Kalina ~ Book Four
Chapter 27

A gentle hand caressed Sylvie's cheek, tucking a wisp behind her ear. She leaned into the warm palm, savouring the scent of earth and lavender.

Wake up.

Silent tears cut a diamond trail down her cheek as she embraced the frail body. Her heart swelled with love, understanding, shock, and despair.

Wake up.

She pulled the hands from the darkness. She coaxed them to the light, but they wouldn't come. She wouldn’t come. Why wouldn’t she go into the light?

“Come into the light.”

Wake up.

“Seanmhair? Come into the light.” But she wouldn’t speak. She can’t speak. Her throat was cut. Her head was gone.

Sylvie jolted upright, tumbling from the bed in a heap of sheets and terror. She clawed at the duvet until her feet found footing, and she launched herself out of the spare room and into the dusky sky.

The voices of her mates followed her as she sprinted, movements still jerky from sleep, the disorientation making her trip and stumble down the front stairs.

“Elias. Grab her. Something’s wrong!” Kian's desperate shout spurred her faster, her toes digging into the grass so hard she carved out tufts of earth.

Rowan's wolf howled and cried, his pounding steps passing her as her Vīs took over, her vision fading to red.

She expected Elias’ touch any second, but it never came. Nothing came. Nothing. She slammed into Amira’s cabin door, tugging at the door and yelling out when she found it locked.

“Amira? Amira, answer me now!”

She dropped onto her knees, flipping over every pot plant to find the spare key. She wished she’d listened when Amira told her where it was. Dirt caked under her nails as she clawed the earth.

Where was it?

“Fuck! Amira?”

“Sylvie-”

Sylvie stopped her scrambling just long enough to hiss, “Stay back,” and returned to the pots, finding the key glued next to a brown pot's drainage hole.

She picked it off and stood, her body groaning with the lingering effects of her sleep. Her dreams. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Even there, her grief took on a physical sensation. Noises inside the cabin made her freeze, and joy surged. It was just a bad dream.

“Amira, it’s me. I’m coming in.” Her voice came out in a breathless rush as she wrangled the key into the lock. If it didn't stop being a bitch... she snarled about to kick the door down when the key finally slid home, and she shoved the door open.

Inside, it was dark, and she ran in without giving her Dryad sight a chance to kick in, searching for her Amira.

The floor was surprisingly slick, and she slipped across the wet floor, landing with a hard crack. She scrambled in the darkness on hands and knees, trying to make her sight work. Her eyes did not quite understand what it was seeing through the sight.

Wet.

Warm.

Thick.

She shook. “No. Amira, this isn’t funny.” She scrambled around, palming the red floor, screaming when her hand brushed soft, warm flesh.

“Amira?”

Rowan’s howl, full of pure agony, cleaved her heart in two as her vision kicked in. Ear to ear. Wide open. A blade at her side, clothes black with blood. Her apron still on as if caught unawares.

Sylvie shook. She shook so violently that her brain rattled.

Elias and Kian hovered at the door, taking in the scene with equal horror. Disgust. Sylvie grabbed her grandmother and pulled the body onto her lap, crying and keening, brushing the hair off her face.

It felt all wrong. Dry and brittle, like a wig, not like the soft locks she often buried her face in when Amira offered comfort.

“Wake up, Amira, please.”

Her tears wouldn't stop, her nose so blocked up she couldn't scent anything.

Who could have done this? Why would they take her? She couldn't be gone.

Sylvie refused.

She fought death and won once before. She could do it again. She pressed her head to Amira’s, glad her nose couldn't smell the cloying scent of copper and death as she wracked her brain for the Fae resurrection lullaby that had saved Elias so long ago. Where was it? Nothing came to her.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“Sylvie,” Kian came over and knelt at her side as she fought through crushing sobs.

She lifted her head and focused on his face long enough to notice the fear that shone there. What was he so afraid of? She didn't care.

Didn't care.

A plan formed in her mind as if Amira spoke it to her herself—whispers from the dead.

Not dead for long.

No.

Sylvie would retrieve her from the realm of the Fates. She bared her teeth and said to her Fae mate.

“I need you to get Wren and bring them here.”

No understanding flashed on his face, but it didn't matter. He didn't need to understand her plan. He just needed to do it.

Even once she brought Amira back, she’d still want to know who did this and who she needed to kill.

Kian stood, and his presence disappeared as he portalled away.

She looked up at Elias then, her vision blurry but her voice as sharp as a steel-honed blade.

“Tell Magnus to come. And bring those Vampires we took down on the highway.”

Elias didn't falter. Didn't question or chastise, he turned and disappeared, leaving the doorway free for her last mate. Her despairing mate. In his wolf form, he was almost invisible through her normal eyes besides the glowing gold of his iris.

Her voice didn't quaver. “Gather the pack at the lake. Every last one.”

His wolf nodded but didn't move as he regarded her with the saddest eyes.

“Now, Rowan.” He howled a haunting note and darted away.

Finally.

She returned her gaze to Amira.

“It’s okay, Seanmhair. I’ll bring you back, I promise.”

