The Fulfillment

by Erin Rhew

  “I don’t have time for this lovers’ spat.” Werrick’s face twisted in disgust. “While I slept, I heard every word you said about the extraction. So you’ll understand if I’m in a bit of a hurry to kill the three of you and rescue my queen.”

  Nash’s facial muscles jerked. “No.”

  “Sorry, boy; you can’t save the pathetic little girl hiding in that body. Haddey will win. Haddey always wins.”

  Elder Werrick bustled about the room, stuffing items in a pillowcase. He hummed while he placed a large stack of Holt’s papers in the sack.

  Layla strained to see Nash and lowered her voice so only he could hear. “What are we doing to do?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t move at all.”

  “Me either.”

  “Look, Layla. If we really are going to die, I need to say I’m sorry. I should have believed you. I should have believed the best about you because I know you, and I know you would never have hurt me on purpose.”

  “Thank you.” A tingling started in her fingers. “Nash, I have a little feeling in my hands.”

  He closed his eyes. “I think I feel something too.”

  “It’s still not enough to fight him off.”

  Werrick finished packing and returned to the seat in front of them. “Well, I’ll be leaving in a few moments. I’d only intended to kill Mars today, but I’m actually glad the two of you stopped by. You’ve been a thorn in my side since I met you, Layla.” He pointed at Nash. “And you—you half-Ethereal, half-Vanguard abomination—I know my queen developed a strange affinity for you, but I love her. I always have. Maybe with you gone, she’ll finally see how much I’m willing to do to win her affections.”

  The Elder rose and grabbed Grant’s sword. “It’s fortuitous for me that the groom left his weapon here.”

  He pressed the tip of the blade to the back of Layla’s neck and then Nash’s. Layla squeezed her eyes shut. As a Vanguard, she’d been trained to prepare for death in battle. But a death like this one—sitting on a sofa, paralyzed—vexed her.

  Nash cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.” The sorrow in his tone spoke to the depths of his regret.

  Layla longed to reach out and touch him. “I’m sorry too.”

  The Elder snickered. “So touching.” He placed a hand over his heart, malice and mocking in his eyes, and then circled around behind the couch. “I find that the element of surprise always works best. So, I’ll keep you guessing as to which one I kill first.”

  Layla envisioned the sword rising into the air. Anger surged through her—anger at Werrick, at this death, and at her own inability to stop this menace. A fresh wave of hot fury burned a new path within her. As a born fighter, she knew the risks she faced every time she stepped onto the battlefield. She had stared down this dark infinity many times but had always come out victorious. Now, she saw no way of avoiding its wrath.

  Before Werrick could strike the final blow, the door burst open. A blur to her side, seen just in the periphery of her vision, flew through the air and slammed into the foe behind her. A struggle ensued as the Elder and his assailant crashed to the floor. Layla heard another man, not the Elder, snarl something, but the words wafted away as furniture and shelves toppled to the floor in the melee. Try as she might, she could not identify the additional voice amidst the thuds, grunts, growls, and Werrick’s cursing.

  In an instant, the fighting ceased as the sickening branch-snap of breaking bone echoed through the room.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Layla saw Samson rush into the room and slam the door behind him. “Three kingdoms. Oh, First Ones. This is bad. I mean, it’s good. But it’s also bad.”

  “I killed him. I think I killed him.” Layla recognized her father’s voice.

  “You definitely killed him. I caught that last part, where you nearly yanked his head from his body. It was a dead giveaway…if you’ll pardon the expression.” Samson’s snicker sliced through the thick silence.

  Layla’s head still refused to turn. “Father? Samson?”

  Holt rushed around the couch and knelt down. His hands swept over her hair and face before he glanced at Nash. “Are either of you hurt?”

  “We aren’t hurt. We just can’t move. Werrick gave us some paralyzing serum.”

  Holt kissed her forehead. “Thank the First Ones we got here in time.” He sat back on his heels, his face a mixture of relief and anguish. “I killed him.”

