Chapter 41
Arden
Arden didn’t remember the first time he’d turned into a vampire. It merely became the bloody incision that cut him off from everything before it. Sometimes he could still feel those memories like a phantom limb. They were the shape of Vox.
Now he understood why the ghoul had always felt so familiar. So comforting. He was with Arden in the days of recovery that followed, as they all waited anxiously for a change that never happened.
No one knew why Elan’s blood had failed to turn him into a vampire, even if it did seem to be keeping the Chrysalus at bay. Even Leopold, who seemed to have the answers for everything, was at a loss.
Arden hadn’t been studied so intensely since he’d left Eric, and while the doctors always asked his permission before they ran their tests, they were no less invasive.
It was determined, after some closed-door deliberation Arden was left out of, that he would continue to take Elan’s blood, as long as it didn’t produce any ill effects. Arden knew they didn’t fully believe his stories of ethereal flower groves and angels, but at least they weren’t leaving it to chance. That was really all he could ask.
As far as Vox went, it was difficult to tell what he believed. The ghoul was as blank on the last several weeks as Arden was on the life they’d shared together, but somehow, it made Arden feel closer to him.
Even if he didn’t remember that life, they had both lived it. They both understood what the other had been through, at least as much as anyone could.
Every night, Vox held Arden until he fell asleep. The one mercy the promise of becoming a vampire again had held was the diminished need for sleep. Every time Arden closed his eyes, he was sure he’d wake up to find the Chrysalus waiting for him, but his dreams were strangely silent. If it wasn’t for the faint, unshakable feeling that it was still lurking somewhere within him, he might have thought it was just a dream, like the others seemed to.
That night, Vox had something to attend to. He was usually the most forthcoming among the Brotherhood, but he’d been as vague about his intentions as the others were. Arden was only beginning to settle back into the idea of a life that was his own. When he’d been away, the Brotherhood’s otherworldly dwelling had felt like the only home he knew, but returning to it was not the seamless process he’d hoped.
Something felt wrong. More aptly, he felt wrong. As if he’d left part of himself in that awful dream and taken something else in its place. Something sinister, yet patient enough to wait for him to let his guard down.
Desperate for air and a change of scenery, Arden had used his key for the first time that night. He didn’t venture far. He was sure the fae in the Vale would look at him with the same wariness Dusk and Leo showed whenever they thought he wasn’t looking.
The common theme in the whispers he managed to catch between their private conversations was, “he’s different.”
How, he didn’t know. Neither did they. He just knew that whatever it was had separated him from everyone except for Vox, and even if it hadn’t, Harding’s death would have.
The Vale was a beautiful world, even if it was too close to the Chrysalus for comfort. Not that there was any escaping the entity when it was still buried deep inside of him. Trapped, to some degree, as Leopold’s latest theory went.
Even though Harding had been born on the surface, the final wishes he’d made known upon being sworn into the Brotherhood were to be buried in the Vale. It was an unusual request in a world where cremation was the norm, but Dusk had made sure it was honored nonetheless. Since there was no body to bury, they had settled for Harding’s uniform and the dog tags he’d earned in his early days within the human resistance.
Arden felt like an intruder as he approached the gravesite, so he lingered on the hill above it. He stared down at the small stone cross, out of place in a sea of glimmering crystal mausoleums and markers.
Harding would have wanted it that way. He was austere to a fault in every way but his laughter and his smile.
“There you are.” Dusk’s voice was soft, but it felt like scolding. Arden turned around to find the fae watching him worriedly, carrying Arden’s thick wool coat. “It’s too cold for you to be out here without a jacket.”
Arden reluctantly slipped his arms through when Dusk draped the jacket over his shoulders. “I wasn’t going to stay long.”
Dusk watched him, his eyes darting anxiously over the chimera’s face. His expression finally softened into sadness. There were so many reasons for it and Arden didn’t have the energy to guess which one it was. He was the cause of most of them. “Can we talk?”
“Sure,” he murmured. He’d felt this coming. He knew that Dusk was kind enough to wait until he’d healed to properly discuss the fact that he was no longer wanted, but it had to happen eventually.
When Dusk’s hand settled on his shoulder, Arden fought the urge to lean into him the way he once had. As Dusk led him over to a bench, his heart beat faster, yet another reminder that he was far from what he’d once been.
“How are you feeling?” the fae asked gently.
Arden wished he’d just get it over with, but he knew that wasn’t how Dusk worked. “I’m alright. Not thirsting for blood, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Dusk smiled faintly. “No. Your DNA has certainly changed, but you’re not a vampire. That much is clear.”
