by A. J. Vrana
She was finally alone.
Crowbar’s tiny room was reminiscent of Miya’s old basement apartment in Black Hollow, but only in size. The sage-green walls and earthy brown décor matched well, and the natural light spilling through the window made the place feel more like a home and less like a cave. Crumpling next to Kai, Miya curled into a ball and stared at the side of his face. His brows were knitted, his mouth downturned in a scowl.
As she reached out to stroke his cheek, he stirred with a deep breath. His eyes opened, fixed on the ceiling, then lowered to her face.
“Miya…” He sounded parched, straining to speak.
She rolled over and wrestled a water bottle from the twelve-pack Crowbar had left them. Kai greedily accepted it, hoisting himself up and crushing the plastic as he sucked out every last drop.
Miya grabbed another, and another, handing them to him like an assembly line until he’d emptied, crunched, and tossed aside four bottles.
He slid down with a groan, kicked off the covers, and splayed himself over the mattress. Realizing he was barely clothed, he took stock of his sweaty torso and arched an eyebrow at the yellow smiley-face boxers shielding his nether regions.
“Sorry,” Miya grinned sheepishly. “It was the only thing that fit.”
He clunked his head against the wall and chuckled. “Yellow’s really not my colour.”
Miya eased herself down next to him. His ribs were bruised but mostly fused together, and although the blood loss had left him close to death, he’d somehow managed to slug the grim reaper back across the river Styx. Now, his condition seemed no worse than a bad hangover.
Her eyes wandered down his side, stopping at his bandaged abdomen.
“I don’t regret it,” he said. “It was the right choice.”
“How do you know?” she asked quietly.
His eyes drifted shut. “When Rusalka first got me, I blamed her for the hurt. I just wanted to make it stop.” He paused, running his tongue over his mangled bottom lip. “That didn’t go so well.”
“Did you try to stab her?” Miya asked dryly.
“I did,” he confessed. “But then I realized how much she was hurting too. I understood why. After that, the answer just…made sense.”
“Velizar never counted on you hurting yourself.”
“He figured I’d put my survival first,” said Kai. “That’s how I’ve always operated.”
“You proved him wrong.” Miya shuffled closer and rested her head on his shoulder, then pressed a hand to his forehead. “Your fever’s broken.”
“Thank fuck,” he grumbled, scratching through his dark, dishevelled hair. “My brain felt like an egg on a skillet. I dreamt I was being chased by a bus driven by a hamster.”
Miya laughed and wiped the remaining sweat from his brow. “Sounds like your personal hell.”
He lolled his head to the side and squinted at her. “Enjoy my pain while you can, Lambchop.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I don’t have a good enough apology,” he uttered. “Not sure I ever will.”
A moment of tense silence passed between them.
“I don’t think you have to say anything,” Miya said at last. “What you did was enough.”
He frowned. “And just like that, I’m forgiven?”
“I was never upset with you,” she said. “Not once did I think this was your fault, or that you owed me anything but your efforts to break free. And you did break free.”
He ground his jaw, struggling to accept the clemency.
“How many lifetimes has it been, Kai?”
“I don’t know,” he murmured.
“Exactly. At this point, it’s all a blur. And this?” She gestured around them. “This is nothing more than a hiccup. Maybe if I hadn’t remembered everything, I’d be pissed. But knowing what I know—what we know—how can I?” She smiled, elated as she caught his gaze. “We’re finally free.”
Kai turned to his side and studied her. “Are we really, though? We’ve got a lot to unlearn.”
He’d changed. The intensity in his eyes was still there, but it no longer raged with the reckless abandon of youth. It simmered steadily, as though the aeons had finally caught up to him.
“You’re right,” she admitted with a sinking feeling. “I’m the Dreamwalker. My story isn’t done with me.”
Yes, they’d shattered one chain, but other shackles remained. The past was hardly forgotten. Miya felt its bonds like a thorny rope around her limbs, and it wasn’t letting go.
When they left Black Hollow, they were so triumphant that Miya had broken the cycle. How naïve they’d been. The fable permeating their community hadn’t stayed quietly in its birthplace. Trauma didn’t heed the borders between peoples or the partition between worlds. It clung to all those it touched, and it transformed the communal into something personal. It loathed being left behind.
Now, Black Hollow’s traumas were their responsibility—the Dreamwalker’s and the black wolf’s. They were wounded people as much as they were spiteful gods.
“You’ve got it backwards,” Kai’s gruff voice snapped Miya out of her thoughts. “Your story doesn’t own you. Write the damn thing yourself. Preferably in blood.”
She squirmed under his stare, drumming against his collarbone with a nervous touch. What would their lives look like from now on? Their promise had been fulfilled, and they were no longer tethered; she could sense it when she touched him. The suture that once bound them had torn. What if he wanted to go his own way? To explore the world on his own terms? It was the first time in lifetimes they didn’t need to find one another. The realization drowned her in a tidal wave of dread.