  Samson inspected a cabinet across the room. “Volton, do you have anything in here that can reverse paralysis?”

  “I killed him.” Holt stared at his hands.

  Samson smashed his hand against the wall. “Uncle.” Holt’s head snapped up in surprise. “Can we reverse what Werrick has done to them?”

  Holt nodded. “Look in the cabinet for the vial with an orange tag. They should drink it.”

  Samson burrowed inside the cabinet until he retrieved the bottle. He held it to Layla’s lips. She drank, choking on the liquid. Tentacles of sensation spread throughout her body until she could move her arms and legs again. Beside her, Nash rubbed his upper arms and flexed his hands.

  Samson assisted Layla as she struggled to kneel down in front of her father. She touched his knee with quaking fingers. “Are you all right?”

  “I killed him, Layla. I killed him. I can no longer be a Volton, because I purposefully claimed a life.” He rocked back and forth on his heels.

  “But you saved our lives.”

  “I’m no longer a Volton. I’m no one.” The vacancy in his eyes scared her.

  Layla scanned the room and found Nash and Samson attempting to revive Mars. “Nash, go find Wil. Don’t tell anyone else what’s going on. Just bring Wil.”

  With a curt nod, Nash stood, wobbled but righted himself, and stumbled out.

  * * *

  Wil flung open the door, his face awash with panic. When he reached Layla’s side, he touched her face and arms. His eyes roamed over her with careful precision.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” She grabbed his hands to stop his manic examination. “I have a favor to ask of you though.”

  “Anything.”

  “Werrick had a sword, and he was going to kill me—”

  “Oh Layla.” Wil cupped her face in his hands.

  “I’m fine.” She took his hands in hers. “My father and Samson arrived just in time to stop him, but Holt killed him.”

  “Good riddance.”

  “I agree, but my father is distraught. Since my mother’s death, his whole world has been here with the Voltons. He won’t be allowed to remain, though, if he willfully killed another. Even though he bends the rules from time to time, he’s a Volton through and through. I can’t let him lose the life he’s built here.”

  Wil nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

  “An Alteration.”

  Wil sucked in a surprised breath. “You hate Alterations.”

  She almost reminded him how much she’d enjoyed the Alteration he performed on her in Etherea, but the memory only served to bring them both pain. “I trust you, Wil. I trust you with my father’s mind. Make him forget he killed the Elder.”

  Wil regarded her without speaking. She remained still, though she wanted to squirm under his intense gaze.

  “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, Layla.”

  She called over Samson and Nash and explained her plan.

  Samson frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s right to remove his memories.”

  Layla gestured to her father. “Look at him, Samson.”

  Holt stared off into a vastness none of them could see. His skin, normally olive-toned and vibrant, now clung to his face, dull and ghastly. Samson grimaced.

  Nash rubbed the back of his neck. “As much as I don’t like this idea, it may be necessary. We need Holt in top shape for the extraction.”

  Samson crossed his arms. “Fine. But let the record show I objected. And never do anything like this to me. Ever.”


  “Neither of you have to like it.” Layla turned to Wil. “What do we need to do?”

  Wil paused. “The least invasive procedure would be a substitution.”

  Samson grimaced. “What’s that?”

  “I can place the image of someone else killing Werrick in his mind. It’s faster and safer than removing the whole incident. And he’ll know the Elder is dead, but he won’t know he did it.” Wil glanced between Samson and Layla.

  “Substitute me for my father.”

  Samson shook his head. “Wil can’t. You were frozen on the couch. Substitute me.” He pointed to himself. “If Holt gets mad at anyone, he can get mad at me. I can handle it. Besides, if the old man hadn’t been so much faster than me, I would have happily killed the Elder myself.”

  “Thank you.” Layla kissed his cheek. He mocked disgust and brushed it off, but she caught sight of his pleased smile before it vanished.

