by LJ Swallow
My confusion why she suddenly switches the subject is slapped away as Maeve’s magic pushes through before I can throw a guard up. “Oh, smart.” I laugh as her presence fills my mind, then hit back. My energy bounces straight back as if Maeve had held up a palm to deflect me.
Shit.
I watch my self-awareness shrink as her thoughts fill my mind, like fingers wrapping around the puppet strings. Trepidation grows at what she’ll persuade me to do.
Nothing embarrassing. Her words sound louder than usual, like she whispered in my ear and not in my mind.
Good.
I step away from the wall as if my legs aren’t my own and I immediately force myself back. My control drifts further as I move forward again, this time turning towards the kitchen.
Are you thirsty? Did you want a drink? I ask.
Her response is a mental slap, but she doesn’t drop her control. I fight her persuasion to walk into the kitchen every step of the way, impressed at how hard a grip she has on my movements.
Are you sure you don’t want me to get you—?
The teasing thought is pushed back and this time with a sharp pain behind my eyes. Fight me, Tobias.
I jerk my head from side to side as Maeve takes control to make me look around. She sifts through my thoughts until she finds the right one and I reach out to the cupboard I need. As I take a mug, I prepare to shoot back more teasing to see how far she’ll go with a retaliation.
The mug falls to the stone kitchen counter and I lurch forward to grip the side as my head scrambles. I’m unaware of my surroundings, everything blurring like a video clip on fast-forward. The movement brings on a queasy feeling, like sea-sickness and I press my palm to my temples. What the hell is she doing?
My surroundings blur and I grip harder with my other hand as I fight the growing nausea.
The world around clears but I’m not looking at my kitchen; I’m inside the Winterfall house.
The old house, not the derelict one I visited a few days ago.
Maeve, I call mentally.
Is she still in control of my mind?
Maeve.
Wherever I am, I stumble forward in a stupor and well-dressed people around greet me.
Winterfalls.
I’ve spent time in this house once and I don’t want the memories.
Maeve. Stop.
I can’t allow her to see what happens here.
I can’t see what happens here.
No. Fuck no. My head lurches again as I’m dragged forward through my hidden memories of the past, screams rushing by me as if I’m travelling through a tunnel on a speeding train. There’s a red mist I recognise engulfing my mind and pulling me away from reality.
Maeve
I yell the word in my head and fight back.
Stop.
The vision doesn’t drop, and I fall to my knees in the kitchen, pressing my hands either side of my head wanting the sounds to stop, refusing to look around me.
Voices amongst the screams. Urgent.
I’m here. Attacking. I can’t unsee what I’m doing.
But I can't block what's happening and when I open my eyes, I'm him. I'm standing in the centre of the large formal room and looking through his eyes, trapped in a memory I've locked away. The carnage should appall me, but this man's dark heart fills with pride at the indescribable scene he created.
Pain racks my body as a witch fights back, but I drain the energy, weakening the guy with my pneuma powers. The Tobias I left behind in the kitchen focuses on darkening my sight, as the taste of blood fills my mouth. I grip onto reality by my fingertips, no longer aware of the kitchen counter between them.
Stop, Maeve.
Another witch comes at me—tall, dark-haired unlike most here—and momentarily he manages to stop my attack. I look into his eyes and his mouth parts, the hold dropping away. His blood doesn’t smell of the fear I enjoy feeding on.
“Adeline!” he calls out and I grunt as my back slams against the wall a few metres from him. “Find Adeline.”
I sneer at the witch and charge over, knocking the tall guy until he sprawls backwards across the silver and blue chaise behind him.
On top of another body.
I try to disconnect but I’ve lost my grip on the connection to Maeve.
“Tobias.” I turn my head to the young guy I betrayed. The one who let me into his home—welcomed me as family. Oliver, the Winterfall with the weakest mental powers.
“Tobias.”
