Finite: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Sephlem Trials Book 4)

by Felisha Antonette

  Yes, it will. They’re not our mothers. Remember that. To the impersonators, I loudly say, “We know what you’re trying to do, and you know what we’re capable of. You want us? Come get us.”

  I expect them to snap into action, but instead, Tracey’s mother impersonator says, “Honey, they’ve promised you two life. You can’t have that together or apart. Why fight when they have all you need?”

  Tracey replies, “Freedom, peace, and love are the greatest gifts. No power, ruling, or lie can trump that.”

  “Fine,” Scott says.

  He strikes forward. My cockiness from the ease of the battle today have caught up with me. I throw a punch and he dodges it. He twists behind me and kicks me in my back. I whip around and throw another punch he dodges.

  He mirrors my moves. For every right hook, he matches. Every uppercut, he avoids. I twist to throw my elbow in the back of his neck and he’s smashing his in the back of mine. He blocks my attacks with just as much force as I used to block his.

  I stumble back and look him over, searching for a weakness. It’s then it clicks, he’s getting his actions from me, mocking me. To beat him, I need to do something unpredictable, so I give my Burdened full control. In one swift movement, it grabs Scott’s head and squashes it between its hands. “Easy,” he says.

  My mother steps before me when I toss Scott to the ground. “You’re going to crush me, too?”

  “Yes.”

  I snatch her up by her neck, but she easily waggles from my grip with a move she learned from me years ago where she twists and wrenches free. She kicks me in my gut once and then again, then blasts me backwards.

  I grunt, hitting the ground.

  She smiles.

  My beast reminds me of my ability to control, and I wish I’d thought of it early. “Stop,” I say calmly, as my mother charges forward.

  She halts in her steps.

  “Stop breathing.”

  Her eyes widen as the muscles in her neck strain. The air is caught in her lungs.

  “Thing is, even though you all know everything about me, and I know little about myself, you can’t touch me.”

  I twist and throw a kick that swipes her head off, but I stop before connecting.

  We drop to our knees as Tracey’s collapsing to the ground in front of us. “Why,” she cries. “Why’d you do this to us, Nathan?”

  It’s just a face! I try to convince him as he holds me back from regaining control. It’s not her! Tracey is his weakness, and this Qualm knows it.

  The Qualm, wearing Tracey so well it matches her walk and the disappointed look she’s worn. Arms extended, she approaches.

  Shit . . . It’s over.

  She wraps her around my neck, and a grimy mist flows over us. To my surprise, my beast’s holding our breath. It wraps an arm around the imposter and crushes her frame, muttering, “You’re not worth the savor.”

  The Qualm takes on its true form, half whole, half bones and flowing fog. “We only wanted what was best for both worlds.”

  “What’s best isn’t you or us,” my beast says and rips it in two. We kneel to the ground, steading out breaths. “They are well,” he says to me. No shit, I reply.

  We sense someone approaching from behind us and jump to our feet as we’re twisting around to take out the next enemy.

  Tracey, our mate, is panting. “I won.” She lifts her hand, fingers played, and they fall as though she were counting down. “I think that’s everyone.”

  “No,” my beast says, “There’s one more, but its outcome is inevitable. I loved you, Tracey Warren.” He retracts, giving me back control. I ignore Tracey’s similar rebuttal as I’m asking him, What does that mean?

  He replays a thought I’d long forgotten, a conversation I had with Scott years ago, a day or two after I mated with Tracey. We’ll find a way. We always do. I shove the doubt growing in my stomach far away from me, so far that when I smile at Tracey, it’s genuine and uplifting.

  “It’s all over, Sparky,” I say. “We did it,” I assure her.

  “So, you beast’s basically saying, he’s not needed anymore?”

  People—humans—have flooded onto the streets; they cheer loudly, banging on boxes and buckets and shaking tambourines. Many dance and sing, no longer afraid of the light, as they too take back the freedom that was stolen from them.

  Chuckling at a few kids trying to imitate their movements, I say to Tracey, “Yeah. We’re finally okay. Come on,” I say, pulling her toward the crowd. “Let’s enjoy this.”

