RedFire






Chapter 21
Jamie bent over yet another bound volume, searching for any clue as to what sort of entity had kidnapped Shay. Had not only kidnapped her, but had taken her to Shay. Had not only kidnapped her, but had taken her to England, for crying out loud—even though her passport was still sitting untouched in their family safe. When he got his hands on her, he was gonna throttle her. Issue full payback for that asinine, annoying, and thoroughly unhelpful text message she’d sent. What he’d written back had been a shorthand of expletives, punctuated by the demand that she phone him. Then, when no call had come, he’d punched in the mysterious U.K. number.
Of course, no answer. And of course there was no record of the number, not in any database he could access.
Jamie sighed, rubbing a palm over the top of his head. All their efforts to protect Shay over the past few years had yielded just one result: disaster. Now she was sepa rated from their power base, vulnerable—and worst of all? She had no idea who she actually was. Ignorance, far from being bliss, had reached out and bitten all of them on the collective ass.
What made the current situation most infuriating was that he’d never wanted to withhold the truth from her. He’d always believed they should tell her about the Eye. In fact, he’d been the one member of their family who’d argued—aggressively—that they should share with Shay every detail about her true identity. To hell with familial consequences and the broken vows it would have meant.
He made a mental note always to trust his instincts from now on, no matter how frightening the potential consequences might seem. It was one of his best strengths as a hunter, so why hadn’t he listened to his inner compass when it came to Shay?

Because you wanted to spare her the calling. You wanted to give her a better life, a freer one.


Good intentions-fuck ’em, he thought, flipping another page in the book of lore. The ancient writings and drawings were useless to him, nothing but a blur. There was only one image in his mind’s eye at the moment, and that was Shay in the arms of that winged creature, drop ping down inside the very earth itself. He could only pray that the looping mental film clip wouldn’t haunt him for the rest of his days as the last time that he ever saw his sister alive.
The truth was, he felt powerless, and it wasn’t some thing that ever sat well with him. Since watching her vanish through that hole in the middle of Bay Street, he’d employed every one of his hunter’s weapons, availed himself of every strategy in his arsenal. He’d started by doing what he knew best, what had worked in the midst of so many other supernatural battles: He’d brought his team together, uniting their unique and special gifts as they conducted a full-on search.
By midnight they’d wasted five hours and had abso lutely nothing to show for their efforts. But why had he even bothered bringing the Shades into this crisis? They were demon hunters, after all, and Jamie was becoming more and more convinced that the creature who’d cap tured Shay was something totally unique, not demon, not angel, but walking a dangerous in-between place, a forbidden zone within the spiritual realm.
Shay had mentioned the Nephilim from the Old Testament, and so he’d chased that lead exhaustively. He’d pulled out various translations of the Bible—had even made a stab at the original Hebrew text. But that had been fruitless, because he wasn’t as proficient with the ancient language as he needed to be. It had been a weak spot of his back in theology school. After that, he and Mason had pored over the Apocrypha, and especially focused on “The Book of Giants,” part of the Dead Sea Scrolls that detailed the Nephilim. All of their efforts had been a wash.
“Check this out,” Mason called over to him. His brother was crouched beside one of the tall wooden bookshelves that lined this hidden cellar room. The an tique cases sagged against the brick walls, almost as if it were their job to keep the place standing.
Mason’s back was propped against one of the most heavily weighted bookcases, its shelves drooping beneath the thick volumes it held. Mace squatted there, encircled by at least a dozen stacks of books, and Jamie suddenly pictured his melancholy brother as an island. Mason was the solitary center point, the books his isolating sea.
He hated the sadness that his brother carried around like an anchor. Mason had revealed only a few scant de tails about Iraq, but it had been enough; Jamie had a pretty good idea of why his brother stayed locked inside himself these days.
And Shay . . . Jamie knew just how close she and Ma son were, and how much it had hurt when their brother had begun shutting her out. At least, that was how Shay no doubt saw it, but the truth was more complex. He and Mace had seen things over the years, dark, horrific things that they never wanted her to know about. They had pledged to protect her innocence, and an oath was an oath.
Of course, now that she’d opened—now that her gift had come crashing down on her—there wasn’t a damned thing they could do to protect her anymore. In fact, Jamie thought with a heavy pang of guilt, whatever she’d gotten involved with was probably their fault. If they’d equipped her, then she would have known how to fight—and she certainly wouldn’t have trusted the winged being who had her in his clutches right now.
