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  My mind was racing, doing its best not to let fury override my better judgment. For months, we had lived with the threat of the Hermetic Realm, with the threat that they were seeking to shut us down—and now I was hearing they have not the foggiest idea what we were even doing.

  “Do you want to explain to me where he came from? Why he was allowed near any of the crested members of your kind?”

  “I have little to nothing to do with the communication at the palace. I wasn’t paying attention, but I would assume a letter or some kind of seal came before him, stating Camlin’s arrival. That is the only way Tarek could have allowed him as close as he was. Yet, I can promise you he was held at a distance.”

  “He was trusted on sight?” Sebastian assumed.

  “Not by anyone. I can see words. I knew he was sent to discredit us. I heard that charge given to him clearly.”

  “By whom?”

  “I assumed his people.” I had been staring into Sebastian’s energy, watching this dinner conversation he was speaking of. I saw the images of the men he had dinner with. They were not the same people I had seen with Camlin.

  “A wolf among sheep,” Sebastian breathed.

  My jaw clenched in rage. A wolf that could have very well slaughtered crested souls. I was their only hope of returning unscathed.

  “I called Tarek. He was at rest, or so says his Allurest. I was told I could speak to you at dawn by Seneca. She said you would be at the shore without fail. I knew you were here, so I said nothing, not wanting to uncover more of whatever you and Guardian are scheming to do.” He looked over me once. “Dawn is but moments away. So I roused you.”

  I was pulling my shirt together, so it took me a second before I met his stare once more. “I don’t know what evil Camlin was spawned from, where he came from, but I promise you: as soon as I secure the crested souls he put at risk, I will see to it that he harms no one else.”

  One nod from Sebastian. “I’m securing this manor as of this moment. Whatever you plan to do, you need to do it swiftly. The Hermetic Realm would not have reached out to me unless they already had a vast following supporting their views.”

  “I’ll be back before dinner,” I promised.

  I slid into the room, wanting to steal one more kiss from Skylynn. She was gone from the bed. I walked to the bath thinking she was in there, only to find it empty.

  I rushed back to the room to grab my shoes. At the base of the fireplace, I saw ashes painting words. “The crest on your soul matches the one I created here. We all must be together.”

  I had avoided letting her see my back by the fire all night because I didn’t want her to have a reminder as to what my fate stated. She must have seen it when I went to the hall to meet Sebastian.

  I didn’t know what that meant by saying that it was what she created here. All I knew was panic. I extended every sense I had looking for her energy, only finding a white gleam of light at the balcony. I took in a shuddering breath as I stepped through her latest porthole.

  On the other side, I found the shore of the emerald sea. I felt an ache in that moment, a ripping sensation. It was agony. Pure pain.

  My eyes moved in every direction looking for her, but all I found was an empty violin box aligned with the guitars. She had jumped. She was moving through that Fall. No doubt in my mind. The pain I felt, the ache, told me it had already happened.

  I heard the squeal of the alarm in the palace go off, saw the lights turning on. Precious seconds. I had to find a way to pull her back. Right then, I felt cool hands on my wrist.

  Seneca.

  I couldn’t find a way to be calm with her. I grabbed her shoulders. “Did you send her off? Did you?”

  “No,” she said in an all too calm voice. “But I heard her as I approached. She knew the creed, Aden. She knew it, and if you don’t go now you will lose her for longer than the time that is already between you.”

  “I don’t care that she knew the creed! She has no anchor! She had no call!”

  “The anchor is you. You are the call. She left with the same will that you will conquer.”

  I viciously started to pull my clothes off. My men were rushing to the shore. I could swear I felt the eyes of my grandfather on me.

  “I have sent the dreams to ones that will hold your course. I have thought deeply on this for more time than I have on any other soul. Your plan is set, your arrival is determined. When you once again hold the name you have now, your final battle will begin.”

  “I’m more concerned about my return at this moment. I need to find her,” I argued.

  “Today, the soul you are will perish. Your course will be challenged. You will strive to embrace symmetry whilst fighting egotism. The chasm of your being will never be alone, but one with all of us. You will hear us in your darkest hour. Embrace the simplest signs, for they are the voices of those who have gone before you and that remain behind.”

  “I know the creed!” I bellowed.

  Her hands were on my face, and a dulling energy went through me, taking me to the point of near sleep.

  “Those made of one that question if the sacrifice of their love is needed for the greater good are the warriors that lead the way. There is no greater pain than being parted from half your soul, and those that prepare to bear that weight are the ones that lead tomorrow.”

  Before I could argue, she went on. Any fool could see she was desperate to get every word said before it was too late.

  “Only the deepest pain, the most wretched test of devotion will return you to whom your soul is one with. You will conquer trepidation; you will rise to teach others the same. And when your heart grieves, when your soul opens, then both you and her have found a logic that is completely illogical. You will have your beginning, and with that beginning you will find the passion of this end and marvel at how precious love is.”

