9
Bronywyn
The blackness ripples, something I’m quickly realizing is my mind prepping for another memory onslaught. I know why the shadow is doing this; it said as much. Burying me with memories keeps me from being able to find my way out because it distracts me, keeping me focused on the past rather than the deadly future I’m facing.
I roll my shoulders—or, since I can’t see anything, what I think are my shoulders—and prepare to fight back because this time, I’m not going to let the asshole win.
Tarnley appears before me, wearing a white tunic and brown riding pants and momentarily stealing my need for vengeance. He smiles, crimson eyes lighting up with what I now realize had always been affection for me. “It is good to see you. I’m afraid Elijah has not returned just yet.”
“I’m not here to see him,” I say, a direct contrast to what really happened that day, as I run both hands down the front of the gown from this memory. It’s one of my favorites from the past, a golden gown with emerald leaves embroidered on the large skirt. Hell, I still have this same one preserved in my closet back home.
Tarnley looks completely taken aback. Brows drawn together, he takes a cautious step toward me. “Oh? Why not? Can I help you with something? Is everything all right?”
Tears burn in my vision as I realize that if I never get out, this may be one of the last times I get to talk to him. “I just want to talk. Is that okay?”
He relaxes. “That’s quite all right. What do you wish to discuss?”
I take a seat on a bench that overlooks the grassy knoll just outside the house he and Elijah used to live in. The moon is high tonight, the stars shining brightly above us with no city lights to drown them out. “Do you ever sit here and wonder what the future holds?”
“Every night.” He sits beside me and is quiet for a moment. Just ahead, crickets chirp their nightly song while an owl hoots somewhere in the distance. It’s serene, this memory. Beside me, Tarnley sucks in a labored breath. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
I whip toward him so damned fast I practically get whip lash from the movement. He’s staring at me, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.Aren’t I the only one who can alter a memory?“I don’t understand.”
“I found you,” he all but whispers as he drops off the bench and to his knees before me. “I can’t believe I found you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s me,” he says as he takes my hands. The touch feels so real, so warm. “Fearghas found a way to project me into your memories.”
Warily, I study him. It’s entirely possible the shadow is using him to taunt me. And if so, I wouldn’t really know, would I? Because they know the ins and outs of my mind probably better than I do. “I won’t fall for this,” I growl as I push to my feet, ripping my hands from his. “You can’t trap me.”
“It’s me, Bronywyn.”
“No. It’s not possible.”
Tarnley stands and shakes his head. “It is possible. I swear it.”
“No.” My announcement is firm even as my throat constricts, my heart yearning for this to be real—for Tarnley to actually be here, even if it seems completely impossible. “This is just a trick. Like the memories.” I close my eyes and try to focus on what’s real.
And when Tarnley stands and leans forward to cup my face, I dare to believe that he is really here. “This is real,” Tarnley replies. “I am here, baby.”
That gets my attention, and I open my eyes to look into his familiar crimson ones. Tarnley’s never called me baby before, so if he were in my mind, wouldn’t he have used a term I’ve heard before?
I gape up at him, searching his gaze for anything that would prove I’m wrong. But I see nothing, nothing but a look of love I don’t think even the shadow magic could conjure. A sob rips from my chest, and I cover my mouth with a shaking hand. Fearghas and Ridley did appear for a moment. What if they heard me? That the magic was using memories to trap me? Is that why they sent Tarnley here? Because he is a huge part of my memory?
Smiling, I drop my hand. They did it. They found a way to trick the shadow, and that means so can I. “You’re really here?”
“Yes.” He reaches up and grips my hand, pulling it down as he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. The moment the contact is made, all doubt vanishes. Whether that’s foolish or not is yet to be seen, but seeing him here is the first glimmer of hope I’ve had, and it would be even more foolish not to cling to it.
To him.
I wrap both arms around his neck and open beneath him, accepting the love of this moment, the realness of it in the face of so much surreal.
Tarnley is my anchor.
The magnet holding me firmly in the light.
When we pull apart, it’s with a breathless sign. “Now, let’s get you the hell out of here and back to the land of the living.” Tarnley grips my hand and turns in a slow circle. “Any idea how to do that?”