“Shay was convinced he was good,” Jamie observed aloud, annoyed that Mason had gotten lost in the book again.
His brother slowly lifted his gaze, his thumb holding his place in the text. “What made her think that?”
“She said he saved her life. That he protected her from an attacking demon horde.”
Mason glanced at the page as if he were lured back to it against his will. “Doesn’t sound like the act of a hostile demon,” he said absently.
Jamie slammed his own book shut. “Would you set that fucking book down and talk to me?”
Shaking his head as though awakening from a dream—an expression he had assumed too many times over the past few months, Jamie thought—Mason let the leather volume slip closed. “Sorry,” he said in a haunted voice. “This is some spooky shit, man.” Slowly he rose to his feet and walked toward Jamie, holding the book in front of him. “And the weirdest thing is that I’ve never seen this book before in my life.
That was weird, considering how many years the two of them had spent reading the family lore.
Jamie flipped the book sideways so he could read the spine. The title was in Greek.
“ ‘The Final Crossing,’ ” he translated aloud. Not that Mason needed the help; he’d learned ancient Greek on their father’s knee. Jamie hadn’t been so adept at lan guages; it had taken years of formal schooling to fill those gaps in his education.
Even now, as he flipped to the page Mason had marked, the translation came to him too slowly. With a burst of angry frustration he said, “Just tell me what it says. Okay?”
Mason slid into the vacant chair beside Jamie and quietly retrieved the book. He cleared his throat and began to make the translation.
“ ‘But of winged beings, I was shown and told of four types, three that hold significance for this present discus sion.’ ” Mason paused and turned toward Jamie. “The writer—no name given—claims to have gotten all this by divine guidance. He’s prophesying here. Or so he says.”
Jamie felt a rush of adrenaline pumping into his system. Whatever Mason quoted next was going to be crucial information. He felt it, knew it by his innate instincts. “Go on.” He nodded eagerly.
Mason squinted as he read, lifting the book closer to his eyes. Even though it was midday, the only light in the musty room came from an old-fashioned library lamp over in the far corner of the room. It sat askew atop a weathered wooden filing cabinet that housed all their father’s research and notes. The drawers contained the sum of his life’s work as a demon hunter.
“ ‘We know of angels and we know of demons, and the holy texts tell of the Nephilim.’ ” Mason hesitated, meeting Jamie’s eyes significantly. “ ‘Although no living man, no woman, no child, has ever seen one of the fallen ones who were once called Nephilim. It is thought these giants perished with the Great Flood, or perhaps, some speculate, they created a kingdom of their own here in mighty Greece.’ ”
“What does that mean?” Jamie scratched his head in exasperation. On normal days he was more than content to spend hours thumbing through their family archives chasing down arcane knowledge. But this was no ordi nary day, and with Shay’s life on the line he was out of patience.
“The scriptures indicate that the Nephilim were chil dren of fallen angels and mortal man.” Mace contin ued to stare at the open volume, his eyes scanning the pages.
“And that’s what this protector of Shay’s is?” Jamie sighed in frustration. “That’s what you’re saying?”
“Hang on.” Mason ran his fingertip along the page, searching for some bit of text. “The important part is . . . here.” He continued reading much more quickly. “ ‘The fourth winged creature, the one shrouded in mystery, has no given name. These are the mighty warriors, the ones who were born beside the great River Styx. If any vow is taken upon that river’s shadowy banks, the vow will stand forever. Seven warriors of unknown caste pledged such a vow there—a vow that placed dread wings upon their backs.’ ”
Slowly Mason closed the book and slid it toward Jamie. “That’s all it says about the topic.”
“You’re saying you don’t think Shay’s entity is one of the Nephilim, after all?”
“How did he strike you . . . when we met him the other night?” Mason leaned back in his chair, folding both hands beneath his chin in a thoughtful posture. “The way he addressed us . . .his authority? Seemed like a military guy to me. He had the bearing of a warrior, like the book says.”
“You’re basing that impression on what, precisely?” Jamie shook his head. “A ten-second exchange where he tried to tell us how to take care of our own damned sister?”