I’m assaulted by a sound that rings through my ears, stabbing into my mind like hot steel, attempting to interrupt me.
I’m too far gone.
I’m victorious.
“Tobias!” The same voice. Female.
“Maeve!” I shout and this time I hear the words outside myself. “Don’t do this to me.”
A young woman walks through the door, unmistakably a Winterfall with her long, white blonde hair. She halts and her cornflower blue eyes challenge this man. The red mist still has hold of my mind, and I step towards her.
The woman doesn’t turn and run like the others.
“I know you,” she says simply. “I’ve seen your future, and there's something missing. Something we'll ensure you never have.”
“I'll have more than you,” The words spill from my mouth, but they're not mine. “Because you have no future after today.”
She laughs harshly. “Yes. I’ve seen that too.”
I make to move closer but hit a weak barrier. The woman's body trembles as she grasps onto the last of her magic.
“And what will I never have?” I retort as I rip through her weak spell. “Enlighten me.”
“Happiness,” she whispers.
I stop the struggle against the assaulting scene, even though the man I am yells out at not being able to move. Nobody else comes near him. Nobody else in the room is alive.
A second woman appears behind her, older and more composed.
The one I want.
The woman I came here for.
Adeline stumbles backwards as I move towards her, knocking the younger woman out of the way. As I bear down on her, she begins mumbling something and I pause.
“Tobias, look at me.” Confused, I turn to the first woman and she grabs my arms. “Tobias. What is she saying?”
Her voice is different, frightened but for me, not herself. The scene in front of me blurs as somebody cups my face in their hands. Maeve’s wide blue eyes look back into mine, filled with a fear I haven’t seen since the day she heard the heartbeat.
“What did you do?” I ask. “Why?”
“I didn’t do anything,” she whispers.
“Let me go.” The frenzied energy from my memories courses through me as forcefully as if I were still there. I’ve not tasted witch blood for years, apart from the tiny drop from Maeve’s palm that spun me away from myself that day, but the addictive taste is in my mind. In my mouth.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
“You should’ve stopped.” I pull at her hands, desperate to break the binding energy I avoid.
“I did stop. I pulled your mind away from the memories. You worry so much about the man I just saw that he’s with you, all the time.”
My chest tightens. “What the fuck did you do?”
“I took control of your mind and that was more powerful than taking your body. I threw your consciousness into the dark,” she whispers. “Instead of controlling your actions, I stopped them altogether.”
“How?” I ask hoarsely.
She shakes her head and curls her fingers around the pendant. “Instinct.”
I swallow and run a palm down my face, expecting to see blood on my hands. “You don’t understand what you just did to me.”
“I didn’t choose what you saw,” she says, eyes widening.
“Where did you think you’d send my mind if you threw me into the dark?” I half shout.
Maeve shrinks back. “What did you see?”
“You kn
ow what I saw.” Maeve shakes her head. “Leave me alone,” I say, and her face falls as I hurt her once again.
But the witch blood intoxication won’t leave.
The woman’s words echo. Happiness. I’ll never find happiness. My life hiding from myself, staying separate from those who’d love me, is as big a part of the curse as Maeve.
“Tobias. I’m sorry.”
I turn my back to Maeve and place my hands on the counter again, grounding myself as I concentrate on the cool stone. “You put me in a vision of my past. That was unbelievably cruel.” I can’t help the harshness as the screams still echo in my mind.
“I’m sorry!” she repeats. “I didn’t intend to.”
Day after day, I fight my past and my fears. Even when I focus on the present, I refuse to look at the future and grasp each day. The others believe I take everything in my stride—Tobias who keeps control of himself and the group. The one who interrupts and smooths over any panic or discord.
The guy they begrudgingly hold as our leader, who can barely hold onto his emotions anymore.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
TOBIAS
I leave Maeve.
Yeah, Tobias treats Maeve like shit again by running. Pushing her away every time is bad enough, but I’ve excelled myself this time.
