Blood of the Hunt

Blood of the Hunt - Chapter 7

Not like this.

The pain burrowing through his chest throbbed in time with his broken heart as he touched his forehead to hers and let the agony take him. Hot streaks fell down his face and washed over hers as if she were mourning with him for the years together they had lost. Empty decades stretched out before him hollowly and he shuddered. He wasn't ready. He wasn't sure that he would ever be ready.

It was only when the sky began to lighten in the east that he was jarred out of his solitary lamentation, and he staggered back to his feet wearily. He didn't think he could bear to have the sun lay his sorrow bare, and it was still a long walk to where he knew he needed to be.

The gentle, grassy fields outside of Alicante fell away behind him as he bore his wife out of the city, their dark expanses steadily growing lighter as the break of a new day crept across them. The storm of the previous night had cleared, leaving an empty horizon broken only by the distant tip of an obelisk. Jem clenched his jaw when he caught sight of it and readjusted his tired grip.

Remembering those first days after being transformed by the cleansing touch of the heavenly fire at the advent of the Dark War brought a sad smile to his lips. He had been so conflicted; he had wanted to help Emma and Julian, but he had been so afraid to reveal himself only to be lost in the coming battle. He had tested himself with them, already wondering how he would find the words to explain what had happened when next he met with Tessa and she found him mortal once more.

It could have been his name on the memorial that had been constructed after the War to honour the fallen and to mourn for those who had been taken and Turned by Sebastian Morgenstern. Tessa would have arrived for their annual meeting on Blackfriar's Bridge only to wait beyond all hope for someone who would never come. Then this pain that he was feeling would have been hers to bear in his place. Twice she would have loved, and twice she would have lost. If he could find even the faintest light in the darkness, it was that she had not had to endure it again.

But he had survived the Endarkened and their Seelie allies, survived the coming of the Wild Hunt, and he had stolen years more with her. Years in which they had spent every minute together, unable to bear being separated again. Years spent paying an old debt before they could rest at last, secure in the knowledge that they had found what once was lost.

Great iron gates yawned open ahead of him, and Jem trudged doggedly through them without seeing the runes that decorated their faces, runes that spoke of mourning and loss, but also of healing and hope. Mausoleums passed on either side, and he looked away from the familiar names with sorrow-filled eyes. Every one of those names conjured up faces from the past, ghosts that brought no comfort to him in his misery.

Fairchild. Steady purpose and a soft heart. Kind brown eyes. A fierce loyalty to family that extended beyond names to take in strays and care for them as her own.

Branwell. Wild inventions and kind words. Untidy ginger hair. A glowing love for life that could not be dampened by a devastating injury that left him crippled.

Lightwood. Quiet strength and brash jibes. Fair and dark. Brothers gone astray only to be brought back by love, finding the strength to change their destinies together.

The epitaphs on the crypts continued to stream past, and Jem kept his head down as he threaded his way along one of the many small footpaths. It was harder to see these monuments, harder not to think of what would one day lie behind them.

Blackthorn. Which names would he live to see etched into the blue-veined marble slabs that stood guard over generations of hopeful-eyed Nephilim?