“Just saying my money would be on military back ground, that’s all.” Mason shrugged, thoughtful. “Not just that . . . I’ve seen things in the past few years that I’d have sworn couldn’t exist. Daddy gained all kinds of knowledge as a hunter—new information. Who says that we can’t?”
Jamie drummed his fingers on the book, recalling his first instinct about the winged man when Shay had described him last night: that the being was a new rev elation; something never before cataloged by the Nightshades. Until now.
“Shay was convinced that the winged entity was her protector in some way,” he said, repeating his earlier thought. “That he was good.”
Mason leaned back in his chair. “Here’s a radical thought: Maybe she’s right.”
“Your book tells us nothing of real value, just raises more questions,” Jamie argued. “We have nothing to go on beyond what Shay told me.”
Mason smiled. “Yeah, well, here’s radical thought number two: Maybe, after all the mistakes we’ve made, we should start listening to Shay for a change.”
River descended the upper stairs of Leonidas’s castle and rolled his eyes when he heard laughter coming from the main guest room. They’d spent days worried about his master’s ass, and now the man had holed himself up to get some ass? Loud sex. Bumpity bump sex that the whole bleeding house couldn’t possibly tune out. They had work to do, strategies to enact—each of them did. Work that didn’t happen to include sheathing the broadsword, either.
Besides, it wasn’t exactly like he’d been getting any himself lately. Not like certain warriors, who managed to dip the quill in every inkpot they could locate. His body still thrummed with sexual need from his portal jump only hours earlier; the last thing he needed was to overhear the act itself.
He growled, feeling a painful amount of sexual frustration as he jogged down the steps two at a time. So the bastard had found Shay; good for him. But the least he could’ve done was talk strategy before bedding the beautiful human.
He grumbled some more, made for the main door that led outside, and then stopped in his tracks. The loneli ness and heartbreak Ajax had experienced all these years had been immense. River knew that acutely, un derstood it more than any of the others in the cadre. So why was he begrudging Jax this moment, this long-awaited happiness?

You’re jealous, you idiot. You’re fucking jealous be cause you have no one of your own. Because your only release, time after time, is to spill your own damned seed into your own hand.

“Get over yourself,” he mumbled aloud, and left the castle.
Outside, the late afternoon sun sat low on the horizon. After being inside the gloomy castle for so long, River had to squint against the sharp brightness as he searched the training ground. Leonidas had gotten his debriefing, then cautioned River to take some cooling down time in isolation; his king knew all too well how volatile River could be at times. Sometimes it took days for his blood to run normally in his veins, for the berserker inside of him to go fully dormant.
River felt mostly stabilized, and too much planning was required for him to hide out any longer, so he was ready to join the ranks. But a quick glance about the training area and it was clear that none of the warriors were around. So he trotted down the hill toward their weight-training complex, a modern building that Leonidas had made them construct by hand—much to the lads’ complaints. As he got closer, River spotted Leonidas and the other warriors. They were outside the exercise facility, gathered on a long stone patio, spread out among the tables and chairs. On sunny days they often took mess right there. Today it appeared that Leonidas had converted it into a temporary command center.
The king bent over the long stone table, brow fur rowed as he studied the prophecy. The parchment was unrolled, Kalias holding down the top edge with his hand. River strode toward the gathered Spartans, thank ful that it looked like Leonidas was able to literally see the prophecy—he’d wondered how that would shake out. Sure, Ajax could certainly read the prophecy aloud to each of them, but River for one thought there was security in having more than just one of their corps who could accomplish the job. A little built-in redundancy was never a bad idea.
As River joined the gathered men, he caught a bit of their conversation. They were deliberating about the meaning of a key phrase in the document, something about “Oglethorpe on the square.” Everyone seemed genuinely puzzled about it.
River stepped into the circle, taking a place beside Ari, who smiled at him. “James Edward Oglethorpe founded the colony of Georgia,” River volunteered. Except for Ajax, the full crew was present, and they all looked at him.
He should’ve kept his trap shut, he decided, given the way they were all staring at him. “I mean, I’m sure you already know that about Oglethorpe.” River had always admired Oglethorpe’s efforts to create a colony for a ragtag, forgotten group—people not unlike him and his fellow helots.
Nikos shot him a snide look. “We did just spend the past two hours inside the castle researching, Cassandra.”
Nikos loved feminizing River’s surname—in fact, the bullying warrior loved taking jabs at him any way he could think of.
