17
Bernard was blessed and had almost thrown it all away because he couldn’t let go of the past. Today, this very minute, he understood the people in this room were just as much his family as Savannah and his two children. He also realized simply changing one moment in time to bring them back never meant they would have survived.
The war had been horrific, and knowing his wife, she would not have stayed safe on an American-held island while so many died in Europe and Russia. She would have made sure the children were taken care of, then headed into battle herself. She wasn’t the type of person to sit back while others suffered.
He fought to control the rioting emotions inside him. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel for so long that the crushing sensation in his chest, specifically around his heart, was almost unbearable. The organ thrummed one painful beat after another as he pressed his hand over the area.
Inhaling long, deep draughts of air into his lungs helped as his heart rate slowed. The actual pain, though, remained until he glanced down at Alva. She was exotically beautiful with her long white hair and sea-green eyes, still glistening with unshed tears. She was the opposite of his dead wife, but somehow that no longer mattered.
With everyone teary-eyed and staring at him, he decided a change of subject was necessary, or he would fall apart and make an even bigger fool of himself. Returning to the overshadowing problem of the draugar and who controlled them seemed to be the best solution, not only for him but also for his friends. Their pain pummeled him, and he couldn’t take much more.
Staring at the clasped hands in his lap, his thoughts were no longer on the draugar, but Alva. Taking his first step...well, maybe not the true first step since his heart had been showing him tiny signs from the moment he’d met her. He thought back to when she’d been kidnapped, when his reaction had been to stop everything and find her. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to her, then or now, which was telling. He cared for her very much.
Covering the hand still gripping his forearm, he squeezed. “Thank you, Alva, for having my back when I didn’t deserve it. Thank you for always being there when I didn’t know I needed you to be.” He pulled his gaze away from her wide-eyed expression and stared at his family. Another rush of emotion threatened to rob him of all speech. He swallowed, once more forcing down the unnerving emotional tide.
“I still have a job to finish. I need to stop myself from entering the Japanese Embassy on the morning of December first, although I’m not quite sure how to go about that. Wouldn’t I be messing with the time continuum or whatever it’s called if I see myself?”
Freyja smiled but shook her head. “I believe what you’re referring to is the space-time continuum paradox. If that were the case, none of us would be here. Yes, it’s best not to see oneself because then your memories get all mixed up. I don’t push the issue, though, and try to devise a plan where that does not happen. I believe I know how you can fix this and avoid all that, but you will need help.” Her glance dropped to Alva. “Will you go back in time with him to sort this all out?”
Alva rolled her eyes. “As if you even needed to ask. I wouldn’t have let him go by himself anyway—just as we did in Hawaii.”
Bernard frowned, his gaze moving between the two women. “What about Hawaii? Neither of you were there…at least not until I saw you on the beach later.”
“Alva realized that before I did. I couldn’t figure out why then, but after talking to Émilien, it became obvious. All of your strange abilities did.”
“This is my story to tell, Freyja,” Émilien said, his wolf’s face set in an annoyed frown.
“Give me some credit, Émilien. You should be the one to tell Bernard.”
“Tell Bernard what?” Bernard’s gaze never left the black wolf’s majestic face. He had always loved wolves and had even made friends with the alphas of a few packs on Midgard...if one could be friends with a wild wolf, that is.
The werewolf pulled something from a pack slung over his back that Bernard hadn’t noticed before, then held the object between his claws. “I need you to identify this person.”
Bernard stared at the thick parchment-like paper a moment before taking it from Émilien. He would know the man smiling back at him anywhere, no matter where he was or what age. Pulling his gaze from the small portrait, he gave the werewolf a curious smile. “Of course, I recognize this person. It’s my father. I’ve never seen this picture of him, though, and he looks much younger than I remember him. Where did you get this?”
A lopsided grin touched the werewolf’s black lips. “I painted Olivier when he was young, even by elf standards. Do you know where he is now?”
Bernard wasn’t sure what to believe. How could Émilien have created such a perfect likeness of his father? His gaze once more dropped to his father’s image, and he scrubbed at the building ache above his eyes. “I have no idea where my parents are buried. My guardians, Lukan and Kulirra, told me they died in an accident. I’d tell you to ask them, but one, you’re a werewolf, and two, I haven’t seen either of them since the war began. I returned to France several times, trying to discover their location, but they had disappeared.”
“I believe they did,” Émilien growled. “I should have told you before now, but I needed to look for proof. Then, your stupidity only added to the situation.”
Bernard scowled at him. “Hey, now...” The werewolf held up a very large paw, and Bernard decided it would be wise to keep his mouth shut. At least for the moment.
“What do you know about your guardians?” Émilien continued.
Bernard shrugged. “Only that my parents hired them to watch over me whenever they had to leave on business. They were gone more and more the older I got. Why?”
“Your parents chose well. There are no better dwarves than Lukan and Kulirra Hillhead. Everyone I talked to only had good to say about them, which is rare for their kind.”
Bernard couldn’t breathe for a moment, then let out a bark of laughter. “I always joked about them being dwarves, but...they really are dwarves?” The werewolf nodded once, and another, more troubling thought popped into Bernard’s mind. “So, my entire childhood was a lie?”
“No, Bernard, it was not a lie,” Lamruil answered. “You have to understand just how devastating the Great War was on Alfheimr.” He shared a glance with his brother, then turned to Émilien before once more meeting Bernard’s gaze. “Ailuin, our friend, Cyran, and I are the last of the black elves. Émilien and your father are light elves. The third group in the conflict were the dark elves. Much like your French and American revolutions, those in charge were targeted. Our father was known as the Black King, and as you were told by Émilien back in Alfheimr, he and Olivier were the king’s council. Our father tried everything he could think of to calm the people, but neither the light nor the dark elves wanted to be ruled by a black elf, even though it had been that way for as long as our history has been recorded.”
“So many of all three factions died,” Ailuin said, sadness in his eyes. “Families against families—”
“Brother against brother,” Charles interrupted, wrapping his hand around Lilyann’s. “I understand exactly what you’re saying. The American Civil War was horrific and almost split America in half.”
Ailuin nodded. “Add magic to the fight, and the outcome is worse than horrific. The light- and dark elves banded together and began systematically killing any black elf they found. Entire families were murdered in the name of justice and Elven rights. I’ve gone over the laws that were in place, and they were fair and just, no matter which type of elf you were, but the people wouldn’t listen to reason.”