I remember. Everything. The SUV. The drone.
It feels like someone shredded my heart and took my soul through a meat grinder.
And yet? A part of me wants to believe, must believe they’re not dead. They have to be. Even if it’s a dream, I will never let go of that dream.
“I remember having happy dreams where I stab you in the neck,” I mutter.
He snickers. For the first time, I see him fully. Take him in.
Silky dark hair, swept back, curls just beneath his ears. That sculpted face I once watched from pews and shadows. Full lips that spun salvation into poison. His warm, rich brown eyes pierce straight through me like he’s reading every thought I never wanted him to know.
He hasn’t aged a day. Not one wrinkle earned. And somehow, that’s worse.
Because I have.
I bled and limped and clawed my way out of this place, and he’s still beautiful. Still magnetic. Still the Prophet.
He must be drinking the blood of children to stay immortal.
I flinch as he picks up Seth’s Christmas gift off the floor nearby and glides his fingers across it. “This is a sturdy cane. Hand-carved. A master carver, I’d wager.”
“Give it back.” I glare.Get your filthy fucking hands off it.
“The chess piece handle is a lovely touch,” he remarks while making his way to me, still wearing his twisted black robe.
He taps the handle with his index finger, the tapping like a ticking time bomb.
“Give it back!” I demand louder, though my spine chills more with every step he takes.
“It’s clear someone put much time and work into it. Chains and flowers.” He traces a finger along the designs. “You always did like flowers.”
Close enough to touch, I lurch and wrap one hand around the stem, not surprised when he doesn’t release it.
It’s a stalemate, but one corner of his mouth twists into a sinister smirk. “What is it worth to you, my Bri?”
I choke on the emotion in my throat. Tears blur my vision at the thought of losing the one tether I have to them. Wait. Where is?—
“The hat…” I whisper, though it feels like a howl in my mind.
Alden smiles slowly, and my heartbeat hammers in my ears as he reaches into his pocket with his other hand, withdrawing the cap, Raphael’s cap. And my crown.
“What are they worth to you, Gabriella?” he asks again, his hold on both unyielding. I look down at them. Then up at him.
“What do you want?” I spit out, my spine locked, chest tight.
“I want you to kneel.”
I glance down at the floor and then back up at him. The thought of kneeling before him, submitting in any way to him,scalds my throat like acid. His brown eyes are dimmer. The shadows grow from the firelight. He’s like some ancient seer, a black one with the scent of incense on the outside but with rot and bones on the inside.
He tilts his chin, cocking his head like a…predator. A hunter.
You kneel to none but us.Raphael’s words echo in my head, in my heart, my soul.
So, I stab my chin toward his sickly beautiful face and grit my teeth, “No.”
He straightens with disapproval on his face. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Gabriella. It seems the past five years have sharpened you. But don’t worry…” he walks away, back toward the hearth.
Oh, god, no. My breath pitches, my lungs shrink as he holds the cane and hat over the flames. My only tethers to Raphael, to Seth.