River took an angry step toward his foe, the unstable heat in his blood boiling forth once again, but Ari caught his elbow, holding him subtly back. River swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and willed his darker nature to settle down. After an edgy moment he relaxed, and Ari released him.
Nikos ignored the movement and continued a little less sharply: “We’ve chased every possible lead on this thing.” His eyes narrowed on River. The message was clear: I’ve got this one covered and you’re not invited onto my team.
Leo’s private study had long ago been transformed into a techno-junkie’s paradise, and it was Nikos himself who kept them wired for the future. Which pretty much sucked a big one, since River’s favorite pastime was re search. He could happily Google and Wiki and chase crazy leads through cyberspace all day long and never get bored. But Nikos generally ran those operations, so if River wanted in on the research team, he usually had to cross Nikos’s drawbridge. It got old always having to be the one to make nice, especially on days like this one, when his reactions were so volatile.
Leonidas gestured toward a map of the city. “Ogle thorpe Square is right downtown. This should be the starting place for Ajax and Shay tomorrow morning. Then this bit”—Leonidas leaned over the prophecy and read—“has us speculating. ‘Where the bird flies east and west, held in balance by a young girl’s hand, eternity stands to balance, too, held affixed upon the square.’ ”
“So that’s why you think it’s Oglethorpe Square?” River asked.
Leonidas nodded. “It’s mentioned earlier in the prophecy.”
The cadre had already done their research, and River figured it would take Shay herself—and some fancy foot work on all their parts in Savannah—to solve the prophecy anyway. Besides, he had pressing business of his own with Leonidas, so he decided to hold his tongue.
They went back to combing over the prophecy, with several of the warriors deliberating over the part about the bird flying east and west. Ari maintained that it was a trick phrase, because none of them could fly in both directions at the same time.
The discussion went on for some time, and River lis tened and speculated in silence—and waited to have just one moment alone with his king. He prayed for the ideal moment when he would somehow manage to get Leonidas to hear his plan. It was a radical strategy, what he wanted to propose, but despite his earlier moment of irritation with Ajax, he loved his master. And more than any of the other Spartans, River had a dark, dire feeling about what the outcome of all this might be.
Every time River tried to picture the face-off, instead of the usual silver portal he visualized a black hole. Empty, gaping space . . . a dark maw that wanted to suck all of them down into its destroying power.
River fought the dark, foreboding sense that instantly shadowed his spirit as Leonidas broke from the group. River scrambled to catch up with the large man’s strides. “My king,” he began, “may I have a moment, sir?”
“What troubles you, young River?”
River stopped for a moment, surprised that his mood had been so transparent to his king. “How did you ... ?”
Leonidas chuckled. “It’s a commander’s job to be aware of the thoughts and moods of his men,” he said. “You’ve not been yourself since this entire Savannah venture began.” He stopped and looked River in the eye, his gaze as always a mixture of sternness and warmth. “Since you returned from fighting Elblas.”
River said nothing. Slowly they began walking again, Leonidas guiding them back toward the training ground. How could River explain to his king the power of the bad premonitions that he kept getting about his master?
“Ajax is in jeopardy right now, my lord,” River began, the words pouring forth as if liberated from deep inside his heart. “I believe that facing Elblas again is the battle of his life. Jax’s mind isn’t clear because of Shay . . . too many factors are colliding.” He slapped his palms together in demonstration. “But it’s Ajax himself who has the most at stake, who has the cruelest history with Sable. He wants to protect Shay from Sable . . . at all costs.”
River thought of the feral look he’d seen in his master’s eyes back in the tunnel. He’d been half-crazed with his need to protect Shay from the ancient Djinn. “I am very uncomfortable with the way this is proceeding, sir,” River said simply. “I just had to say it.”
Leonidas rubbed a hand thoughtfully across his curling beard. “But you have a strategy in mind?”
“It’s radical.” River held his breath, keeping his pos ture rigid, as if bracing for a slap to the face. Leonidas slid an arm about his shoulder, and slowly River released that tightly contained breath.
“I like radical.” Leonidas gave him a slow, conspiratorial smile. “Let me hear it.”
The plan was radical—and it was dangerous—but River couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the only way to keep Ajax safe . . . and truly defeat Elblas at long last.
