not too tightly around Baelfire’s throat, Everett and I lead my feral shifter to a spare apartment in the western wing. It’s tedious to drag the resisting mass of muscle there, and even more tedious to fireproof the stone room. Everett finally melts the ice encapsulating my mate after we lock him in for the night.
After several more minutes of sneaking through the castle to avoid anyone else seeing me, we make it to our old quintet apartment, since Everett’s rooms were ruined.
As we step inside, I stare at the quarters I shared with my quintet. Gods, it feels like forever since I was here. The last time I saw it was just before my quintet and I went on the run.
Before we were all bonded together and then promptly ripped apart.
Knowing my immaculately tidy match, I should probably step into the shower before touching anything. But when I step toward the bathroom in one of the hallways, Everett scowls, scoops me up, and takes me into the bedroom with the quintet-sized bed. He lays me gently on the sheets, adjusting the pillow under my head.
I only have time to remove my etherium knife from my hidden pocket, so it’s clutched in my hand instead of digging into my side before I drop into merciful unconsciousness.
Nightmares tease at the peripheries of my deeply exhausted rest until a sudden current washes over me, dragging me back into another Paradisiacal memory.
Syntyche stands before me. Or…maybe she hovers. Her movements are so fluid that I’m not sure if she walks underneath the shadowy cloak obscuring much of her, which makes me question her considerable height.
The goddess wears no expression, but her scythe is propped up on her shoulder as she observes me with pitch black irises. It’s still odd to realize I’m nearly a copy of her, minus her unnaturally pale skin and other minor differences.
Apparently, she’s just as atrocious at small talk as I am, because it’s a long time before either of us says anything.
“No matter what Arati says, I’m not staying in Paradise,” Memory Me finally blurts.
“So you’ve mentioned.”
“I have a plan.”