  With one last lingering look at Layla, Wil crossed the room to kneel by Holt. He placed an arm around the Volton’s shoulder and whispered. Layla bit her lip as she watched. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach.

  After several minutes, Holt jumped up off the floor. “Samson!”

  Samson put on his most remorseful face—one Layla had seen numerous times growing up. “Here we go…”

  “You saved my daughter’s life.” The Volton wrapped his nephew in a hug. “Thank you.”

  Layla almost chuckled at Samson’s surprised, wide-eyed expression. He patted Holt’s back before worming out of the embrace.

  Wil ran his fingers through his hair and crossed the room to stand beside the still unconscious Mars. “First, we need to wake Mars back up. We have to get him out of here before he finds out about Werrick’s death. And then we need to decide what we’re going to do with the Elder’s body.”

  Samson grinned. “I have an idea about Werrick. You won’t like it, but I think it just might work.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nash

  While Wil, Layla, and Samson discussed plans for the Elder’s disposal, Nash left Holt’s quarters and headed for Zarina’s room. He flung open her door. She jumped up from the bed.

  “Nash.”

  Her hair fell around her face. With her auburn tresses freed, she resembled The Innocent far more than she did Queen Cataleen. But he refused to let that distract him.

  He walked straight up to her—as close as he could get. Their eyes nearly crossed from such close proximity. “Did you know?”

  “Know what?” Her small, throaty breaths puffed onto his cheek.

  He steeled himself against her charms. “About Layla.”

  “What about her?” Zarina stepped back, but her foot caught on the rug. She fell onto the bed.

  “Did you know Haddey told Mia to shift into Layla and sleep with Wil just to hurt me?”

  Zarina gasped and covered her mouth. “No. I promise I didn’t know. Oh, Nash.” She moved into a kneeling position on the bed and touched the side of his cheek. “I’m so sorry, but I had no idea.”

  He searched her eyes and saw the pain and truth in her words. The anger rushed out of him. He slumped forward, laying his head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair.

  “Remember when I told you Haddey hides things from me? Well, she must have hidden that. I promise you, I didn’t know. I would never hurt you that way, Nash. I…”

  “You what?”

  “I care about you.” She lifted his head, cradling his cheeks between her hands. “Don’t you know that by now?”

  The earnest look on her face both frightened and enticed him. But he backed away from Zarina until his hand hit the doorknob. “I have to go talk to Layla now.”

  Her face clouded, but she turned away so he could no longer see it. “Of course.”

  * * *

  As Nash made his way back to Volton Holt’s quarters, he chastised himself for expecting the worst out of people. He’d believed Haddey’s lies about Wil and Layla, and now he’d accused Zarina of being in cahoots with the sadistic First One.

  He blew out a frustrated breath and knocked on the Volton’s door. Layla called for him to enter. He stepped inside to find her all alone.

  “Nash, what are you doing here?”

  “Where is everyone?” He’d bolted from Zarina’s room to talk to Layla, but now that he stood before her, words failed him.

  “Holt and Samson are disposing of Werrick’s body. They said something about a dissolving compound the Voltons use on sheep when they die. I didn’t really understand nor care to know more. As for Wil…he left to find Mia. I was just about to go to my room.”

  “May I walk you there?”

  She nodded, though he read the uncertainty in her body language. “Sure.”

  The distance between Layla’s room and her father’s took mere minutes to traverse. In that time, Nash struggled to find the right words. He wanted to offer up his sincerest apology, but he didn’t know where to start.

  After she closed the door, Layla started toward a chair in the corner. He grabbed her arm to stop her progress. She let out a startled yelp.

  “I’m so damn sorry, Layla.” He hoped she knew he meant sorry for everything—for leaving her, for falling captive, for believing Haddey, for creating this rift between them.

  “I know. Me too.”

  They closed the space and wrapped their arms around one other. She settled against his chest. He buried his head into her hair and closed his eyes.