“I need to tell you something else.” Ajax glanced at Shay, anxiety obvious in his eyes. That expression on his face—a face that she’d already come to associate with protection, worship, safety—caused her belly to tighten nervously, because the apprehension there could spell only one thing: incredible pain. It was like a bad omen written right into the onyx depths of his gaze.
It was more than his eyes, more than the guardedly nervous expression she saw there. It was his tone of voice. She’d heard that same tone enough times in her life to recognize it. Her own family had talked to her that same way plenty of times—and almost always on painful occasions, awful and scary ones.

Danger dead ahead. That was the warning flag that Ajax had just tossed right in her face with his carefully chosen words and edgy tone.
“Oh-kay.” She braced herself physically for whatever he would reveal next, her entire body tensing against his. Suddenly she wished she weren’t naked anymore, that she weren’t that vulnerable. “Bring it on. Whatever it is.”
“Don’t look at me that way, sweetness.” His voice managed to sound even more heavily burdened, sadder, as he tucked the sheet up over her exposed chest. That he was physically covering her proved what she already knew—that he wanted to protect her from the inevitable, from whatever the dreadful thing was that he would tell her in the next moment.
“Just do it already.” She clutched the sheet beneath her chin, shivering.
He rolled to face her and bent close, kissing first her nose, then the edge of her lips. “It’s not completely bad news, I promise. Ultimately good news . . . or at least, I hope you’ll feel that way.”
She wrapped both arms about his neck, tugging him closer, flush against her body. Whatever he was going to reveal, it couldn’t be that bad, not if he was lying here, kissing her so calmly. “I like good news.” She tried to sound cheery, but totally missed the mark. “Well, so long as it’s not actually bad news pretending to be good.”
“A bit more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”
She gave a nod for him to continue, practically begging for the truth. “Just go on.”
He curled his forearm over her side, nuzzling her closer against him. “There’s a trick to this immortality game, you know,” he finally began. “I’ve waited so long for you, searched forever for you. Year after year, it just seemed endless.” He paused, tentatively looking into her eyes.
“And now you have me.” She gave him a bright smile, terrified of where the conversation was heading.
He smiled back at her, a genuinely radiant and happy look that gave her a momentary surge of hope. Maybe he wasn’t about to tell her something awful after all. Maybe Earth really wasn’t going to spin off its axis and land on the other side of the galaxy.
“You have me, Ajax,” she repeated, holding him a little bit tighter in her arms.
“Oh, and finding you is such perfection, I don’t want to lose you. Not ever again.” He stroked her hair, finger tips brushing her cheek. The rough pads were scratchy against her skin, but she loved the pure maleness of him. “Shayanna, I can’t lose you. Do you understand what I’m saying? I will not go through the waiting and longing and searching. Never again.”
His hold on her had become like a death grip, until his fingers practically dug into her naked flesh. She could feel how his hands trembled, how desperate his grasp on her had become.
“I don’t ...” She was confused. What was he afraid of? Why was he shaking so hard? Especially if he was declaring his love for her and his intention to always keep her in his life. His fear was at odds with everything he was telling her, except . . .

I can’t lose you . . . .I can’t lose you. Lose you. His words began droning in her head until they crystallized, hypnotic and chilling. That was when it hit her, the terrible truth he was dancing around.
Down deep into the marrow of her bones, a chill hit her hard. She began to shake all over, and as she closed her eyes a sharp rivet of pain stabbed her like a blow to the chest. Because she knew. Knew what had this ancient warrior holding her as if she were his only lifeline, trembling uncontrollably as he clung to her.
“I do not ever want to lose you again, love.” He buried his face against her shoulder, the swath of her black hair obscuring his eyes. Yet she heard tears in his thick voice.
“You don’t want to lose me,” she repeated, tears filling her own eyes.
“Never, by the gods. I can’t.”
“But I’m not gonna live forever. Not like you.” It had been staring her straight in the eyes from the moment she’d first met him; she just hadn’t wanted to look deeply enough.
Jax shifted on the bed, rolling onto his back. “I always believed, all those waiting years, that it wouldn’t mat ter to me,” he said, staring at the ceiling. She had the sense that he didn’t want her to see the powerful sad ness in his eyes, but it was too late for that. She’d al ready glimpsed—and heard—more than enough. “That although you’d be mortal, I would accept that limita tion on our love . . . that I would take whatever years with you the Highest chose to give me. That I’d accept the pure gift of you . . . no matter how brief our time together might be.”
