Now I understand. Nymeria and Anika never saw him as a threat because he wasn’t. He was family, bound by ties deeper than blood or magic. And though his actions often felt like anger, they were rooted in something far more complex—something protective, something broken.
A tear slips down my cheek, hot and unbidden. The lump in my throat grows as Fenris takes one last, lingering look at me before turning and storming out of the arena. I watch him go, his massive frame disappearing into the shadows, and my chest aches with the weight of unspoken words.
The moment he’s gone, Raiden’s shadow falls over me, his presence as always, solid and grounding. “Everly?” His voice is softer now, though the edge of his authority remains.
I blink, brushing the tear away quickly, though my throat still feels tight. “I’m okay, Batman,” I choke out, forcing a weak smile.
Raiden isn’t fooled. He crouches, bringing himself to eye level with me, his silver eyes piercing through my walls. “You don’t look okay,” he says, his voice low but filled with a quiet, simmering fury—not at me, but at the situation.
I look up at him and give him a watery smile. “I just got another memory back.”
Understanding fills his eyes, and he reaches out, drawing me into his arms.
“I need Maxon. I can’t do this without him,” I whisper into his chest.
Raiden makes a low noise and pulls back, cupping my shoulders. “You are stronger than you think.”
Chapter thirty-three
Everly
Imove swiftly through the secret tunnels in the walls, my fingers gliding along the rough, cool stone. It's almost soothing, the way the chill seeps through my fingertips and into my bones, keeping me centered, keeping me aware. Since my Renascitur, my senses are sharper than I ever imagined—sound, scent, sight.
The darkness of these tunnels no longer holds the same danger it once did. Now, shadows are mere wisps that my gaze pierces with ease. And the scents—they layer over one another, a blend of old moss, earth, and stone.
As I near the end of the tunnel, the faint aroma of the garden reaches me, growing stronger with every step. The familiar fragrance of wild lavender, night lily, and roses, the dewy scent of untouched grass, it all calls to me.
A deep sigh escapes my lips; my body knows what I need even before my mind does.
I need to get out of this stone labyrinth and into the open air.
I need space, distance, and a sky stretching endlessly above me. I need the solace only the garden can offer away from people.
I know I don’t have long. The alarm will sound soon, and they’ll come looking. But just for a moment, I want to be alone. I quicken my pace, slipping through the final corridor, each footfall silent, a skill I’ve honed since the transformation. The thought of the fresh air, the feel of it on my skin—it pulls me forward.
Stepping out into the open air, I tilt my face to the sky, the light sprinkle of rain kissing my flushed skin.
I make my way quietly through the garden, taking my time, savoring the solitude. My fingers trail over every petal, lingering on the delicate textures—silken rose petals, the faint fuzz of lavender leaves, the feather-light touch of daisies that lean toward me as I pass. The storm clouds darken the already fading light as I follow the narrow path leading down to the lake.
My heart pounds a little faster as I approach the lake, remembering the last time I was here. Maxon had taken me under the shelter of the gorgeous weeping willow, hidden away from the world, just the two of us bound together in solitude. My cheeks warm at the memory of him pulling me close, of his fingers weaving through my hair, his hands on my skin. The feeling of him moving within me was like nothing I’d ever known—a dizzying blend of pleasure and connection that sent me tumbling into bliss, every sense heightened, every breath stolen.
Our bond was immediate, magnetic, pulling us together the moment our eyes met. In those early days, I didn’t understand it, didn’t understand him. I was lost then, unsure of what any of it meant. Now all I feel is a yearning that cuts deeper every moment he isn’t near.
A dull ache rises in my jaw, pulsing upward into my ear. I wince, pressing a hand to my cheek, trying to will it away. Not again. It’s been happening more often lately, these strange pangs that echo through my head. Maybe it’s part of the Renascitur, some lingering effect. Whatever it is, I wish it would stop.
The lake is silent, stretching out before me like a mirror, smooth and still. I slip off my jeweled slippers, letting them fall softly onto the grass at the edge of the shore. Stepping forward, I feel the cool, soft earth beneath my feet as I wade out into the water. My red dress trails around me, floating on the surface, swirling in dark, shadowy waves as I venture deeper.
The cold water rises past my ankles, then my knees, sending a chill over me, but I barely notice. My emotions are overriding everything else. I can’t even begin to put words to what I feel. It’s like everything is tangled inside me. My anger, grief, longing, and a hollow ache that won’t leave. The weight of it drowning me as memories of Maxon flicker in my mind. I feel his absence like a wound, raw and open.
Then there’s my friends’ sudden arrival in Faerie, the Shadoweaver’s haunting presence always lingering in the edges of my awareness, the coronation with all the expectations, and Fenris, who brings his own ghosts and complications. I’m stretched thin, pulled in too many directions, and it’s too much.
I press my palms to my eyes, squeezing them shut as the first tears slip free. I try to stifle my sobs, to keep the anguish locked inside, but the quiet of the lake only amplifies it, and the tears spill over in silent, unstoppable waves. My breathing is shaky, the air catching in my throat as I fight to keep control, but I’m losing.
Suddenly, there’s a ripple in the water, gentle yet undeniable, moving close enough that I can sense it. Startled, I drop myhands from my face, blinking to clear my tear-blurred vision as I look out over the water. The clouds part just enough that the moonlight streams through, reflecting off the lake. The surface shivers, breaking the moon’s reflection into scattered shards, and my breath hitches.
I stand very still, barely daring to breathe as I watch the water shift, something unseen moving beneath.
Before I have time to comprehend what is happening, a figure emerges from the water, and I watch in awe as droplets of crystal liquid spin around the figure in slow, lazy swirls. The beautiful spirit, made entirely of water, stops a few feet in front of me. A soft blue glow surrounds her, and I can make out every feature of the liquid body as she moves closer. Her head tilts to the side and she reaches for my face, her hand cool and surprisingly soft, brushing the tears from my cheek.
