Chapter Thirty

Kal

Pacing downstairs, I went from the study, where several members of the Coven were now ensconced, to the living room, to the kitchen. More than once, I heard them exclaim over Iris’s handiwork, which was apparently above and beyond what they’d been expecting.

For hours, Iris had hovered on the edge of death. Rogda and Beylore had healed the hypothermia and physical injuries, save one. The wound on her side continued to bleed, albeit more slowly and steadily. It was some dark magic they couldn't fathom and some poison that was eating through her. Now the only hope, ironically, lay in Orion's book and Iris's translation.

I dug my hands through my hair and went into the kitchen. Just last night, Iris had stood here, flushed and flustered, in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear. I’d thought I’d be teasing her about that today—not praying that she wouldn’t succumb to a breed of Excris we’d never encountered before.

The Unseen. Only the chant that Iris had translated could unlock the ability to see them. And allow them to sense you, to rifle through your fears and swallow them for sustenance. Say it once, and you’d condemned yourself. Say it twice, and you’d freed yourself. Say it three times, and you’d have to face your demons.

Apparently, that meant literally and figuratively.

Of course Orion would hang around with nasties like those, Rogda had said.

I found myself creeping upstairs and hovering in the hallway, wishing there was more I could do. Leaning on the wall across from Iris’s door, I crossed my arms and let my head fall.

“Kal.”

I looked up, and Beylore was standing in the doorway. She beckoned, and I came in, my heart pounding. But there was no change. Iris was unconscious and pale, her breathing a ragged plea.

Rogda was nowhere to be seen, but Xander was there, and he came forward, holding Orion’s book. Their faces were a study, and my eyes went to the book.

I should have burned the damn thing.

“We know how to save Iris,” Beylore said, and my eyes went to her as I stepped forward. She rested a hand on my arm. “Wait, it’s—”

“Lor, I told you, let me,” Xander said, and his voice was gentle.

“You can save her—how is that not good news?” I asked, voice cracking.

“It requires her mate,” Xander said.

My eyes closed, heart convulsing.

“I understand if you need a minute,” my friend added.

“She won’t live through the night,” Beylore snapped. “We don’t have a minute. We need her.”

Opening my eyes again, I saw Xander giving the silver-haired woman a quelling look. But Beylore looked strained and shadow-eyed, her hair messy and lips tight.

“If there was anything I could have done—” Beylore started to say.

“I’ll try,” I said and swallowed. “I don’t know if…”

“Even if the bond is tenuous or hasn’t fully clicked, this should work,” Beylore said and seized my arm, bringing me over to a chair by the bed. “You woke her up before. My best guess is that you broke their hold on her, but the physical injuries brought her back under. We need to reach her and unravel what they’ve done.”

“A psychic connection?” I guessed, and frustration surged, causing my jaw to grit. “Beylore, that can take months, maybe longer. It did with the pack, and we had Xander’s help.”

“Is there a bond between you two or not?” Beylore asked sharply. I went to answer and stopped, looking at Iris. “I thought so. Don’t worry—she won’t remember. You can tell her when you think she can handle it. I know it’s an intrusion, but there is no other way.”

She held out her hand, and a wicked silver knife appeared, refracting the light around it into spots of color. I blinked as she took my hand and slashed across it. Then she dropped it and did the same to Iris, even though I wanted to stop her. Afterward, she passed the knife to Xander, who wiped away the blood and tucked it into his belt, looking grim.

“Blood to blood,” Beylore said, lifting our hands and pressing our palms together. She nodded at me, and I held Iris’s cold hand, then Beylore began to twine a white ribbon around our fingers, the blood dripping onto it. “Mind to mind.” My eyes fell shut, and a tingle blossomed along my brow bone. “Soul to soul.”

The last words echoed, and there was a clap, my eyes opening again.

Only I was no longer in Iris’s room.

I was utterly alone, in a vast and strangely dome-like darkness. I could see, but I wasn’t sure if it was my night vision or…something white fluttered in the corner of my eye, and I looked down, seeing the white ribbon held in my hand. It stretched ahead, piercing the inky space, and I took a step forward. Below me, the floor rippled as though it were water, and when it stilled, I could see my reflection for a split second before it vanished.

A dark corner of a lonely heart.

I jumped and seized the ribbon more tightly. It was the haunting, scraping voice of the Unseen.

Moving forward, I followed the ribbon, spooling it around my wrist, even though it never seemed to go more than one loop. I walked and walked, then stopped and sighed.

Rubbing the ribbon, ignoring the malevolent whispers around me, I tried to focus. To think of Iris. Her honey-hued curls falling into her face, her expressive eyes, and her cheerful, blunt words.

Then I turned, and she was right there, the ribbon connecting to her from the opposite direction. She was standing there, her head down and her arms hugging herself. The ribbon wrapped around her hand, almost blending into her pale skin.

I went to step forward and met resistance. My hand slammed into the side of it. Nothing. Not a sound or a dent. Moving around, I tried to find a way in, but there was resistance all around her.

Walls of her own, hissed that same voice. Almost invisible.

Stepping back, I looked at the ribbon and then back up at her. Following some instinct, I began to pull it toward me, faster and faster, not bothering to loop it, letting it be as messy and confusing as things often were between two people.

