Page 81 of Echoes of War

No footsteps followed, and I paused, turning back in curiosity. Alexiares hadn’t moved an inch. His chest heaved up and down. I watched as his fingers tapped against his gun, waiting to see what he would do. It would ruin things a bit, but I wouldn’t fault him for whatever he wanted to do. Monterey was already a few days out of receiving our portion of the deal. I’d be okay sparing a few of her inventions to send out to the others if he wanted to pull the trigger. There were a few people in this world I wished I could have the chance to take out if ever graced with the opportunity to confront them.

Finley trembled. I know she didn’t want to, was fighting against it, but she did. When faced with him alone, without me as a mediator, she was scared of the man she had molded. It was precisely then that one long-standing question I’d had was answered—Monsters weren’t born, they were created.

She had made him into a weapon. The poor girl had begged for a sheep and found out she’d received a wolf instead.

I happened to like wolves, and I wasn’t scared of the monsters under my bed.

He strolled up to her, less than an inch from her face, bending down to meet her where she was at. Slowly, his head tilted as he examined her, watching her in such contemplation, like he saw her so clearly for who she was now. A chill went down my spine at the image. She reached for his face, reading the situation entirely wrong. Alexiares leaned closer, there wasn’t so much of a sliver of space between them. A terrifying, toothy smile took over his face. His gun pressed underneath her chin, she trembled against her will.

I watched as Finley’s mouth moved, a whisper leaving what appeared to saypull it. He hooked his foot behind her knee, she flopped to the ground with anoomf, head bouncing off the dirt beneath her. She had no time to react to her injuries as he fired four shots around her head. Finley flinched with each one.

Alexiares holstered his gun, reaching into his pocket, pulling out the rings he’d abandoned weeks ago. He dropped them onto her face, stopping with a final one I hadn’t given a second thought too before, a bronze one that matched Finley’s. Reaching down, he lifted his pants leg, removing the twin blade they shared, the one his father had given him. With a flick of his hand, it pierced the ground, pinning her golden locks beneath it.

“Consider this our official divorce. If I ever see you again, I will kill you before you have the chance to see me coming. Not with magic, not with a blade or even a fucking gun. I will use my bare hands, and I will enjoy every second of it.”

Without looking back, he walked toward me, pulling me in by the waist, he kissed me deep. Hard. My tongue intertwined with his accepting this claiming, an invitation to remove any blurred lines between us. There was nothing left to keep him from being mine completely if I so desired. He grabbed my hand,leading the way. Finley’s stare followed us, the weight of it on my back until we disappeared beyond her view.

Amaia

Apparently, Finley was new to the concept of allies. At least I hoped she was considering it was Alexiares’ bike she’d blown to pieces as her little distraction. I didn’t think distraught could even cover the pain etched onto his face when he’d seen what she’d done.

The woman had taken everything from him, and when he had finally made something for himself on his own, she had tried to take that from him too. Had succeeded in the smallest of ways, with something material. I understood though; it was the principle of it all that got to him.

Alexiares dropped his bags, his knees giving out, face buried in his hands. I stepped over the larger pieces that were scattered, coming up behind himin support.

“Hey,” I cooed, rubbing his shoulders as he took in the scene, “it’s okay. We’ll get you a better bike, something faster, cooler. Like what you had in The Before.”

He brushed me off, reaching down to paw through the rubble. The echo of the largest pieces he launched at the big rig sent me jumping back. An animalistic scream ran through him, one of pure agony and suffering. Standing there, I felt fucking helpless, watching as his body shook, shoulders slump, burdened by the weight of his loss. His chest heaved, gaze distant, lost in disbelief and heartbreak.

“I wanted this bike,” he bit out, rising to his feet. Alexiares’ fists clenched tightly, turning his knuckles a ghostly white.

I nodded in understanding, “I’ll help you build another one when this is all over. I can find the pieces, we can?—”

“It’s not about the fucking motorcycle, Amaia.”

And it wasn’t, but still, I didn’t know how else to help. So I did all that I could. Picking up the rubbage, I tossed shards of metal at his side, screaming when he screamed, yelling out my frustrations. The rage that had been simmering underneath the surface emerged, my own grief erupted from the depths of my soul.

This life was not fair. It was not kind. There were no breaks in the waves, because the world would always go on.

His cries reverberated through me, his grief had somehow become mine to bear too. The tears that welled up in my eyes spilled freely, dust and debris from the wreckage obscured my vision. I didn’t care if anyone or anything heard us, watching us in our feral rage. The only thing I gave a damn about was letting him know that he was not alone.

When there was nothing left to throw, Alexiares took a deep inhale, turning to me. “This will never be over. I know that. You know it too.”

I searched into his glassy eyes, offering a weak smile before resting my head against his chest. Alexiares wasn’t talking aboutthe bike anymore, not sure he ever was. His chin found the top of my head and we held each other, watching the sun tuck beyond the horizon.

“Come on, let’s find a place to hole up in,” I said, grabbing his hand.

We found shelter in a small, cottage-style home less than a mile away. Alexiares pulled the blinds then the curtains, in an attempt to keep Finley from lurking should she have followed us.

A death wish didn’t seem to be on her list of priorities. Finley would have to be far beyond a fool to come anywhere near either of us anytime soon. Alexiares’ promise of death to her was very real. If he had tattooed it on his forehead, it would merely be a souvenir for what was coming and not a reminder. I had no doubt Finley would steer clear, but if it made him comfortable, then I’d let him find peace in the smallest ways.

“Hey, this is pretty cool,” I said, raising up a coffin-shaped diamond ring to one of the candles I’d lit when we arrived.

Ruffling through other people’s crap never got easier. The promise of finding cool things kept me from stopping my usual snooping. Sometimes it was plain eerie, walking into homes that were still intact. It always made me wonder what happened to the owners. For this home specifically, it was clear no one had ever come back in the almost six years since the bombs went off.

A box of Cheerios was knocked over next to two rank smelling bowls of what had likely once been milk. There was a white board calendar on the fridge, listing out the soccer practice Thursday at five and gymnastics Saturday at noon. Shoes were clattered against the floor like someone had recently stepped out of them. The washer machine tucked into the closet behind me was left open, moldy clothes still sat crumpled in the dryer.

He kept his back to me, not paying me any mind. “What is?” he asked, double and triple checking all the entry points to the house.

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