  Afar, Qualms, most disguised by their host and others in their born form, take an exit long overdue, retreating to hide in the shadows provided by overpasses or tall buildings, before condensing into the grimy fog and fleeing. Many sing a promise for revenge by their muffles and swears before they disappear.

  I snort. Those fucking things should be happy they’re still living, unlike the ones back in our world, I plan to kill every one of those fuckers.

  All but one Qualm, standing down the street far from the growing crowd, stares. In a blink, a vision shows him charging for me, a wire dipped in pearl wrapped around his hand. He intends to use it to choke me.

  I laugh. More so, my beast is laughing and it’s expelling from me. I keep it down but warn the eager Qualm with a look of promise. If he comes in the vicinity of my mate, myself, or these people, we’ll see who’s standing after.

  He disburses into their dark mist and is quickly forgotten.

  With the Qualms’ retreat, it’s a great change from when we’d first arrived where the humans wanted to remain in the dark, or were fearful to eat and be merry.

  Tracey joins the people’s dancing, learning the steps of their movements. We laugh and party with the gleeful crowd. They dance and sing and have a feast big enough to feed the city.

  Kindly, they respect my request to not thank, praise or acknowledge me for what we’ve done or how we’ve helped. I don’t want that kind of attention. I’m just happy we can all bask in this freedom.

  Freedom I’ve never known.

  Speechless

  Nathan

  A couple offers Tracey and me dinner and a place to rest while the party grows in the street. Their home is in a dried sewer opening underground. They cook with the help of wood and coal that a grill rack sits over, but under a tripod. Jim, the husband, cooks sausage in a cast-iron skillet he made by hand.

  “Hopefully, you all won’t have to live like this anymore,” Tracey says as we sit around the fire. “Maybe you’ll find a place to live above ground.”

  “As long as the Qualms exist, there is no place that’s safe. What they did in the light, they’ll now retreat to doing in the darkness, like they started. But what you’ve done was give them enough fear to stay back for a while. Maybe give us some time to form a safe haven, and figure out a way to fight them off on a constant basis,” Jim says. “They’ll only stay away for so long.”

  Tracey throws a quick glance at me and then looks away. “Are you two happy here?”

  Annabelle, the wife, smiles and says, “As long as we’re with each other, that’s good enough. We don’t need much and have what’s most important.”

  Tracey smiles. “That’s nice.”

  “You two make yourselves at home, we’re joining the party.” Annabelle shimmies her hips. “It’s been a long time since we danced in the sunlight, or sang loud enough to be heard.”

  “She can’t sing,” Jim quips, earning a slap to his shoulder. They share a laugh.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  They leave through a sheet they have hung over a pipe like a curtain. It’s privacy enough for this sectioned-off sewer tunnel, blocking their small home off from the remainder of the deserted sewer.

  Tracey scoots her chair closer to mine and lays her head on my shoulder. For my entire life, someone has always been after me. Someone has wanted me because of what I am or what I could become—this weapon, and finally, after all this time . . . It’s over? Could we have just solve
d our Nemanite issue, the Lunis issue, everything with this simple act? Did we just save millions of Burdened Sephlems’ futures?

  Tracey releases a long sigh. “Wow.” She may have been holding that one since she said yes.

  “Right?”

  “So, Superman. You were like a superhero taking out those Qualms. It’s obvious why these people are looking at you like you’re their knight in shining armor. Or their king who protected them from their enemies and freed them from their fears.”

  “I’m no king. And I didn’t do it for them. I did it for us. I’m not a hero or knight, Sparks. I’m just a man. I wish I was just a man who wants freedom for my mate. And finally, we have that.” Tension I’ve grown used to melts from my back and shoulders and a sense of lightness brings on a relief I’ve never experienced.

  “Finally, we have that,” she breathes. “We’ve fought and risked a lot for this freedom.”

  I grab her from her seat and pull her onto my lap. There’s a peace in her eyes I would’ve given my life to see. She pushes her hands around my neck and stares in my eyes.

