Page 129 of Claim Me
I continue searching, this time looking for Issy’s name and for more fractures in the perfect facade. It’s all instinctual. I need to find Issy’s soul, and something pulled me here. My power, maybe. Or perhaps even her.
Where are you?
My bare feet whisper over the cool ground, the icy tendrils of power whispering around me with each step.
I’m still absorbing the energy, almost as though my spirit is starved and needs every bit of vitality that I can take. It’s that or my soul needs the death magic to survive this plane. But being here feels too natural for it to be a threat to me. If anything, the kiss of death invigorates me.
Mist curls around my fingertips as I walk, the cold fog gliding up my bare arms and swirling around my neck.
I embrace it as I move, my gaze scanning for Issy’s name and not finding it anywhere.Does she not have a tombstone?
No. She has to have one.
Her soul is here somewhere.
I can feel it. She’s my other half. My twin.
Where are you?I repeat, my eyes narrowing at the vast graveyard.Which site is yours?
Minutes seem to pass in a blur as I search for Issy. Those minutes may turn into hours. I’m not sure. Time is strange here.
I can feel my mates tugging on my heart, their constant pull a reminder that I’m still alive. Stilltheirs.
I palm my chest, my corporeal form making me wonder if my body is truly here with my soul. It’s strange. This isn’t a realm or another world so much as a state of existence. A place only a soul should be able to go. Yet somehow I’m walking around.
Do the patriarchs ever do this?
The few times I’ve been here now, they’ve been hooded and stationary. Completely unmoving. Just creepy voices that echo.
I picture their ethereal states from earlier, my lips curling down. They actually appeared ghostly, like apparitions being projected into this plane.
Because they can’t actually exist here?I wonder. None of the tombstones bear the names of warlocks. Only witches.Are males not allowed to be here?
If that’s the case, then how is the patriarchy accessing the magic here?By siphoning it off of their mates? Like Klas did to me?
I shiver, the realization slapping me across the face.
That’s exactly what they’re doing.
So how am I free? How have I broken…?
My thoughts trail off as another damaged headstone comes into view. I walk quickly toward it, curious to learn the identity associated with the grave, and gasp when I read,Fallon. The crack through my last name makes it illegible.
Very unlike the headstone beside mine.
Issy Doyle.
I study it for a long moment, comparing my gravesite to Issy’s.
Why is mine fractured while hers is intact?
I run my fingers along the jagged marble, then trace the smooth contours of Issy’s gravesite.
She’s here.I can sense her beneath the surface. Not buried in the ground necessarily. Just…trapped.
I frown.How do I set you free?
I glance at my grave again, then down at my solid form.Is this related? Did I break free of my grave?