“Any theories as to what I am?” Arden asked.
The look on Dusk’s face became troubled. “You know the answer to that as well as I do, Arden.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in angels.”
Dusk’s fangs scraped over his bottom lip. “It’s not that I don’t believe in them. They’ve always existed, or have been rumored to exist. When a spirit takes a living vessel, the vessel is transformed. It becomes an avatar of sorts, existing between the spiritual and material worlds.”
“So this has happened before?”
“Yes, but only with minor spirits,” Dusk answered. “The concept of an angel possessed by the Chrysalus… the consequences would be staggering.”
Arden swallowed hard. Given what he knew of its plans to dominate the surface, he didn’t have high hopes that power would be easy to control. “If I’m that much of a danger, then the solution is obvious, don’t you think?”
Dusk gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“You should kill me,” Arden answered. The horror on the fae’s face was the last thing he’d expected. He knew the others would protest. All except perhaps Elan, but Dusk… he knew the truth of what Arden was capable of, and all the things he would never be. “I’m sure that’s what Aeon will say when they find out, assuming they haven’t already.”
“They haven’t,” Dusk said hoarsely. “But even if they did, we would never allow that to happen. Any of us.”
“You’re supposed to protect this world. That’s why the Brotherhood exists. If I’m the greatest threat to it, then it shouldn’t be hard.”
“Arden,” Dusk whispered, touching his cheek. His hand was so gentle, his touch so sweet that Arden had to fight to keep his heart from surging out to meet the other man’s the way it had. “You are a gift, not a threat.”
“Tell that to Harding,” he muttered, pulling away.
Dusk was silent and Arden was sure he was trying to find a way not to openly agree. They both knew it, though. Nothing would change that.
“Harding’s death was not your fault,” he finally said, his voice low and shaken. “I’m sorry for ever making you think that it was.”
“It was the truth,” Arden said, shrugging.
“No,” Dusk said, turning Arden to face him. The fae was usually so serene and elegant that when he took command, reminding Arden of the true power he possessed underneath that demeanor, it always came as a surprise. “It wasn’t. It was my fault. I was supposed to protect you both, and I failed. Worse than that, I put the blame on you. I know that nothing I do or say can fix this, Arden, but I don’t w
ant you to believe for a moment that I don’t care for you, or that I would ever let anything happen to you.”
Arden knew Dusk was just trying to comfort him, but it was a hollow reassurance. It wasn’t dying that scared him. Not anymore. It was the possibility of what the Chrysalus might unleash with his life that left him terrified, both for the people he loved and the world they had spent their lives fighting for.
“I understand it will take time,” Dusk said quietly. “I’m not asking you to forgive me, or to accept me as your master. I know I don’t deserve that. Please, just… let Leopold take care of you.”
Arden’s heart beat a little faster. It was a shock that Dusk was even still thinking along those lines, but the realization that the fae didn’t want him anymore, as expected as it was, cut deep. He nodded faintly. “Okay. I guess that means you want me to stay?”
Dusk’s face went blank with shock. “Of course we want you to stay. This is your home, Arden. You’re one of us.”
“I haven’t even been initiated.”
Dusk gave him a small smile, taking something out of his pocket. It was a small black box and when he opened it to reveal the silver ring inside that matched his own, Arden’s eyes widened.
“Is that—?”
“You’ve earned it,” Dusk said, taking the ring out of the box to place it on Arden’s right hand. “Vox is back to his old self because of you, and Eric is dead. That’s a hell of a lot more than I had to do for my initiation.”
“Eric is dead, but so is Vaeyr,” Arden reminded him. “Now Leo’s cover is blown and Lavien will turn the vampires and the elves against us.”
“So what else is new?” Dusk sighed.
“When Aeon finds out about me, they’re going to blame you,” Arden warned him.
“Then we’ll just have to make sure they don’t,” Dusk said, shrugging.
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“You’ll keep drinking Elan’s blood, and shedding the excess Chrysalus energy the way you normally would,” he answered. “It should be enough.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then we’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Dusk said, squeezing his hand. “Together.”
The words soothed him in a way he knew he didn’t deserve, but for the moment, Arden decided to let it be. Chaos was just over the horizon. He could feel it in his bones, but the only thing he could do now was wait for it all to break and hope that this time, when it did, he wouldn’t be picking up the pieces alone.
The End. The Vale Chronicles continues shortly with Book 2, Enemy/Lover.
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About the Author
Joel Abernathy, also writing as L.C. Davis, is a trans author of MM romance. He enjoys writing dark and emotional romance about men loving men in all genres.
Puppet/Master (The Vale Chronicles Book 1) Page 28
