Embrace of the Sandman, page 8
Beast slammed the rest of his drink, wiping a thumb across the corner of his mouth before reaching into his pocket. I stepped closer, needing to see what he had. What he was about to share. The weight of the moment made me feel uncomfortable in my own body—what was left of it—but I stayed in that form. Too afraid to shift. Afraid to miss something.
“Yeah, so…the Riders aren’t the only ones reaching out to Aoife lately.” He tugged a rolled-up piece of paper from his pocket. I gasped, having seen that paper once before. Knowing what was written on it. At least my part.
“What’s that?” Corbin asked, noticing the paper.
Beast handed the scroll to Corbin, keeping his eyes locked on the other man’s. “It’s a message from Aoife. Or rather, from your Margaret.”
The darkness of the night and the desaturation of the world made seeing colors near impossible, but I could have sworn Corbin’s face grew paler. He didn’t move, didn’t jump to unwrap the paper. He simply sat and stared at the bearded man as if waiting for the punch line. As if the very concept of a note from beyond the grave had shattered his brain and left him unable to comprehend the possibility.
My mate finally shook his head, dropping his gaze to the paper in his hand in disbelief as he murmured, “I don’t…”
“Read it. Don’t read it. Do whatever feels right.” Beast sighed, frowning. “But know that Aoife traveled into the land of the dead for that. Specifically for that.”
Corbin tightened his grip on the paper. “How did she know?”
Beast sat back, shaking his head. “The fucking witches, man.”
Corbin huffed an angry-sounding laugh. “Shadow’s mate or Phoenix’s?”
“Technically Shadow’s. Along with my first mate.”
I broke my stare to look toward Beast, remembering that frayed and damaged red thread on his chest. Remembering the words Grim had said.
That’s Amber’s mate.
“By the Fates,” I whispered, pieces of how we were all connected falling into place. How Grim had become obsessed with a dead witch who turned out to have been mated to my mate’s friend. How helping Grim and Amber had brought me back to Corbin. How our threads were tangled and messy but woven together. Stronger in their chaotic connections.
Friendships and family bonds and Fate spanning lifetimes and planes of existence, all converging in this one moment. For us.
Corbin still didn’t move to unwrap the paper. He simply sat, transfixed. His body almost unnaturally stiff. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. Couldn’t move for fear of disturbing the tension.
Beast didn’t feel the same way.
“I’m going for a run.” He set his glass down on the railing and laid a big hand on Corbin’s shoulder. “Take your time, man. I can’t imagine how hard this must be. Howl if you need me.”
Corbin didn’t answer, instead remaining locked in place, staring at the piece of paper in his own hand. Completely frozen. Beast headed off the deck and into the woods, likely stripping and shifting along the way. I paid him no mind. His presence wasn’t required—this was Corbin’s moment. And mine. Ours.
“You can read it,” I whispered, creeping forward with anxious steps. “I don’t know if it will help or hurt, but you can read it, my love.”
As if he heard me, Corbin sighed and threw back the rest of his drink. A man unfrozen but not happy about it. Slowly, as if afraid the paper might jump out and bite him, he brought his hand up and carefully opened his fingers. Time crawled by, seconds turning into minutes as the man I would do anything to talk to haltingly unrolled the scroll. I peeked over his shoulder, wanting to see the note. My handwriting didn’t dance across the page, but my words sang from the unfamiliar script. My grief and love and loneliness and adoration laid bare from beyond the grave. My soul, still tied to his, reaching out for one last moment of connection.
“I love you, Corbin. I always have. And I always will.”
He sighed, finally finished opening the scroll. Angling himself in the chair to catch the light shining from beside the door to the cabin. Reading my words for the first time in over a century and a half.
Chapter 12
The Avoidance
Corbin didn’t read the note.
Not that night, not the next morning, not after a loud and almost celebratory breakfast with Beast.
He tucked the note I had dictated for him into his pocket, and he went on with his life.
I didn’t think I could be more heartbroken than I already had been, didn’t know there was more loss to feel in regard to my mate, but I had been wrong. He didn’t read the note, which broke something inside me.
“I’m going to take off this afternoon,” Beast said at some point, pulling me from where I had been marinating in my feelings. He had his face buried in his phone, his thumbs bouncing on the screen at lightning speed. “Calla and the girls are on their way back, so it’s time to meet them.”
Beast tucked his phone away and strode across the living room, looking antsy. Looking like a man ready to hop on his bike right then and get to where he needed to be. Corbin must have noticed the same thing.
“You sure you’re up to waiting that long? You look like you’re ready to teleport to wherever they are.”
“I’ve missed them,” Beast said as he stepped in to wash the dishes Corbin had been scraping and stacking. “Nothing is as bright or as warm as when I have my family around me.”
Both men froze for a beat, each likely for different reasons. Beast’s words certainly struck a sore spot for Corbin, and Beast probably only then figured out he was punching his friend in a scar that never healed. It was the bearded one who recovered first.
“Did you read the note?”
Corbin’s face went stiff, an emotional blankness throwing a cover over the pain that had flashed there. “No.”
