Khalon's Blood (Indra's Heart, #2)

FOURTEEN | 54

My eyelids fly open, and immediately shut when the aggressive stream of sunlight attacks my pupils. I slap my hands over my face, and rub my eye sockets before squinting around my room.

Yes, my room.

I'm home, and everything is just as I left it.

I sit up, and roll my shoulders backwards. My pajamas are clean, my skin clear of any wounds, and I feel just as rejuvenated as I did when Sryx saved me the first time. There's one major difference though.

The elf-eye is missing.

For the first time in eleven months, only a single gold chain hangs from my neck. The one my grandmother gifted me. My feet hit the carpet and I amble into the hallway, my joints loose and nimble.

"Dad! Grandma Lynn!"

I call again. And again. But they don't respond.

The clanking of drinking glasses coming from the kitchen prompts me to descend the stairs. There, I come face to face with someone that I thought I'd never see again, at least not in this lifetime.

"Ma?"

Her black hair is blown out, reaching almost the middle of her back and shining with a light coat of castor oil. Remarkably, she's standing with zero assistance. She drains the dishwater from the sink, and dries her hands before opening her arms.

I crash into her, burying my face into the crook of her neck. "Ma, life has been so empty without you."

She rocks me from side to side, her palm sliding over my back, and it's like I'm a child again, cowering to fit in her wingspan. Then, she holds me at arm's length, her expression chastising my words.

"What? It has been." I wipe my face with the back of my hand, fighting through my watery vision.
She shakes her head, tilting my chin towards the portrait of grandma Lynn on the end table and then to the one of my father hanging on the wall.

"Well, not completely empty I guess." I sniffle.

She presses two fingers on her chest before touching mine, her dark eyes sympathetic. My mother is right again. She lives in my heart forever.

But no longer on Earth.

My temples flex as I bite down, unable to decipher reality for a split second. How am I able to see her, feel her, or speak to her right now?

And why isn't she speaking to me?

"Is this real, ma?" I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth, tears washing away the view.

She nods once, cupping my damp cheeks to connect our foreheads. The skin to skin contact purges my body of its ongoing turmoil, and my mind replays the sound of her laughter. Then it fades.

The clock is ticking. I can't stay here, and we both know it.

I feel calmer as my mother leads me to the front door, like the first shot of acceptance has been injected into my veins. We've had some amazing years together, and it's only right that I keep them in the forefront of my stories about her.

"Everything I do is for you. Us. I love you, ma," I tell her through shaky breaths.

Her understanding comes with a kiss to my cheek before I'm pushed out of the door.

* * * ☽ * * *

The steady beep of a machine greets me into the darkness. Then, the entire room is blinding, cold, and unrecognizable. Physical pain resurges throughout my body, twisting my face in agony. The beeping suddenly increases, and footsteps pound onto the pile until a lean silhouette appears in the pristine doorway.