  “Why did I do that to you, Layla? Why did I assume the worst about you? I’m so stupid. Just now, I barged into Zarina’s rooms and accused her of knowing about Haddey’s plans to trick me. I didn’t believe her either. I don’t understand why I do that.”

  “I think you’re afraid of getting too close to anyone.”

  He considered her assessment. Instead of nurturing his relationship with Layla, he’d run off—first to Vanguard and then to the Outlands, always leaving her behind.

  “Maybe you’re right. I never should have left you to go to the Outlands.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” She mock punched his back, though sadness tinged the joke.

  He leaned back to look into her eyes and expected that familiar rush, the one he often got during their intimate moments. When it didn’t arrive, he tentatively pressed his lips to hers. Her response mirrored his. They both seemed hesitant, so unlike their passionate kisses of the past.

  He waited for heady desire to overtake him, but nothing happened. After a moment, he stepped back. They blinked at one another.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “What happened to us?”

  “I don’t know.” Her fingertips danced across her lips.

  “It’s gone.”

  She nodded. “It is gone. How did that happen?” She shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you think everything we felt before stemmed from the binding?”

  He shook his head. “No. I think what we felt before was real, but I think too much has happened since. I can’t get those visions of you and Wil out of my head, even though I know it was actually Mia. That’s not fair to you, but it’s the truth.” He held up his hand when she started to speak. “And as for you, I know you’re in love with Wil. I think I always knew you would be. From the beginning, you were meant to be with him.”

  “But I’m not. He’s not part of the Prophecy, and he has to be with Mia.”

  Nash drew her back into his arms, this time for comfort instead of desire. “Prophecies are meant to be cryptic. Only fools believe they understand the will of the First Ones.” He rubbed her back. “I do know one thing though. Wil loves you. If he can find a way to be with you, he will.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wil

  Wil stopped by Mia’s room for the third time. The longer it took to find her, the higher his level of anxiety. The notion that Mia might disappear and take their child with her haunted him more and more with each passing moment.

  He knocked on her door. To hi
s surprise, a voice call from within. He entered the darkened room and spotted Mia sitting on the bed. Relief flooded through him.

  “First Ones, Mia, where have you been?” He rushed over to her.

  She turned away, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, Wil. I couldn’t go through with the wedding.”

  He sat down beside her and took her hand in his. “You could have just told me that. You didn’t have to disappear.”

  “I just couldn’t marry you knowing how you felt…or didn’t feel…about me, and I couldn’t face you to tell you after I’d already said yes. I’m sorry.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I won’t pressure you into marriage, but you have to promise me that you won’t disappear like that ever again. I meant it when I said I want to be a part of our daughter’s life. I guess I’m just afraid you’ll cut me out of it.”

  “I won’t. I can promise you that.”

  He sighed. With Mia, he had to take what he could get. “Okay.”

  She frowned. “You look concerned. Is there something else?”

  Wil skimmed his fingers through his hair several times before answering. “Elder Werrick is dead.”

  Mia’s eye popped wide in surprise. “Did Vespa kill him?”

  “No. He tried to kill Layla and Nash, and Holt…Samson killed him instead. Right now, Holt and Samson are disposing of the body, but we need to ask a favor of you.”

  “Me? How could I help?”

  Wil rubbed his forehead and sighed. “We sent word to the Ecclesiastics that Werrick wants to resign his position as Elder. They’ll be here to soon to confirm it.”

  “But he’s dead. How will he be able to speak to them when they arrive?”

  “We hoped you would be willing to shift into him.”

  * * *

  Wil cast several sidelong glances at Mia as they headed toward Volton Holt’s room. On her other side, Samson, who’d been sent to summon them, hurried so fast they almost had to run to keep up.

  He ignored Mia and addressed Wil. “Did she agree to impersonate the Elder?”

  Mia’s face flamed red. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, Samson Mantar. I know you’re mad I ran away, but you can’t just ignore me. And to answer your question, yes, I agreed to shift into the Elder.”