She was going to wither and grow old in his immortal arms; her face would assume lines and furrows and then eventually sag, while his remained eternally the same. Her body would toughen like leather, betraying them both. It wasn’t a proposition she could accept, not for either of them.
“I don’t want that,” she admitted in a hoarse voice. “I want to be with you . . . always.”
He rolled back toward her, his own face set in harsh, grim planes. Those lines aged him, and for a brief mo ment she imagined him weathered by the years. She wanted to grow old with him—or not—but either way, she wanted them on the same time progression. Anything else would only be cruel.
“Yes, sweetness, that’s what I want, too. And there is a way—there is only one way, in fact—for us to walk eternity together.”
“Tell me what it is. I’ll do it, anything. Anything you ask, Ajax, and I swear I’ll agree,” she blurted, words rushing forth. “If we can just be together.” She squeezed his upper arm, trying to give it a little shake of determination, but, of course, he didn’t budge.
It was a crazy, irrational statement—that she’d do anything and everything he might ask of her. They’d only just met, and her pledge should have been a ludi crous one . . . and yet she felt a sense of total completion with him. She’d dreamed of him before—she knew it now—perhaps more times than she even knew for certain; she’d sketched him, too. In her heart and soul, the literal number of days or hours they’d already spent together meant nothing, not with the way she already loved him. The only thing that did matter was that somehow, supernaturally, the two of them had already walked eternity together.
He stared at her, and that look in his eyes’ black depths—oh, God, it tore at her heart. It was pure grief that she saw there, harsh pain. He wanted to protect her against the heartache that he himself already felt. She could see it in his eyes.
“Shay—”
“Don’t try to spare me this!” She shoved him hard in the chest. “You tell me what I’ve gotta do,” she ground out, already battling time itself just to stay with him.
“We have to follow this latest prophecy, the one given us by the Oracle herself.”
This big Romeo and Juliet buildup was about the prophecy? That didn’t seem right. “That scroll from the tunnel?” she asked in confusion.
“It will guide me—guide us—to find a priceless object that the gods demand.”
That sounded easy enough. Sure, big-ass treasure hunt, just her sort of thing. “I’m in.”
She raised her fist in a take one for-the team style gesture, but deep inside she already knew the truth. This object was only going to spell some horrible form of doom. You didn’t grow up on a solid diet of Hollywood sci-fi and adventure movies without being able to recognize the tragic hero’s journey when it knocked you upside the head.
“So why are we rolling around in bed? We’ve got a treasure to find,” she stated, throwing the covers off her body in a frantic move to get ready. She found her shirt hanging from the back of the doorknob, still damp and hopelessly dirty. “Ugh, my shirt is a no-go.”
“I’ve got clean clothes for you.”
“Really? How’d you pull that one off?” She marched about the room, searching for those supposedly clean clothes, pacing first one way, then another. She felt trapped, crazed, and suddenly she just couldn’t stay still for another moment. If she could only keep moving, then maybe he wouldn’t tell her just how bad things really looked for them.
“I need to find something to wear,” she continued, looking under the bed for one of her errant shoes.
He caught her by the crook of her arm. “Shay, please stop babbling . . . and moving around this room like a frantic hummingbird. Please just come and sit down beside me on the bed so I can explain.”
She pulled out of his grasp and kept searching for the other shoe. “Nope. We just keep going and stay happy-happy, and then it won’t be real.”
“What won’t?”
“Whatever it is that you haven’t told me yet,” she said, shaking out her shirt. It was beyond repair, ripped in the back from when she’d taken her wild water ride down the tunnel. She held it up toward the light, frowning.
All at once Jax let loose with a loud, angry burst of an cient Greek. She slowly lowered the shirt, staring at him.
He volleyed another round of less angry—but more emotional—words in his native tongue.
“In English?” she half whispered, dropping her shirt to the floor. She walked, barefoot and naked, to settle beside him on the bed.
“I wanted you to hear me.” His voice was desperate, aching. He sat there beside her, his chest heaving as if he couldn’t even find his breath.
She lifted a hand to his face, stroking his light beard. “I’m scared, okay? I know it’s bad. That whatever it is . . .” She shook her head. No more running. No more allowing others to protect you. She met his gaze resolutely. “Tell me.”
