Page 41 of Of Realms and Chaos

“Hello, Strange One.”

Would his voice ever sound less foreboding?

“Hello, Wrathy.” I laughed as the dalistori seemed to cringe, obviously not a fan of the nickname. With a soft nudge, I scooted into the spot next to him on the sofa. He let out a soft purr when I began scratching behind his ears, the feel of his fur in this form so much like silk that I found myself jealous.

“That is a ridiculous thing to call me. Do not do it again,” he threatened just before cuddling further into me. I scoffed as I noticed the little gray pieces of hair already sticking to my dress.

“Why are you here, Wrath?” A question that had been heavy on my mind since the high wore off from his agreement to join us.

He seemed to think that over, his small head tilting to one side. The movement confirmed what I already assumed: Wrath had not simply wanted entertainment or the taste of royal blood.

“Do you not feel it?” He sat up, his gray fur standing on edge and yellow eyes wide. My own skin grew cold, a chill clawing up my spine. I heard Henry stop his pacing, the tell-tale sign that he was listening.

“Feel what?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“It is like my soul calls to yours. I belong here, with you, in this moment. I know it. I was made to follow you, of that I am certain. I am yours to command. Just as you belong to us all now.”

I had no idea what to say to that. There was no doubt that I too felt the pull, but for him to say he was mine to command? That seemed excessive. I was one being, no more worthy of his allegiance than Henry or Bellamy or any of the others ready to sacrifice their lives for a future without violence and mass murder.

“You are special, Strange One.” His breathy murmur was barely audible, but I heard it, practically felt it in my soul. How often had Mia told me that I was special? Not in the way a mother says to their youngling, but in the same knowing way Wrath just had.

“Wrath, what am I?” I inquired, careful with the way I worded something so delicate when Henry was clearly listening.

The dalistori peered up at me for a moment before licking a paw. I waited, watching as his small pink tongue repeatedly cleaned the same patch of gray fur. After a minute, I huffed out an annoyed breath, causing Wrath to roll his eyes in return.

“Are you not fae, Asher?” he asked, his tone bored.

“I do not know. In my worst nightmares, I am a curse sent from the Underworld to destroy us all. A Tomorrow once prophesied that I would be the end, that the world would burn. Sometimes, I wonder if I was named Ash because even my parents knew that I would leave the world covered in it.”

“No, Strange One, you will not see the world end. You will see it remade,” Wrath said, his tone far gentler than I had yet heard it.

Henry’s mental walls of light fell then, his thoughts bursting free of their confines as my power—magic—whatever it was—called to him.

Without thought, I tugged on a memory that seemed to come to the front of his mind. It was of Bellamy frantically painting a canvas that nearly covered the entire wall. The red and black coloring of the room led me to assume that they had been in Haven, likely the art studio Bellamy had mentioned in his castle-like manor.

He was screaming, the paint flying across the walls and floors and staining the surfaces. The assortment of shades brought the bleak colors into stunning light, a rainbow of more emotions than I thought one being could feel. Henry ran to him, ripping at his shoulders and trying to get the prince to snap out of what appeared to be a panic attack.

It was then that Bellamy turned with tears rushing down his face.

I had not fully entered the memory, choosing to reside on the surface instead. I could not feel what Henry had, barely able to hear what Bellamy uttered next.

“She left, Henry. She left, and I ruined everything. I just sentenced us all to death.”

Henry seemed to be murmuring something placating, trying to calm down the broken demon in front of him. Bellamy would not listen though, his body jerking away from Henry’s grasp.

He turned away once more, his back hunched forward. His next words were even harder to make out, a mere whisper. The tone, soft and filled with pain, threatened to stop my heart.

“We need her. I need her. How can I live without her? How can I die without her?”

I gasped, my consciousness leaving Henry’s mind with a violent jolt. He looked just as off-balance as I felt, his eyes wide and hands braced on the back of one of the rickety wooden chairs.

“Henry,” I said between aching breaths, my chest heaving like it might explode from the force of air coming in and out of it. When the Sun’s green eyes looked away from me, his mouth pressed into a line, I stood. “What was that?”

“You really should contemplate not being so horribly inconsiderate of one’s privacy.” The words were nonchalant, but the break in his voice and slight shake to his hands suggested anything but indifference.

Wrath remained seated, his head cocked to the side as he watched us battle over something he had not seen.

Lucky him.

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