  “I’m not usually a fan of pink. But your eyes are this incredible shade of fuchsia with that same constant brown circling around your pupils. I know I say this with every color, but they’re amazing.”

  I turn up my lip. “Ew. Pink?”

  “It looks good on you.” She leans forward. Her lips are soft and her lilac scent is more potent than usual. There’s a peace that settles in her presence I could never give her before. It floods into me, and I’m easily reveling in her affections. So many doors have opened up for us now, and I want to walk through them all.

  “Hey, beautiful?”

  She halts midway to meeting my lips again. “Yes?” she sings with a smile sweetening her expression.

  My Burdened is shaking with anxious nerves, as am I. She won’t say no, I tell it. And I’m not at all prepared for this next move, but I made a promise.

  “Spit it out, Nathan. You look nervous.” She studies me with worried eyes.

  “Will you do me the honor of being Mrs. Nathan Newcomb, Tracey Warren?”

  She gulps and her heartbeat quickens.

  I rush to explain, “With there being no more threats out there, nothing left to come after us. It’s just—”

  I’m cut off by her kiss.

  Yes. Definitely. Finally.

  I love you.

  I love you.

  Holding her back, I keep her eye contact. Now that the human part is over, my beast and I join as one and ask, “Will you be made in me as I will stand to be made in you, my heart?”

  “I will,” she promises without a second thought.

  I bite my lip and smile. “Thank you.”

  “Always.”

  Her hands push through my hair and her kiss draws aggression from me that has me slipping my hand beneath her shirt and pulling it over her head. Her neck draws my lips to it like a magnet. I drag my kiss to her shoulder and then her chest. Even with the scars dressing her skin, she’s so soft.

  From our seat to a spot on the ground, I lay Tracey beneath me and relearn her body as my wife. Dragging my tongue down between her breasts, I taste her down to her navel. I ease her pants from her waist. Her thighs are smooth, fitting comfortably in my hands while I meet a spot between them that makes her knees tremble and her pleasure-induced croons creak.

  I slide inside her. There’s something different. She holds me differently; she loves me differently. With every stroke, every kiss and grasp, every groan and purr, we sink deeper in a feeling even with Tracey I’ve never experienced. Maybe it’s because I’ve never let my guard down far enough to be this open to her. To let her in my mind and see my deepest thoughts because we finally have no one—nothing—to worry about. I’m not fucking her and thinking about killing someone or concerned with someone coming upon us. I’m fully focused on her, us, this feeling of pure ecstasy I can only get from her.

  Tracey’s eyes gloss over. “This is what it feels like?”

  “Almost.” I sharpen my teeth and nick my bottom lip. “Take it slow.” I kiss her and let her fill up, feeding off me and indulging in the high. She hits euphoria in seconds, mouth and chin smeared with my darkness, her heart pumping with our affection.

  The heights of freedom; it not only feels good, but it tastes good. It’s exciting and enticing, pushing us to the edge but holding us back, at a perfect point of thrill, fear, and peaks.

  Tracey lies on top of me, buzzing, body drenched in sweat. I rub her back. She says, “I’m impatiently waiting on something drastic to happen to my heart to seal us being made.”

  I laugh once. “It feels like nothing. The easiest of the whole thing. The hardest part is going to be finding a ring that you’ll like.”

  She snorts. “Stop it. I don’t care about a ring. Slip a twisty-tie around my finger and you’ll still find me satisfied.”

  No doubt this girl was created for me, every ounce and atom. “Thank you for choosing me. It’s been a hell of a ride, but for this, what we have right now, I don’t think I would’ve chosen any other option.”

  “Thank you for choosing me, Nate,” she copies. Sitting up, a smile wider than I’ve ever seen her wear accommodates bright, brown eyes. “I’m made!” she squeals.

  I laugh. “I’m honored to call you my wife, Tracey.”

  “I want us to have a small wedding. I know it sounds stupid, but I want that experience. We’ve swept over everything. I’m flying through my twenties and haven’t really had any real-life experiences.”