  The words she was saying were becoming my thoughts. No matter how hard I tried to keep my own focus on finding Skylynn, on finding Cashton, his sister, and stopping my twin from darkness, I heard her words as if they were my desires. I felt them swell in me, and for a brief second I heard my calling. I knew it was greater than anything I ever could have imagined, and in the end Skylynn would be at my side. We would be one.

  “When she speaks, you will remember. Everything will return,” Seneca finished.

  I dove into the waters in the next breath. No strong strokes came from me; instead, I felt the waters swirl against my flesh. I saw the life I had fading before my eyes. I felt the chill of death, and then I was pulled under into the abyss.

  Chapter Ten

  Skylynn

  In the midst of medieval times in the dimension of Infante, the image of a young lavender blonde was crouched by a low burning lamp in the cellar of her home.

  Skylynn BellaRose had breathed life for more years than she could care to remember, but she was in the same form. Immortal. Suspended at an age that barely reached twenty mortal years. Made that way by her family lineage. She was born of the Dominarum coven. The daughter of Saige, her father Lorecan had perished when she was just a babe. The story of how or why was unknown to Skylynn.

  She had heard the whimsical tale, heard how he came from a far-off land, how he stole her mother’s heart, that he held a great power, had a vast mind that spoke of another reality—not realms, not dimensions, but another reality, a bright one, one that was made of balance.

  The oldest of the coven sometimes spoke of him as the anniversary of the date he perished arrives. Each year, Skylynn would hide herself and listen as closely as she could to the story her mother would never speak of.

  They said Saige knew who Lorecan was before he ever arrived, that she dreamed of him, that their love was swift but powerful enough that the energy between them would last forevermore. The only one they loved more than each other was Skylynn; they had a great fear for her, for her path. The elders stated that he left this reality to return to his so that he could protect Skylynn from being pulled from this
life.

  No matter how many stories she heard, no understanding came to her. Her mother Saige still saw her as a child, which frustrated Skylynn. To mortal man, they resembled the same age—that is, unless Saige chose to look older in public.

  On this night, hiding behind the sounds of a distant storm and the late hour, Skylynn was determined to find answers.

  Her mother had taught her well. Each moon, a new text was given to Skylynn. Saige would walk with her in the lands around their home and debate the words written. The pace of the schooling was irritating to Skylynn; she felt the need to rush, the breath of darkness on her heels. She was missing something, and she knew that. It troubled her to feel this deep worry without reason. When her mother refused to answer questions about her father, about the dreams her mother had of Skylynn’s life plan, and turned the conversation instead to the topics of patience, calmness, of moving with the rhythm of the universe, Skylynn would all but scream with anger and pure frustration.

  Years back, she even cried, confessed to her mother that there was an endless ache in her heart. That she was but half. The only comfort she was offered was the promise that pain is a gift; it is the mark of life and experience.

  More than once, Skylynn had tempted the magic she was carefully taught to respect. She used the magic to gaze forward, and to gaze back. She knew that she had tested the patience of the universe, that she was in danger of compromising her good grace with white magic.

  Skylynn had heard others mention that she ached the way she did because she was missing the father she never knew. That she felt abandoned. Skylynn did ache for the man she never knew, but even that idea did not sit well with her. And all in all, her uncle Jamison had filled the fatherly role in her life perfectly. He protected her and her mother. Watched over them and even urged her mother, Saige, to reveal more.

  When Skylynn dared to ask Jamison to speak of the dreams to her, he confessed that even he did not know them. It seemed that Skylynn’s mother guarded the knowledge of Skylynn’s future fiercely.

  In this dark cellar, Skylynn’s eyes moved to the violin beside her, the one she played every night, the one that she had never known life without. She reached to trace her hands across the inscription. “My emerald love, worry not, for the music whispers your sacred path and eases the soul’s struggles.”

  Earlier tonight while spying on the elders that were reminiscing of her father, Lorecan, she heard one of them compliment how well Skylynn played, how it was a gift that was heavily weighed in her soul. They were debating if that came from her father. One of the very oldest spoke with a slow smile and said to the others, “Don’t you recall, that is a lover’s gift? It is his kiss of time, mark of memory.”

  Living within this coven for so long, Skylynn knew how to read between words, knew how to measure the tone of the words spoken. In fact, she had learned those lessons the hard way. More than once, she had tried a new spell before she had time to study it. When scolded, she told her mother that she was ready to matter, ready to use the power she was born with.

  Tonight was a risk. If she read this spell, if she sought this vision and the universe did not agree that the knowledge she was seeking was hers to find this night, then she would become a shadowed soul. Not alive, not dead, but shadowed. A universal time out, a penalty. She would not be openly seen among the living again until her time was to begin. Until all the stars aligned in the heavens.

  Skylynn stared at that violin for hours as her thoughts weighed the risk against the emptiness in her heart, the pain she wore like a shield, one that sadly took away the pleasure of understanding patience.

  Her internal argument went on until dawn was just moments away. In the end, she decided that this emptiness was calling her to something. That she could not wait for others to tell her when she was ready, for she was the only one that could feel the pain of her soul.