Halfway between the cottage and my rooms, I pause.
The coward takes over and I don’t turn back.
Back at my place, I shakily pour a glass of water and I’m instantly reminded of ten minutes ago. Before the glass reaches my lips, I throw the glass with force against the tiled floor and as it shatters water mingles with shards on the floor. Something snaps in my head and I drag open the cupboard before pulling out and smashing glass after glass.
Blood leaks from my finger where a broken shard catches my skin, and I stare numbly at the mess as I grab a kitchen towel and squeeze it around my finger.
Then walk calmly out of the room and leave my emotions on the kitchen floor.
Sitting on the sofa, I look blankly ahead, exhausted and aching.
A knock on the door tugs me back to reality and I run a hand down my face.
I don’t need to answer to know who this is.
A pale, tense Maeve stands outside and the moment she sees me, her face crumples. “Don’t run,” she says in a thick voice as she fights the tears brimming in her eyes.
I swallow as my mouth dries. I can’t speak. What do I say?
“Can you hug me?”
Her question catches me unaware. I haven’t seen Maeve as distressed as she is now since the night with Nikolai Blackwood, on the day the only thing that mattered was keeping her safe. Being what she needs.
Stepping forward, I gently wrap my arms around Maeve and pull her to me so her head rests against my chest. She winds hers around my waist and grips me tight. Maeve’s grief and fear wash through me along with the energy I ache for every time I’m around her, and I focus on absorbing everything I can.
Each time I allow myself this close to Maeve, the greater the effect her emotions have on me. This feels the same as the day I told Maeve the truth about herself; I’m experiencing everything flowing through Maeve’s body, from the heavy ache to the anxious heartbeat, as I try to smooth her painful edges.
I hold the back of Maeve’s head and stroke her soft hair, stupidly inhaling her scent. My reason isn’t only to comfort, but because if I hold Maeve’s head to my chest, then her face stays away from mine.
Eventually, she pulls away and my heart lightens when Maeve’s eyes aren’t reddened by tears. I’m also relieved when she looks away instead of moving her face any closer. I reach out and touch her cheek. “I apologise for running.”
Maeve shakes her head. “Again.”
I hold her face in my hands; I don’t need to be greatly attuned to sense her defeat and fear. “You proved you’re strong. That’s all that matters.”
“Is it?” she says flatly.
I grasp at words to help. “I believe in you,” I say. “In us.”
Her eyes widen as I say us. “The group?”
“Us, Maeve.” I stroke her cheek with my thumb.
“But you… if you leave—” she begins.
“I will never run from you again.” I touch her cheek. “I can’t outrun how I feel, god knows I’ve tried enough times.”
“I mean if you…” She trails off. “That won’t happen. You won’t die.”
Ash hasn’t said anything to her, and I silently thank him for that. “I’d rather not,” I say with a small smile.
“I want you to know that I love you.” Maeve’s words are barely a whisper, but her emotions scream them to me. “I forgive you and I want you to forgive yourself.”
“I’ll atone for what happened, Maeve, I accept that now.” Inch by inch, we move closer, as if gradually pulled by the invisible strings that fate uses; the ones that make us puppets to a curse.
But I accepted weeks ago that Maeve is more than a cursed future. “I love you and I wish things could be different,” I say, voice thick.
“They could be.”
I close my eyes, partly against her repeating the impossible and also because I can’t take my gaze from her mouth, knowing if she inches any closer, we’re lost.
“They could—right now,” she whispers, and her small fingers slide around the back of my neck. “I’m scared I’ll lose you and never have the chance to love you.”
The chains hurt more because they’re not only a physical craving, but a need to fill my heart and soul with her. Cursed magic? Sure. But that curse didn’t create Maeve; she’s a girl shaped by life. Someone with a vibrancy and strength that’s helped her through a life filled with confusion and hurt. A girl whose love and belief in what’s right for others creates somebody determined to take on the world and win. Was there ever any point trying to resist?