  I knit my brows and console her worry. “Suit and tie, big white dress, a priest! We’ll have the whole nine. We don’t have very much family left, but I can hire people to throw rice at you.”

  She chuckles. “Our moms would’ve died for this, you know? Your mom would’ve probably had some old dress waiting for me, my mom would’ve brought something new and something blue. And Taylor!” she exclaims with a burst of laughter. “She would’ve . . .” The glee fades as she adds, “She just would’ve been thrilled you invited her to the wedding.”

  Laying back against me, she says, “Can we have a wedding, just us? It doesn’t have to be extravagant or a ceremony. I just want to stand next to you in a simple dress with my hair done up and smile the length of the Jordan river. There’ll be an arch we stand beneath, crowded in white roses and carnations, a gentle waterfall sprinkling behind us, and the sounds of the forest will be the song of our day. I want us to have vowels.” She chuckles once, “And I won’t to be able to tell you don’t peek in my head, so you can’t know in advance what they are.”

  I rub my hand over her shoulder. “I want you to have all of that.”

  “Perfect.”

  And that’s what I want for Tracey, perfection.

  The humans of this land have been celebrating all day. Tracey and I join them as their sun sets. They drink their booze and sing their songs, some have instruments they’ve made by hand and others clap. Their joy rings out and brings others to the area. Tracey dances with a lady, and I sit back and observe. They beg her to stay here with me so they won’t have to worry about the Qualms returning. They want protection, one tells her. She smiles and nods at their requests, but knows there’s no way we’re living here.

  Tracey stills. Her smile slowly fades. Hand flown to her chest, she heaves and buckles over, coughing, worse than she was this morning. I rush to her side and pull her from the crowd. “Sparky, take it easy.” Squatting in front of her, I catch her as she collapses. “Sparks, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  She heaves and goes for another round. I tap into her to try to figure out what’s going on, but I get nothing. She feels fine.

  “Okay,” I say. Taking her face in my hands, I share my air. She inhales deeply and is able to relax. “Better?”

  “Thanks. I couldn’t catch my breath.”

  “Yeah. Something was going on.” I place my hand to her forehead. “Maybe we should turn in, you’re picking up a feve
r.”

  She nods and rests against me. “I’m not feeling too well.”

  I carry her through the underground sewer to our cot. I didn’t intend for us to stay here overnight, but Tracey needs a while to rest. She knocks out the instant I lay the cover over her. I sit beside her and brush my hand over her clammy head.

  “Nathan,” calls from above. Chislon.

  I take a shortcut up a ladder through the drain entrance. Still in Tarleton’s body, he stands in the street, the crowd celebrating behind him. “Thank you,” he says.

  I admit, “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you or them,” I say with a point. “But it’s done.”

  He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Your mate’s sick again?”

  “Anything you’re not privy to?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “Plenty.”

  “You call me up here to thank me?”

  “No. To congratulate you. It was wise of you to trust your father. Enjoy your time with your mate, Nathan. The time remaining is shorter than the sand left in your hourglass.”

  “No,” I object. “You told me there was no way to win this war, now look!” I shove another point past him. “Listen!” I cuff my hand behind my ear. “We’ve won. It’s over! We’ve defeated everything! You said there was no way I could win this and my wife and I still be together, but we are!”

  He meets my eyes. The muscles in his face relax so heavily, its distress causes his words to come out discouragingly. “There isn’t, and because you and your . . . now your wife are still together, you’ve lost.”

  He pivots, and I step in his way. “What?”

  “I warned you.” He grabs my hand and peacefully removes it from his arm. “Enjoy this time with her, Nathan. You deserve every minute.” He pops like a bubble, a flash of light fading with him.

  Don’t be A Fool

  Nathan

  I rub my eyes and force them to adjust to the dimness of this realm. To my left, I eye Tracey. She’s snored the entire night from a stuffy nose and has been coughing every five minutes. I gently pull her from the cot, into my arms, attempting to ease her shivers. She’s hot to the touch, but ice cold on her flesh. It’s as if she’s going through separation sickness, but I’m here.