“It’s a mirror.” Jax took her hand in his much big ger one. He squeezed their palms together, staring at the way they joined. “It’s called the Looking Glass of Eternity. And if I can find it—if I can discover its hidden location in Savannah before Sable does—I’ll be set free from my immortal prison.”
This wasn’t the terrible news she’d anticipated; it was a miracle. He could become mortal again, just like her. There would be no inconsistency between their two worlds, and they would age in the same progression.
“Really? Oh, my God, Ajax!” She flung both arms about his neck, burying her face in the tangle of his long hair. “That’s amazing, incredible. Yes, I’ll help you find it . . . of course I will.” She held him even tighter, releasing a little squeal of excitement.
But he didn’t shout along with her—didn’t even try to kiss her or wrap those big arms about her equally tightly. Slowly she disengaged and stared up into his eyes. “You are saying that if we find this mirror that you’ll be set free. Right?”
His black eyes drifted shut. “I am.”
“But obviously not like I’m hoping.”
He remained silent.
“So you’re not saying that we get to live together, in the here and now, and grow old together like any other normal, mortal couple would do?”
“I leave you here, sweetness,” he said in an emotion-filled voice. “It’s the only way.”
She had to swallow several times before she could speak. As she studied their clasped hands, her vision grew blurry. She blinked, swallowed again. “You’ll have to die. That’s what you’re telling me,” she whispered. “That you’ll find this mirror and . . . and what? Step into the afterlife and leave me here on my own, without you?”
“When your days are done, you will join me. The separation is only for this life, Shay. But then we’ll be together for all time.”
“And you’ll be set free; I get that. Very big thing.” She sniffed as heavy, rolling tears streaked down her face. “After all the years you’ve had to fight as a warrior, the endless time of loneliness . . . I can’t be selfish. I know.” The tears fell harder, and she made a disgusting sniveling sound.
Jax laughed gently and reached to the side table, where he found a tissue. “Here, love. Here.” He wiped her nose, then pressed his forehead against hers. It was as if he wanted to absorb all her sadness.
“I have to let you die.” She sobbed.
“I pass to the afterlife, that’s all.” His voice grew choked, and he held her for several long moments before continuing. “I go and wait for your mortal days to end. This way we are together forever.”
She bobbed her head in agreement even though her heart was breaking into bitter pieces. “And together eternally, not just for a brief period here on Earth, me getting old and haggard, you staying like you are now, so beautiful and virile.”
“I go and wait for you, sweetness,” he repeated softly, stroking her hair. “It’s only for a brief time.”
Compared with the sands upon sands of eternity that had already passed for him, yes, it would be brief. But she would be alone—potentially for the next fifty, sixty, or even seventy years. It was too much for even Ajax to ask of her.
“I can’t help you with this.” She shook her head vio lently. “You’re asking me to help you die. I won’t. I can’t do that. It’s too much.”
“You’re wrong, Shayanna. I’m not asking you to help me die.” He seized her by both shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “I’m asking you to set me free. I can’t stay here, can’t live here for eternity . . . and only have you for just this little while. I, of all people, know how brief mortal life truly is. You’ll join me again on the other side. Trust me . . . help me find the mirror. Help set me free . . . help us be together. For all time.”
“And what happens to me? I spend all those years alone? Wandering and waiting? I won’t do it. You take me with you. When this mirror frees you, I go, too.”
He bowed his head, shaking it. “No. You live here—without me—for only a short time. There’s a world still waiting for you here. Maybe you will have children. Maybe you will love again—several times.” Then he jerked his gaze to hers. “But they won’t be me. You won’t be lonely in this life, but it’s me you will cross over and join when your life is done.”
Burying her face in both hands, she sobbed. “It’s too much. You’re asking too much.”
He drew her into his arms, held her close against his warm chest. She thought of his endless wait for her, a thousand years. Couldn’t she wait just another sixty or seventy?
“I’m asking you to believe in us,” he whispered against her ear. “To believe in me.”

You’re asking me to help you break my heart, she wanted to cry. But in that same heart, she knew that he never would have asked for this, not if there were an other way. And she knew that he asked only because he loved her. That realization left her with only one option. Because she did love him, there had never been any real choice, not from the first moment they’d met.
“I’ll do it,” she promised at last.



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