Finally, I felt resistance and tugged gently, then a little harder.

The darkness warped, and I was standing in a cramped, unfamiliar bedroom. It was shadowed and spare, papered over with thousands of postcards. A slight figure was hunched up on the bed, head against the wall and looking out the window.

A younger version of Iris, eyes filled with longing. Walking over, I looked down and saw a gathering of my family and other people from Winfyre, sitting around long tables set up outside under bright lights. Children ran around and laughed, but the sounds were distant, muffled.

You’ll never have a family again, hissed that voice.

"I'll never have a family again," Iris said softly, and her eyes glazed over.

“Shut up,” I snarled, and Iris jerked, looking around. I waved my hand in front of her face, and she didn’t blink, just kept looking. I sighed. “Iris, that is your family. Everyone is worried about you and wondering where you are.”

“Iris!” came a shout from outside, and her head snapped up, eyes lighting up with joy. It was the happy, lilting voice of a woman.

“Tiani?” Iris cried. “You’re okay?”

“What are you doing?” the woman called. “Come join us.”

Then the scene dissolved again.

Now I was in the middle of my study, which was filled with loose pages, and the windows were dusty, letting in weak light. Iris was searching through the pages, muttering to herself, her eyes frantic. There were no doors out, only windows and a guttering fire.

Useless, unwanted burden…

“Useless,” Iris said, stopping and wringing her hands. “An unwanted burden.” Her eyes went to the clock, which was spinning faster and faster. “Why can’t I do anything right?”

“Stop,” I said and strode across the room. She listened but didn’t react as I took her shoulders. “You’ve done more than enough. And you are worth more to Winfyre than just as a translator.” Iris shook her head. “Iris Lisay, you are not a burden.”

There was a creak of a door, and she looked left, to where a door had appeared. Letting out a sigh, she glanced around the room, which was now tidy, the light brighter.

I went through the door, and my heart squeezed in absolute agony.

“You shouldn’t have come.” It was me, looking indifferent and annoyed, wearing a black tux. “We’re nothing to each other, Iris. Not even friends.”

“I just want you to be happy,” Iris said in a cracked voice.

“This is practical. And it’s for Winfyre,” said the other me, coolly and casually. “I don’t want to hear your blubbering about it, Iris. I don’t believe in love. I’m not an idiot like you.”

“Kal, please,” Iris said. “You deserve more…”

“Iris, we were fake mates.” Such an empty voice. “How often do I have to remind you?”

With that, the other me walked away, and Iris turned, a hand over her mouth, the other clamped around her waist. I went to her as more and more voices hissed around us.

He doesn’t want you. He never cared for you. Your sentiments are wasted.

This time, I wrapped my arms around Iris. “You called for me, and I came,” I said into her ear. “I still have a lot to make up for with you. But I need you to come back so I can do so. Please, Iris.”

There was a tumble of images, old heartbreaks, and a whirl of color. Dark days from the Rift. Fears about her gifts, both that they were worthless and that they set her apart. It was almost too much for me, but I gritted through it, sensing I was getting closer.

Iris is waking up, she’s healing…

Then I was back in that strange, empty place. However, it seemed a little lighter and warmer. Iris was still standing in front of me, hugging herself with her head down.

I laid a hand on the wall between us. "I'll wait. As long as it takes, I will wait for you to be ready." It pushed out from under my hands, scattering and dissolving. I stepped forward. "Whatever you need from me, whatever you want from me, I am yours."

My hand found hers, and then I was back in the chair next to her bed, holding her hand. Color flooded back into her face, and Iris sighed, eyes opening—bright, alert, and perplexed. Emotion caught in my throat as she blinked and tried to sit up, then stopped, looking down at our hands, then at me.

“Kal.” I couldn’t breathe or speak. “What’s going on? Oh, my head.”

Something caught in my throat, and I placed my other hand over hers, bending my head over them. Beylore was there, bidding her to lie back and let her heal her side, while Xander went and called for Rogda. All I could do, though, was breathe and try not to fall apart.

I’d always wanted proof.

Now that I had it, too, I didn’t need it. No, I’d known all along, and that was what killed me. That I’d even hesitated earlier was laughable. Pressure dammed in my chest as relief made me lightheaded.

It shouldn’t have come to this, I thought.

“Iris, I think you saved us all,” Xander was saying. “So glad you’re okay.”

“Boy, give me her hand so I can heal it,” Rogda said, and I rubbed my face on my sleeve before lifting my head. Iris looked dazed by all the attention, insisting she was fine.

Then her eyes met mine, and she broke off mid-sentence. Voices rose and fell around us, but there was no one but the two of us at that moment. She looked as though she wanted to reach for me and wasn't sure why. Her brows contracted, and her lips parted. Rogda’s hand was on my shoulder; however, she was distracted by Xander.

I took advantage of that moment to turn and bend my head, placing a lingering kiss on Iris’s hand. Her fingers contracted against mine, and when I looked up, her eyes were giant.

“Get well, honeycomb,” I murmured and let Rogda take her hand.

For myself, I thought I would let the wound heal on its own.