Page 75 of I Will Always Find You
Then, one by one, the windows blackened, as shadows poured over the glass, blotting out all light and turning the theatre into a sealed void. The door was not spared either, for the living darkness crept over it like a thick, choking veil, locking it shut and trapping everything supernatural inside and keeping the mundanes out of their business.
“No, Olympius, please don’t hurt them! This is all a misunderstanding, it has to be! I know him! Cassian would never attack unless he thought we meant him harm! Let me talk to him.”
Gian had fought back against the pain, eventually overpowering the spell with his godly will. He moved slowly toward Cassian, unsure how best to proceed. He wondered how Cassian could possibly be here, in this time, in this century? Gian felt no anger at being attacked; he was only confused by the situation and concerned for his old friend’s mental and emotional state.
Cassian clutched his throat, coughing hard. A dark bruise had already spread across his neck, a stark reminder of the immortal fiend’s uncanny strength. “Olympius, is it?!” Cassian stared daggers at the floating god. “So, you have a name, monster, slaughterer of innocents, killer of children, murderer of witches! Are you named after the dark god of hate and vengeance?”
“I am no longer that god, witch, and I have never done anything of the sort,” Olympius stated matter-of-factly.
"Liar! Monster! Fiend!"
That coldly spoken lie was more than Cassian could bear. To him, it rang not only false, but cruel, an insult flung without feeling. Rage surged in his chest, and with it came the call of dark power. The urge to unleash the foulest of magic upon the gods swelled within him, clawing its way to the surface.
The Romani witch’s eyes turned a ghostly white, then sank into a void of black.
“No, my love!” Aric cried, his voice shaking. “Don’t let it take you. This isn’t who you are, no matter how dire things have become. You have to stop! Please, come back to me!”
Aric, breath ragged, had regained his senses and sprinted back into the screening room just in time to see his husband beginning to surrender to the powerful darkness long buried within him.
“By the gods,” Gian exclaimed, his voice nearly cracking from emotion. Love and memory surged in his eyes, colliding with pure, disbelieving shock. “It can’t be!” The god staggered back a step, then wept. Crimson tears traced solemn paths down his cheeks. “My Rufus. Alive?!”
Olympius, his patience worn to the edge, descended from his lofty heights and stood before the only man—the only god—he had ever loved in all his endless millennia of existence. The only one he ever would, for they werefated souls. The inky, thick serpentine tendrils remained, now moving around both immortals, acting as armour.
“Coriolanus, what in bloody Hades is going on?” His eyes flared with fury. “Who are these witches? And who ishethat you would weep so for him?”
“Olympius, that red-haired man wears the face of my son.”
“Son?!”
As the two immortals began to speak heatedly, their words cutting through the chaos like a blade, the clash between gods and witches paused; for a moment, the impromptu battlefield held its breath.
Aric pulled Cassian out of the thick of it and back into the lobby, away from the noise of wrath and violence. “Cass, look at me,” he said, voice firm, yet affectionate, though his body ached something terrible. “I’m right here with you. Please, let the darkness go. I love you! It can’t have you!”
Then Aric kissed his husband with deep, unwavering passion, his aura enveloping them both like a warm, comforting embrace.
After an intense moment of sensual connection, Aric broke the kiss and pulled back to look at his husband. Cassian’s eyes were distant, blackened by the dark magic curled tightly inside him like coiled snakes ready to strike. But Aric refused to let go, pouring every thread of strength—mortal, spiritual, and arcane—into one silent plea.
“Please come back to me.”
And slowly, Cassian did.
The Romani witch felt Aric’s presence like a steady pulse, strong and sure. No, not Aric: it was Aeneas he felt. The love they shared did not need to be loud or melodramatic; it was passionate, yes, but constant and enduring. Solid. Real. It was a love powerful enough to withstand the Wheel of Destiny’s desire to keep them apart.
The darkness inside Cassian shrank back. The ebon stain that had clung so tightly began to lift, and Cassian’s eyes cleared, focus sharpening as the taint of dark magic dissolved. He met Aric’s gaze, breath catching. “You pulled me back, Aen—Aric,” he whispered. “You saved my soul.”
Aric embraced his husband tightly. “Always.” Overcome with emotion, he did not register the odd hiccup of his name.
“I think the four of us need to talk.”
The witches turned to see the two immortals standing side by side, watching them; their stoic faces showed no anger, just forthright intensity.
Cassian went still, fury coiled tight within him. A heartbeat later, his face twisted, no longer calm, but carved with pure, unfiltered rage.
“Traitor!” he snapped, pointing a shaking, accusatory finger at the one he had once called a friend. “You’re standing next to the thing that destroyed your village, killed your friends,killed me.He murdered your fucking son before my eyes! And now you stand there next to him and ask me to talk with you? With him?!”
“Stay calm, Cass.” Aric held his furious husband back, his grip firm but uncertain. He still did not fully understand what was happening; everything had transpired so quickly. And this was no longer just about keeping Cassian safe from the immortals. Yes, he had acted before to protect his husband, and he would always do so, but he was genuinely terrified of what might happen if things spiralled out of control.
Aric knew his husband was a powerful witch, much stronger than he, but these were immortals—ancient, powerful, seemingly unbeatable. And if it came to an all-out fight, he would not let Cassian resort to the Dark Arts, a power that might actually stand a chance against not one, but two immortals. Nothing was worth the corruption of his husband’s soul, not even their lives.