Beast nodded and washed, his eyes focused on the dishes. He stayed silent for a long time—three plates of washing worth—before he finally asked, “Why not?”
My mate’s hand went to his pocket, the one with the note in it. The move was an unconscious thing, almost a tic, but I saw it. Corbin redirected his hand quickly, though. As if shoving off the need to touch that note. Ignoring it.
“I wanted to take my time with it,” he finally said. He didn’t add more, just grabbed a towel and began drying the dishes Beast washed. Both men stayed silent, the two building a sort of tension between them that left me unable to tear my eyes from the scene before me.
When Beast finished washing the dishes, he wiped down the sink and then moved to the side, resting a hip against a counter on the opposite bank of cabinets and crossing his big arms over his chest. Looking mean and tough and downright scary. A threat, but not to me. To Corbin. My mouth watered, the blackness inside me coming awake at the thought of devouring a soul. If he dared to step toward my mate, if he threatened him in any way, I would destroy him.
I needn’t have worried.
“You should read it,” Beast said in a voice laced with more concern than I would have expected. “As soon as you’re ready, you should read it.”
Corbin nodded, his voice quiet as he asked, “Did you?”
“No. I wouldn’t have broken trust or inserted myself into your mating like that, man.”
Corbin nodded, mumbling something that sounded like okay but not loud enough for me to hear him. Beast must have, though, because he adjusted his stance and speared Corbin with his gaze.
“I did talk to Aoife about the situation when she dropped that paper into my care, though. I wanted to know as much as I could about what I was about to do to you before I agreed to being the messenger.”
This time, Corbin’s voice came out loud and clear. “What did she say?”
“That the witches got in touch with her and asked for help on your behalf. That your Margaret seemed kind, and that the love she had for you felt just as strong as it would between the living.” Beast kept his eyes on Corbin, his beard shifting downward slightly, giving away his frown as he watched my mate seem to collapse forward a bit. His energy of violence quieting as he watched his friend struggle. “But hey…you take your time, okay? There’s no rush here. You read it when you think you’re ready.”
Corbin stood up straighter, nodding. “Yeah, that’s the plan. I just…need time to prepare.”
All the anger I had at him for not reading the note, that pain his reluctance had caused me—it faded a bit. Corbin hadn’t hidden away my words because he didn’t want them. He’d avoided them because they caused him even more grief than my not being there. They had reignited the flame of mourning within him, and he’d been trying not to set himself on fire. That knowledge crushed me inside, even though I still wanted him to know my words. Made me feel almost guilty for even agreeing to talk to Aoife.
Beast, meanwhile, seemed determined to keep my mate distracted. “Need me to stick around so you have someone to beat the shit out of when you do? Because I’ll volunteer as tribute.”
Corbin chuckled darkly. “Nah, but I appreciate the offer.”
“It’s no problem. I haven’t had a good wolf fight with a worthwhile opponent in years.” He stretched, his big arms flexing, his chest more of a barrel and larger than a normal man could build. Beast lived up to his name, and I had a feeling he fought just as hard as that moniker implied.
Corbin raised his eyebrows and turned toward his friend, looking slightly devilish. “So you’re saying I might have a shot at winning?”
The big man snorted. “Never, but I do like a challenge.”
The two laughed, the heavy energy lifting. And just like that, the note seemed to be forgotten by all…except for me. They went about their morning, Corbin pulling out his hunting bows and setting up a target along the driveway. Both men taking turns shooting arrows into hay bales. And all the while, I sat and stewed in an anxiousness that felt too close to dread to ignore it. My mate had a piece of me with him, had my message to him right there at his fingertips. A message that might not be the balm I had intended it to be. A message that could split apart the world Corbin had built for himself.
“You’re being overdramatic,” I said, trying hard to convince myself that I hadn’t just pressed the button on destruction. That I hadn’t set into motion the demise of the only man I had ever loved. I finally shifted to my Keres form, flying into the air to watch over the men and the little cabin from a bit of a distance. I needed space to allow my nervousness to subside. I needed a little time away to evaluate the possible outcomes without the constant reminder of my mate’s face distracting me.
I needed to know what was going to happen once Corbin read that note, but the timing of his actions was out of my control.
That afternoon, I stayed near the tree line while Corbin and Beast said their goodbyes. Neither man seemed happy to be parting once more, but they each had their own lives to live. And I…well, I had a lot of guilt and fear to deal with. Anxiety, too.
“You can always come back to Michigan,” Beast said as he stood on the gravel driveway, looking up at my mate on the porch.
Corbin shook his head, his hands braced on the porch railing. “This is the place for me to be right now. I can feel it.”
Beast didn’t look convinced. “What happened yesterday—”
“Was a fluke.”
My head spun in Corbin’s direction almost of its own volition, my body reacting to the angry tone of his voice. What had happened yesterday—their almost dying in the river—had not been a fluke. It had been a calculated effort to destroy what I loved. Corbin didn’t know all of that, but he certainly seemed willing to go to the mattresses to defend their almost-death.
Beast didn’t seem ready to blow it off as easily.
