Page 303 of Cursed Evermore
Arielle’s words lingered in my mind, gnawing at me. Zyrra hadn’t been a ghost.
At least that explained how she’d managed to fool me. But if she wasn’t a ghost, then what in the six hells was she? And why did the thought of the answer chill me more than the question?
I drifted into the living room, where the walls stretched high and pale beneath the spill of perpetual moonlight through the tall windows. I had hoped the space might offer some measure of peace, but the silence only deepened the ache lodged inside my chest.
Every heartbeat ricocheted off the stone walls, and the air pressed down with such suffocating stillness it felt as though I were the only living thing left in this forsaken place.
I couldn’t stand it. I was going insane.
Breathing past the overpowering sensation, I moved toward the kitchen but froze midstride. A figure stood silhouetted in the archway, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair catching the pale light. My heart stuttered, then it exploded into a frantic rhythm that sent blood surging through my veins.
It was him.
“Wolfe.” His name tore from my soul in a breath.
I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. I ran, feet barely touching the ground, hope and relief and desperate love propelling me forward. He'd come back to me.
“Wolfe, you?—”
Strong hands caught me as I collided with him. I clutched at his shoulders, lifting my gaze to eyes I thought I knew better than my own. Bright blue. Piercing. But not the depths I ached for.
Alaric stared down at me, his expression softened by something I’d rarely seen in him—warmth and concern. And Gods, he looked so much like Wolfe, especially with his hair down.
I stumbled back, heat flooding my cheeks, embarrassment tangling with the fresh ache in my chest.
“Elariya.” His voice was gentle, careful, as if I were something fragile that might shatter at the lightest touch.
“Hi. I’m so sorry.” The disappointment cracked through my voice despite my effort to mask it. “I—I thought you were… him.”
“I get that a lot.” His mouth curved into a sad smile. “People used to think we were twins when we were younger. Some still do. They forget we’re a couple of years apart.” His gaze lingered, reading every line of devastation etched across my face. “I’m sorry. I know you were hoping…”
“It’s okay.” I tried to sound casual, but the words fractured.
“Come. Let me make you some tea.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He gave me a gentle smile.
“Okay… thank you.”
Alaric ushered me into the kitchen, guiding me toward a chair at the table before moving to the hearth. He set a copper pot over the flames.
While he waited for the water to heat, he measured out dried chamomile from a small jar. Steam began to rise from the potmoments later and he poured the boiling water over the herbs. The delicate, apple-sweet scent unfurled as it steeped. After a few minutes, he strained the tea and set a warm mug in front of me. The simple ritual filled the air with warmth.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He gave me a curt nod.
I wrapped my hands around the mug and took a sip. The heat slid down my throat, the soothing warmth spreading through me.
Alaric watched me across the table, his concern so raw it seemed he was bracing for me to break apart right there before him.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, his voice low.
I shook my head. “No. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Wolfe.”
“Yeah. Same here.” He leaned against the counter, his gaze fixed on me as though I might vanish if he blinked.
