Tor nodded. “Agreed. The matter will be rectified at a later date.” Tor looked at me. “We discharge you to Waleron, Taldeburu of the Scars.” Tor looked at Genevieve and she raised her hands toward the fountain.
I noticed a hint of a smile on Tor’s face as he eyed Delara, and then, to my surprise, the Wraith winked at her before he vanished into red particles of dust.
Mariana and Urtzi followed suit, disappearing in their own fashions. Genevieve came around the side of the long table and her eyes met mine. “Fate has spoken. Don’t fuck it up.” She smiled and then disappeared in a swirl of mist.
“Delara.” Edan strode toward her. “Let’s go.”
Waleron stood, his eyes narrowing on Edan. Something bad was going to go down.
“Delara,” Edan repeated.
“I’m not coming back, Edan,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Edan’s entire body began to heat up and his hands turned red, his eyes orange. “You used me? You used me to get into the Deaconry to save . . . to save this asshole?”
Delara shifted back a step. “It didn’t start out that way. I care for you, Edan, but I can’t do as you’ve asked of me. You gave me an ultimatum—I’m choosing to walk away.”
“You’re a damn whore,” Edan shouted.
Waleron’s snake tattoo on his neck slithered across his skin. He took a step toward Edan, but Zurina placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him.
It was obvious Delara had intended to leave the Wraith much sooner. Edan had inadvertently given her the playing card to access the realm and the Deaconry.
Edan turned to Waleron. “That appeal you want for Tarek to remain in Rest? Consider it void. You will never get it for as long as I’m on the Deaconry.” He burst into a fireball and disappeared.
Delara’s shoulders slumped and her eyes closed. I reached forward and took her hand in mine. “I . . . fuck, Delara, I don’t know what to say. Thank you just isn’t enough.” I waited until she raised her eyes to mine. “Why?” I asked.
She sighed and squeezed my hand. “I understand what she went through. You watched. You knew drinking Ryszard’s blood would turn you into something evil and that you’d be killed for it. You knew giving Anstice’s location was a risk to her life. To think of the pain you’ve lived with having to make that decision . . .” She straightened her shoulders. “This is why we’re Scars. To protect the innocent. To sacrifice ourselves for one another. That is our nature. That . . . is our salvation.” She looked at Zurina. “Will you take me back?”
“Of course.” Zurina came out from behind the table, held out her hand and Delara took it.
“Delara,” Waleron said. “We need to talk.”
Delara raised her chin. “I did exactly what you’ve done numerous times.” She nodded to Zurina and they Traced from sight.
I stood, still in shock at what went down. My emotions were whirling like a tornado—gratitude, hope, and finally, I felt relief. I’d known that I’d have made the same choice if given a chance to do it again, and I’d assumed they all thought I’d betrayed them, especially Anstice. Delara believed in me, trusted I’d made the right decision and stuck by me. Most of all, my sister had believed in me. I realized they’d all believed in me. I just hadn’t believed in myself.
I RAN ACROSS THE snow-covered lawn after Anstice’s dog, Finn. The bugger had grabbed my leather gloves out of my hand when I’d opened the front door. I was finally going home and the big black furball was playing games.
“Get back here, you big tub of lard. I swear, if you drool all over those, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Okay, nothing, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’ll stop slipping you leftovers under the table.”
Finn loped across the snow, shaking the gloves as if they were a fresh kill, and then, suddenly, he stopped, his muzzle in the air. He dropped the gloves and lowered his neck, skulking back to the house. I didn’t know what made the dog suddenly play the sympathy card, but I was glad when I no longer had to run through the mid-calf-deep snow after him.
I picked up the gloves and began walking to my car. The breeze drifted across my face, and I stood for a second, soaking in the sweet scents that I was now able to pick up on. The pine trees, the hint of Finn, the wetness of the millions of crystals of snow, and something else. The familiar scent of earth, of . . .
Oh, God.
The gloves slipped from my hand, forgotten.
My breath hitched and my heart slammed into my rib cage.
Blood rushed like a raging river though my veins.
Was it my imagination? Could it be real? Please, let it be real.
I stood in the middle of the yard. The moon danced off the white snow, reflecting a blue glow. I closed my eyes and a sob escaped as the wondrous earth smell drew closer. Stronger. And then I knew.
Footsteps crunched in the snow behind me.
Steady.
Familiar.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t look, because I was so afraid it was a dream and my hopes would die.
But then . . .
Then his arms wrapped around me from behind and I choked on the cry slipping from my throat. He pulled me back up against his chest, his cheek next to mine.
Tear streamed down my cheeks like rain on a window pane. Every shred of strength evaporating as his touch sent my control over the edge.
“Little one,” he whispered in my ear.