Through the motions, she went. Calm. Clinical. Silent. Sylvie carried Amira’s frail body to the very same bed that Elias had died on once before. She brushed the hair from Amira’s face and used a warm cloth from the bathroom to wipe the blood off.

Endless blood.

Seven cloths later, she stilled her jerky scrubbing. A sheet from the linen cupboard acted as a shroud, only keeping her face in view.

Her neck— her neck still stained the fabric a vibrant rose, and Sylvie averted her gaze, hunting the room for candles even as her skin itched under the flaking blood of her grandmother.

She found some tall, yellow candles in Amira’s drawers and placed them around the body in a relaxed circle, lighting each with a pack of matches left strewn on the bench.

She needed light. She would shine a light, just like the fates asked.

But first, she would find Seanmhair’s soul and bring it home.

A small thud caught Sylvie’s attention, and she pounced for the noise down the side of the bed beneath Amira’s uncurled fingers.

Her skittering fingers found it quickly; the almond-shaped seed the size of an avocado pit rolled in her palm. Warm to the touch with a clear magical vein, offering a sliver of light down one size, Sylvie eyed the seed.

If Amira held it as she died, it had to be important. It might even lead Sylvie right to her. She tucked it away in her pocket and pulled a chair beside Amira. It was now or never. She closed her eyes and lay her head on Amira’s arm, the skin already cooling and mellow soft.

“Fates hear me. Please. Take me to Amira.” The seed warmed against her thigh from her pocket, and she scrambled to grab it. The magical vein that ran through it thrummed with power, and she found position again, clasping the seed in one hand and Amira’s hand in the other.

“Take me to Amira. Please.”

She begged quietly at first before letting herself wail and curse and spit without shame. “Take me to her, you selfish bastards. How dare you! How could you! I hate-”

The world faded, and she landed on all fours in an open plane of tall plants claimed by frost and red soil under her palms. “Shit.”

Standing, Sylvie took in the space she had spliced to. It was nothing like the oasis where she found Elias’ soul. It was the opposite in every way.

Her emotions dulled as usual while she spliced, and she padded numbly through the crunchy foliage. Ice-coated leaves snapped and crackled under her feet despite her ghostly appearance.

She searched for the shadow creature. A Fate, or maybe their minion. A mirror. The thing copied her moves with a second delay. Such a creature still haunted her. With the clarity in her mind, she wondered if meeting it again wouldn't be a great idea.

“Hello?” her rasp shot across the plane, the plants bending away from her before leaning in like her echo was a boomerang.

Nothing responded. This realm either had no living creatures, or they were hiding. She didn't know which one she preferred.

The sky above her held a lilac hue, filled with fluffy silver clouds and a bright white sun. She thought she may have shifted to one of the Fae courts for a moment but quickly changed her mind when a low growl hit her ears.

The beast was close. Hiding somewhere in the taller foliage.

A whisper of violence sent a thrill down her spine, and she lowered her stance, only stalling when she remembered her form.

In this ghostly visage, she would have far limited strength against whatever was stalking her. Her best option was to return.

“No, no, no,” she whispered, clawing her fists into her hair. She couldn't go back empty-handed.

The growl sounded again, and Sylvie darted behind a taller brush, slowed her breathing, and waited for whatever stalked her to appear. She had no scent as she spliced, so the creature couldn't scent her. She could only hope they wouldn't track the steps she had left in the tall grasses.

After minutes of nothingness, Sylvie tried to splice again, away from the frozen wastes calling to the Fates with her mind. Please, take me to Amira, was the only thought that filled her mind. Over and over, she recited the phrase, the act taking her straight back to her grief at losing Elias.

Natalie. And to a lesser extent, Rosie. Claudine.

She almost choked on the pain when Amira’s name shot into her consciousness.

No.

She was going to save her.

She was.

She just had to find the Fate realm again and escape wherever she landed. Maybe it was a demon realm. It could explain the cold, but she expected more darkness. The world she hid in now was vibrant, even in its frigidity.

With no luck splicing after another few gruelling minutes, Sylvie ignored the alarm bells in her head and turned around on all fours, seeking anything to mark her place.

She bit back a scream as deep amber eyes stared back at her, the beast behind them the largest tiger she had ever seen. Its head tilted to the side as she crawled away from it, never cutting eye contact. It followed her skidding path with paws the size of dinner plates and teeth as long as her pinky finger.

“Nice kitty,” she rasped, pulling back to stand tall. The top of its head reached her shoulders even at her full height.

Its teeth gleamed as it lunged, and her restrained scream finally came loose. As its paws slammed into her shoulders and she fell to the ground, her splice visit ended with abrupt pain.

She briefly thought about what the tiger must have felt when its prey disappeared under its feet, but when the emotions returned, nothing but cold emptiness filled each corner of her mind.

She lifted her head and blinked at the cooling body under her clammy palms.

The Fates would not hear her. Would not see her. Help her.

Her her.

Sylvie stood on legs far steadier than they ought to have been and pulled the linen shroud across her Seanmhair’s face. She turned and left the cabin, a stillness in her heart and mind.

Amira was gone forever.

Gone.

Dead.

And someone was going to pay for it.

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