Page 37 of Chasing Eternity
I pause for a moment at the threshold, my eyes catching the inscription on the plaque overhead:Panta Rhei. Instantly, I’m transported back to just a few hours earlier when I was in another time, in another place.
Time is like a river—everything flows, and nothing stands still, the echo of my father’s voice now imprinted on my soul.
“I’m guessing you’re headed for Braxton’s room?” Elodie glances over her shoulder, her voice light and teasing. But is there something else, maybe her own pang of jealousy, floating beneath the surface? Or is she just a mirror for me, reflecting my own insecurities?
Abandoning that thread, I look at Elodie, shaking my head. As much as I want to see him and make sure he’s okay, I’m not sure it’s safe, considering Arthur is back.
“Seriously?” Elodie raises an eyebrow. “You’re not even going to check on him—you know, because of the head wound and all? You do remember the state he was in when we left?”
I hold her gaze but remain tight-lipped.Is Elodie accusing me of being a bad girlfriend?
Part of me wants to stand up for myself, but the moment stretches too long, and anything I say now will only come off as defensive.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugs, our footsteps echoing softly as we make our way through the tunnel. When we emerge into the tarot garden, the mosaic-tiled statues, bathed in moonlight, cast long, eerie shadows. “I’m going to swing by Jago’s,” she says. “Tripping always makes me ridiculously”—she shoots me a sly look—“thirsty.” A light, melodic laugh follows, swirling through the night.
“But shouldn’t we come up with some kind of story?” I whisper, pausing before the main door. “You know, just in case—”
“No need.” Elodie ushers me inside the spacious entry with its upside-down theme. As we move past the velvet chaise that hangs from the ceiling and the crystal chandelier that sits in the center of the white marble floor, she adds, “Arthur’s probably asleep, along with everyone else.”
“And if he’s not?” I ask, a tinge of panic flaring in my voice.
“Then we’ll deal with it,” she replies, her tone so casual it sets me on edge.Does she have any idea how serious this is?
When we finally reach my door, I turn to face her. “El, thanks.” I say. “That was really kind of you to—”
She silences me with a swift, dismissive gesture. Elodie’s that odd blend of a person who craves recognition yet skittishly avoids anything that reeks of sentimentality, unless it’s initiated by her.
“I had fun.” She nods, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips. “It was nice meeting your dad and his friends. And I’m glad you got what you needed.” Her eyes follow me as I press my thumb to the keypad.
When the door opens and I’m about to step in, Elodie’s voice stops me cold in my tracks. “Oh, but Nat—”
I turn to face her, only to find her expression has gone suddenly, alarmingly serious.
“Now that you got what you wanted, I feel I should warn you—” Her gaze pierces mine, and in the ominous hush that follows, my heartbeat quickens, its thunderous rhythm pounding in my ears, as my belly clenches with a cold, hard knot of dread. “If you try to harm Arthur or Gray Wolf in any way…” Her fingers idly slide the serpent charm back and forth on its chain, the motion as hypnotic as it is menacing. “Then you’ll leave me no choice but to destroy you.”
17
I watch, frozen in place, as Elodie retreats down the hall, her nonchalance a stark contrast to the lingering unease thrumming inside me.
You’ll leave me no choice but to destroy you.
The echo of her words sends an icy shiver spiraling through me. It’s only when I’m safely ensconced in my room that I finally breathe.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to return to this space. These walls, the plush canopy bed, the classic works of art I’ve chosen, offer a much-needed respite, a semblance of normalcy on a day that’s been anything but.
I lean against the door, caught in a swirl of emotions—a gnawing hunger jabbing at my belly, a heavy exhaustion weighing down my limbs, and a budding panic brought on by Elodie’s threat—when the unexpected sound of Braxton’s voice pierces the silence, snapping me back to the present.
“Tasha?”
My heart leaps. I whirl around. And there he stands, eyes brimming with a potent mix of relief and longing that mirrors my own.
In an instant, the distance between us vanishes, as his arms wrap around me, pulling me into a strong yet gentle embrace.
“Braxton…” My voice, barely more than a breath, quivers against the curve of his neck. I draw him closer, clinging to him like a lifeline and filling my lungs with his scent—a soothing blend of comfort and home, uniquely his. “Braxton, I—”
Gently, he cradles my face in his hands, pulling back just enough for our eyes to meet. There’s so much I need to tell him, so much I need him to tell me, but first, I owe him a massive apology.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice trembling. His eyes search mine, and I recall the heartbreak in them when he found me on the launchpad not long after I’d promised complete honesty and transparency. “I shouldn’t have lied,” I continue. “And while I could give you a list of reasons, there’s no point. What matters is that I hurt you and gave you a reason to never trust me again. If you can’t forgive me, I understand. I’m not sure I can forgive myself, either.”