  She began the incantation in a low murmur. The candles that had nearly burned to the ends of their wicks roared feet over her. The herbs before her began to smoke, and the violin started to tremble, somehow echoing its haunting sound all around her.

  Then it happened. She felt a volt of energy. Her mind was submerged in otherworldly visions. She saw an emerald sea, felt lips upon her, a breath of life. She felt a calming energy pull her from that sea and secure her in its warmth. The energy was unexplainable—strong, powerful, protective. As the energy moved forward, she knew without a doubt it was masculine.

  The visions were hard to clasp because her soul focused so heavily on the energy that made her feel complete; yet, she thought she saw an image that resembled her father, but he was at a distance, watching proudly as this energy she was consuming held her.

  Then her mind went wild. She saw seduction, felt herself merging with this energy, but that was quickly overshadowed with so many visions of time in a distant future. As these moments played, showed her as weak, confused, timid, hidden from others, she heard a deep, calm voice tell her to be strong, to fight, to claw her way to him. That she was his.

  Before she could comprehend any of this, the smoke from the herbs began to clear. She heard her mother scream, and Skylynn opened her eyes in time to see her flesh vanishing into a hidden veil; she felt the shadow come over her.

  She knew. This act was a gift that came with a heavy price. Skylynn knew what she was looking for but now had no power or life-force on the mortal realm to find it. She was now meant to fret forevermore for a future that she knew she could not live without.

  The ache she felt only bore deeper into her soul as she faded from her mother’s eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Aden

  The pain in my body had long ago brought me to the point of fury. I didn’t understand, and I was sick of not understanding.

  My life sounded like something that came out of some fantasy novel, one that seemed to have far too many dark twists.

  I’d known since I was a boy that a fate like this would consume me. How could it not? My twin brother, along with my cousin, and a dear friend Charlie, could all see damned souls, hear their whispers.

  No one could cope with that and not lose some sanity. The only thing that kept us in balance was music; at least it kept Draven, Charlie, and me in balance. Madison used art.

  These last few months have been insane. We had been building toward an escape, a freedom that would allow us to understand why we could do what we could do.

  Anyone can climb a mountain; only a few are brave enough to jump from the top.

  I’d tell you that we were brave, that we faced this, but that would be a lie. We were forced into it. Charlie was blinded by an evil. She’s my brother’s girl, the love of his life, the one that kept us all sane by urging us to help the damned, not run from them.

  Fighting to save her was not even a question. I knew if she ever crumbled, I would forevermore lose my twin. It was a full-time job just to keep him on the positive. He was a good guy, don’t get me wrong, but he was always more troubled than me. You could hear that pain in his voice when he would sing, when he would play his guitar. I backed him up, playing the drums, giving a frame to the words he was creating, allowing the sound to be powerful, commanding, yet giving, swaying.

  As soon as we saved Charlie from the darkness that was threatening her, it came after Draven, almost as if by some divine plan of doom. Watching him face that, watching his soul open up so that every part of his past lives were judged, was agony. I felt his pain. I felt his regret. I felt him hate who he was, and I could not bear it. I loved him. He was my brother, my twin; we understood each other on a level that I could not explain.

  That tragedy somehow led us down a path that no one saw coming. It led us to another dimension. We were brought here by Willow. She was desperate to find her lover, and we knew how to travel to The Realm, the dream plane where everything wicked was manifested.

  Since then, we had been told of this path that Willow and Landen were on. Apparently, at one time in some past life they wer
e Aliyanna and Guardian, and in this life they were destined to finish what they started then.

  The stories we heard of their perils matched what we could see in their souls. Each of us—my twin, Charlie, and Madison—could see worlds, see the pasts of others through their perception. The past behind the souls we were with now was so vast that it could easily drown and confuse you. My gift, like the others, varied. All in all, I saw lost dreams, what the soul yearns for but could never reach, more often than not because it lets fear and worry stop it.

  A few days ago, a bolt of energy, an evil blow, struck me. That blow opened my mind ever so slightly. I witnessed my own past, one that was never seen before. I knew that I had lingered near these souls that I held close to me for a long time. That I had almost urged all of us together, like I knew we were supposed to stand united in a coming battle.

  I tried to understand my path, my reasoning, and fell short every time. Even though I was flooded with countless past lives, it felt incomplete. Like I was missing half the riff, half the song.

  My mind had settled a bit since that blow. I had fallen back into my common routine. Searching for logic, reason. I was near confident that Draven and Charlie were on their right course, had at least found a path they agreed to take.

  Charlie had a ghost lingering near her. Not an evil one; I knew that much. I could not see this haunt, but I felt its energy. It was male. The name ‘Cashton’ whispered into my thoughts…

  At first I was defensive, thinking of my brother, but I pushed those thoughts away before I ever spoke them because I sensed a brotherly love coming from that spirit. I trusted Charlie and Draven to tell me about it when they were ready.