“Kai, I’m not sure I’m ready to start inking stories in anyone’s blood.” Her voice quaked, and she swallowed the lump scraping against her throat. “At least, I don’t want to do it alone. I want—”
“Lambchop.” He clasped the back of her neck. His molten eyes drank up her fear, absolving every lingering doubt. “Shut up and take off your wool.”
Fingers tangling in her hair, he pulled her into a hungry kiss. As his bruised mouth found hers, she remembered Gavran’s words.
Love is not a thing of need, Dreamwalker. It’s a thing of choice.
Miya melted into him, her hands seeking his body as she surrendered to the bone-deep pull. Desire pooled in the pit of her stomach as he pressed against her, teeth snagging lips, gasps leaving shudders in their wake. Hooking a thumb over the band bordering his hips, she tugged down, and the ensuing tussle to remove their clothes culminated in Kai’s frustrated growl reverberating in her ear. When flesh finally met flesh, their fervour only mounted. Their long-awaited reunion harboured not only the loss of recent days, but that of lifetimes spent apart.
She missed the tickle of his rough black hair against her breasts, yearned for the fleeting glances—red like fire—as his breath raised her skin.
Miya’s legs coiled around Kai’s waist as he dragged her under him. If he was still in pain, he hid it well. Breaking free of her hold, his lips trailed down her abdomen and grazed the inside of her thigh. Her body blossomed with heat as he found her center. The room tilted when her back arched, and she raked her nails through his unruly mane. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each pulse a rising overture until she finally let go, ecstasy rolling over her in waves.
Trembling from the blaze, Miya pushed Kai onto his back as he tried to get up. She straddled him and entwined her fingers with his. Their eyes locked in a brief, smouldering exchange before she descended on him, every groove and contour finding its place as sparks rippled between them and the world fell away.
The Dreamwalker and her black wolf may have spent nearly an eternity apart, but they would wrangle the very fabric of time and space to make an eternity of this moment.
They were bound, after all, as the sky and sea are bound by the horizon.
Acknowledgments
There are so many people who helped make this bo
ok happen—friends, colleagues, and family to whom I am tremendously grateful.
First, I am so indebted to my parents, who have supported my creative endeavours with unshakeable faith in my capabilities and have privileged me with the freedom to pursue what makes me happy.
Thank you to my beta readers, who braved through this manuscript in its early stages and helped me fill in the gaps. Thank you, Laura, for the video-calls about the logistics of dimensional travel, the proper etiquette for breaking reality, and for helping me devise new and creative ways to make Miya suffer.
A huge thank you to Brenton, who knows it is his sworn duty to drop everything when I am in need of a sounding board. Without you, I wouldn’t have a resolution to this story, and Kai would have far fewer cuts and bruises, which simply wouldn’t do.
I must also thank my rescue cats, Moonstone and Peanut Butter, who reminded me when it was break time by ensuring that typing was more difficult than it had to be. Whether by loafing between my elbows on the desk or yowling for snacks an hour ahead of schedule, my feline companions never failed to provide a suitable distraction when I was in need of respite. They are also excellent muses.
I am also deeply grateful to my agent, Emmy Higdon, who saw the potential in my work, suffered through all my very visceral metaphors, and helped me slash the extra POVs I was initially reluctant to let go of. I swear the next book will be less complicated! Maybe…
To my editor, Malorie: I cannot thank you enough for slogging through this manuscript multiple times, helping me with continuity issues, tweaking language, and tolerating my incessant questions about the placement of every comma. This entire duology owes you so much.
Moreover, the success of these books would not have been possible without the reviewers and readers who took a chance on my debut, The Hollow Gods. Thank you for supporting me, my work, and for being open to my stories. That my writing means something to you is the greatest joy any writer can ask for.
Finally, thank you to the entire Parliament House team for bringing this book to life. I especially want to thank Shayne, whose tireless effort, passion, and dedication to book publishing is unlike anything I have ever seen. I truly appreciate all of the invisible work you do, and I am privileged to have started my publishing journey with The Parliament House Press.
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About the Author
A. J. Vrana is a Serbian-Canadian academic and writer from Toronto, Canada. She lives with her two rescue cats, Moon- stone and Peanut Butter, who nest in her window-side bookshelf and cast judgmental stares at nearby pigeons. Her doctoral research examines the supernatural in modern Japanese and former-Yugoslavian literature and its relationship to violence. When not toiling away at caffeine-fueled, scholarly pursuits, she enjoys jewelry-making, cupcakes, and concocting dark tales to unleash upon the world.
www.thechaoscycle.com
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