Ve'Rah Daa (The Ephemeral: Book 3)

Chapter 12

The heat between us went cold, and, realizing he'd murdered the moment, he let me go, frowning at the icy wall I'd erected.

I rolled away, out of his clutches, out of the sun. Shaking off his lingering heat, I marched over to Frank, who was mowing down creek shrubs and judging me with his eye-squint. Per usual.

For the past two days, we'd traveled river to river in hopes of locating the Rhean city, or at the very least, determining the most promising mountain pass. At each watershed, I'd blast the riverbank with my power—all the way up the mountain to its water source—searching for memories of travelers or hunters or mountain folk. So far, I'd only found snippets of the Temple of Josiah fishing and refueling. And each time, I'd left behind giant patches of dead and wilting riparian habitat.

Despite our futile efforts, though, Beckett and I were grateful to have a few extra days to heal. My superior was doing much better today, even if he wasn't cracking as many jokes as usual. As promised, he'd stepped back from his leadership role and instead consulted with the group on route choices and food prep. It made me respect him even more—something I didn't think was possible.

Due to the cult's barbaric appetite, we were also down a horse, so Tori had offered Beckett his steed—the diabolical bastard. Now, the medic shared his ride and personal space with a blushing, stuttering Mason all day.

As entertaining as it was, I abstained from harassing Mason about his predicament. The welt was finally letting his guard down around Tori, and I didn't want to damage that. In fact, their friendship had advanced significantly since Mason polluted his blood with alcohol, and I suspected the blond enjoyed having an excuse for that proximity—cringey flirtations and all.

I felt Valerie's eyes on me as I stuffed our camping gear back into my saddlebag, and I steeled myself for an intrusive questionnaire.

"Lover's spat?" she teased.

"Don't."

She gave me a dry look.  "Come on, Alex.  Can't you tell Liam's flirting?"

"Will doesn't even know what flirting is."

"Apparently, neither do you!" she exclaimed. "I swear, you and Mason are one and the same. I'm surprised you can both swim, as dense as you are."

I faced her, my gaze flitting over the rabbitbrush in her hair and the clay beads dangling from her neck. How she maintained her fashion sense on a multi-day trek astounded me. "Look, Will and I care about each other, okay? It's more than friendship; I can admit that much. But it's not—"

"He loves you, Kingsley."

The words hit me square in the chest, robbing my lungs of oxygen, and I was suddenly back at the edge of a snowy mountain, watching the chilling statement spill from Demon-Will's lips.

You've killed the boy you love.

The declaration had knocked the world off its axis that night, and since then, I'd done my best to purge it from my memory. I'd stashed the secret away to be reevaluated at a later date, buried the fear of romantic love and what that could mean for us—and more importantly, what it could change.

Later, when Will had tried to confess his feelings to me that day at the wall, I'd kissed him as a means of skipping that wobbly, slippery steppingstone. We felt the same way, and I needed him to know that, but I hadn't dared utter the life-altering phrase.

Not then. Not now.

"You know it's true. And you know you feel the same way," she insisted. "Fighting that emotion is hurting both of you."

"I'm not doing this with you right now," I told her, begging for another day of blissful denial. "We've got a war to fight. Romance isn't a priority."

"What do you mean? It's a top priority!" She stepped closer, lowering her voice so Mason and the others couldn't hear. "Love is rare in a world of marriage contracts, Alex. It's beautiful. And you two have found it in the middle of cannon fire...even if you refuse to admit it."  She poked me in the arm.  "You're wasting time."