But this is goodbye.
She blinks as my thought accidentally reaches her. “If you think this is goodbye, I want one to hold onto.”
“Maeve.”
Her hand against my nape blurs my focus from words to sensation and the hard wall against her begins to crack.
The wall that’s never been between us, but within myself.
“I proved that I can control your mind,” she murmurs. “You can’t hurt me. I’d hurt you first.”
Her breathy voice and the blood rising to her cheeks tightens the bonds. Is Maeve right? I’ve circled the future in my head over and over since the Blackwoods—I’m with Maeve at the end, which means whatever happens between us before that moment doesn’t kill her.
“I can’t forget what happened between us at the Blackwoods.” Maeve’s darkening eyes meet mine. “How you rejected me.”
“I didn’t reject you,” I say hoarsely. “I protected you.”
Maeve shakes her head then shifts; her mouth moves closer, the rising energy in the room crackling stronger than before. “If you think this is goodbye, let me choose how I say goodbye to you.”
There’s no mistaking the intent behind her words and I open my mouth to protest. Her soft fingers touch my lips, tripping a buzz across my face. “If you have any faith, don’t tell me to walk away.”
I could walk away, but fate’s puppet strings pull tighter.
But why do I allow the unknown to control me? The curse created the puppets we are and only I can cut the strings.
Maeve’s desire cries out to my lamia, her uncontrolled emotions begging my pneuma to feed, or the hemia to take what he wants. But that’s not who she is. Maeve is the only person I’ve ever touched who didn’t become a victim, and I ache for more than what she could give me.
The fear she’ll prompt the raw, immoral Tobias always equalled the dread that she’ll wake the other who’s scared to love. And when she did, I ran from her and from him.
“I love you and I’d give everything to spend the last hours with you, Maeve.”
The words are out. The admission. The one I’ve swallowed down over and ove
r, hoping that the cold-hearted man would piss her off to the point that she’d turn back to the others. To Ash and his fierce, protective love; or Jamie for his gentleness.
And to Andrei, the guy I could’ve been if I’d had a Tobias to guide me—if I wasn’t manipulated the day my parents discovered what I am.
But Maeve never turned from me. I’m a hypocrite. I tell her she’s strong. Unbreakable. I whisper that she needs to have faith, yet I drag all that from under her.
Her fingers tremble against my mouth and I gently pull them away. Gripping her hand, I move to close the gap between our lips, gently cradling her head with my other.
The curse can’t be broken, but the strings can. I’ll share what I’ve always wanted with Maeve because the truth is, I won’t kill her. I’ll die.
Every kiss between us has been fierce, as I snatched the chance to touch and taste her before he pushed me away. This kiss is gentle, softer than any I’ve had before; I’m not scared into believing I have to snatch what I can from Maeve. I rarely kissed anybody in my past and definitely not with the tenderness I do now.
Maeve’s body moulds to mine as I focus on enjoying how she tastes; how her skin feels beneath my hands. How her touch drives more than lust because she loves me, and I finally allow myself to love her. I pick Maeve up and she wraps her legs around my waist, not taking her mouth from mine as I carry her to my bedroom.
This won’t be fumbled or pushed too quickly. Whatever happens, I want Maeve to remember me loving her.
But as her body responds and her mind loosens control, he whispers. As she trusts me, he reminds me of the high just dragged into my recent memories. I don’t listen. I don’t believe him, because Maeve believes in me.
I put everything into focusing on her, watching how she reacts to my caresses or mouth on her skin and giving Maeve more instead of taking what I want. Each kiss, each touch, each murmured word from Maeve breaks me, but in the best way. I’m shaking with need and still I hold back, as high on her responses to me as I am to anything else.
Running out of places to kiss Maeve, I move back to look down at her, sliding my hands between her legs. She closes her eyes and parts her lips and there’re no thoughts in her head, replaced by the pleasure I give her.