“You sure about that?” The scarred one stared for a long moment, his face still and hard. His entire body giving off an energy of disbelief. Of refusal to buy the lie we both knew Corbin had just uttered.
My mate didn’t say a thing, which said more than any words could have. The attack at the river had shaken him. It had shaken Grim and me as well, though for very different reasons. Grim would likely spend the next few days at his beloved door to the witch’s afterlife—the Summerlands—where he could see the woman he loved. Perhaps she would come through, perhaps not. Either way, he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her after meeting her original fated mate. His jealousy wouldn’t allow it.
And me…well, I would stay with Corbin and contemplate all the ways my death had affected him. My non-death, really. Perhaps if I had well and truly died, had gone on to whatever afterlife a dead wolf shifter would have experienced, Corbin would have been happier. Perhaps he would have found a new mate. Perhaps…
Perhaps I wouldn’t be suffering right alongside him.
As I struggled with the burden my death had caused, the two men said their final goodbyes and parted ways. Beast eventually headed for the main road, leaving behind a quiet and moody Corbin. Not that I blamed him. I felt the same inner turmoil and distress. Felt disconnected and sad. We sat in silence on the porch, looking out over the dark and dreary forest. Both lost in our own thoughts. Both brooding.
Until my mate finally pulled the note from his pocket.
“I guess it’s time,” he whispered, his voice far softer than I had ever heard it. Filled with a sense of fear I hated hearing from him.
“If you’re ready.” I floated closer, shifting human and moving to sit beside him. Looking up into his handsome face and wanting to die all over again at the pain I saw there. “Only if you’re sure you can handle it.”
Corbin shook his head and jumped up, hurrying inside. Before I could push away my shock to react to the move, he returned. In his hands, he held three things—my note, an empty glass, and a bottle of dark whiskey.
His weapons for the evening.
“Better to numb the pain, I think.” He poured whiskey into the glass, throwing it back and swallowing it down before refilling it. This time, he took a sip then resettled himself in his chair. He set the bottle down and rested the glass on the arm, still holding on to the note. Focusing on it. “You’ve never scared me more, Margaret.”
I huffed a laugh, wishing he could hear me as I said, “I don’t want you scared, my love.”
Corbin lifted his glass to his lips and took another sip before using his thumb to begin the unrolling process. When he got to the point where he needed both hands, he set his glass on the chair arm and took a deep breath. His hands shook as he pulled the paper open, a sure sign of his nerves. Of this fear he had over my words. I wanted so badly to soothe him but had no way to do so. Instead, I sat and I watched and I waited.
I knew he had read the first few lines when he grunted and rolled forward, his shoulders practically collapsing.
“My sweet Margaret,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.”
“I didn’t mean for it to be.”
He shook his head and took another deep breath before going silent and still. Before returning his attention to the paper in his hold. He focused on the note, hands still shaking, slowly reading the words on the page. Slowly taking in the message from me sent almost a century and a half after my death.
Slowly unraveling before my very eyes.
Chapter 13
The Deal
He read the note.
Silent tears falling, breath held throughout, he sat and read the words, his eyes bouncing from left to right and up and down. He must have read that note fifteen times while I sat and watched. While my entire body shook as I remembered some of what I had told Aoife to write down.
Things like how much I had always and would always love him.
Like how I sought him out sometimes to see how he was doing and to bask in his life for a little bit.
How I missed him more with each day instead of less.
I sat while he read, just hoping my simple words were enough to soothe something inside him.
He didn’t say a word until the very end, didn’t change his position in that chair until he finally dropped his arm and curled over his knees.
“Margaret.”
The pain in his voice, the pure agony infused into each syllable of my name, gutted me. I wanted so much to be near him, to be able to ease his pain. But I was in an entirely separate realm from my mate, which meant there was nothing I could do for him.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” I whispered, unable to hold it in even though he wouldn’t hear my words. “I am so sorry that my death brought you this much pain.”
We sat in our shared grief, the night deepening as time moved on without our participation. The winds eventually picked up, a low rumble coming from the west and moving closer. The sky lit up every now and again with bolts of lightning on the other side of the forest. A storm brewing and heading right for us. Life moving on as we stayed stuck in that moment. In that pain. The thunder grew louder, the lightning moving closer, and still, we sat. We mourned. We suffered.
When a light rain began to fall, Corbin finally stood from his chair and moved inside. He didn’t make himself dinner, though. Didn’t sing or put on music, didn’t even light a fire. Instead, he grabbed another bottle of dark whiskey and a glass of ice, plopping into a chair that looked out over the same forest he’d been staring at outside. He sat and he drank, watching as heavy storm clouds rolled through. As the world outside went dark and mean. Violent.
With every flash of lightning, and with every sip of that liquor, Corbin’s energy grew threatening, more intense. I could sense the emotional razor’s edge he had begun walking along, knew my mate was about to snap. And snap he did, tossing his glass into the empty fireplace and racing outside as the thunder roared and the lightning crashed. Inserting himself into the cacophony of nature at her wickedest.
“It’s enough,” he screamed into the wind, already soaking wet and looking like a man out of options. “I have had enough.”
