Page 70 of Chasing Eternity
“We should go,” I say, emerging from our hiding spot behind the altar. I hold my freshly lit candle aloft, its light casting flickering shadows on the cavernous walls, as Braxton paces the room, a storm of emotions visible in his every step.
“He’s not coming back,” Braxton says, his voice echoing through the space. “Besides, if I run into him on the way back, I can’t promise I won’t kill him with my bare hands.”
“No, you won’t,” I respond softly, wishing I could calm his frantic movements, hold him tightly to my chest, and soothe away all his anguish and fury. But I know he needs this moment to vent, so I stand back, giving him space to process his feelings.
“He’s a monster,” Braxton says, and I’m instantly struck by the word.
Arthur has indeed become a monster. Yet I can’t help but reflect on the man he might’ve once been—a man who experienced love and loss so profoundly that he lost his way amid his overwhelming grief.
The Garden of Monsters, the grafted tattoo—these are but external symbols of how Arthur perceives himself, a physical manifestation of his internal torment.
Arthur embodies the tragic outcome of a man so consumed by grief, he’s trapped in a vicious cycle of guilt and self-blame. It would be so easy to feel sorry for him if it weren’t for his resolve to control time and remake the world.
But now, having seen the depths of his despair and the extremes he’s willing to endure to recapture all that he’s lost, I’m left with a clear understanding of the motivation behind all of this. And because of it, I’m significantly closer to thwarting his plans.
Now that I’m armed with the why and the what, all that remains to uncover is how.
Turning to Braxton, I ask, “She never said anything? Back when you were together, Elodie never mentioned Arthur being her actual father, not just a father figure?”
Braxton pauses, looking at me with a distant gaze before shaking his head as if to clear it of the tormenting thoughts surrounding his grandfather. “No. Never.” He runs a hand through his hair, casting a glance around the strange, haunting space. Returning his focus to me, he says, “Elodie’s never been one for sharing much of herself. It was mostly just—” He stops abruptly, his sentence trailing off with a dismissive wave.
“Mostly just what—physical?” I say, relieved to find the sting of jealousy that always reared its ugly head at any mention of their past is now gone.
I love Braxton. He loves me. And anything that happened before, with either of us, only served to steer us toward the path that led to each other.
But Braxton is unaware of my new sense of security. “Um, yeah,” he says. “I guess, that’s one way to put it.” He shifts uneasily, gives an uncomfortable shrug. “Honestly, what sticks with me most is the never-ending head games. I don’t know how Jago can stand it. It was way too much drama and chaos for me.”
“I’m not sure Jago’s all that invested,” I share, remembering their casual relationship status. “It seems more like a convenient fling—a bit of fun between Trips. As for Elodie…” I pause, glancing at Braxton, debating whether to divulge what I know. “She appears quite taken with someone named Nash.”
Braxton’s expression shifts to one of mild curiosity.
Then, remembering Nash is from Regency England, I say, “Do you know him? You might’ve been quite young, just a child, but I met him during that Trip where I…well, when I met your father.”
Or more accurately, when I engaged in a sword fight with your father, leaving him maimed and bleeding on the floor.
Braxton, seemingly uninterested in delving deeper into Elodie’s love life, dismisses the topic with a noncommittal, “Yeah, maybe. Regardless, I think it’s clear we can’t consider her an ally. Her loyalty to Arthur—whether she knows he’s her real father or not—is too strong. I can’t see her siding with us.”
I breathe a heavy sigh and nod in agreement.
“And Killian?” Braxton says. “You sure you don’t want to take him up on his offer to save your dad?”
I look at him like he’s suddenly sprouted an additional head. “Absolutely not,” I say, a shiver of repulsion coursing through me. “It’s completely out of the question.”
Braxton regards me with a cool, unwavering look. “Is it pride that’s guiding your decision—or is there something else at play here?”
His question catches me off guard. “What exactly are you implying?” I ask, surprised and slightly irked that he’d even entertain such an idea.
Braxton’s response is measured. “Consider this,” he says, “if Killian is genuinely seeking redemption, perhaps it’s worth exploring his offer. Particularly if it could lead to achieving something you deeply want.”
The words linger between us. “It’s not about pride,” I insist. “It’s about not being able to trust him. And you shouldn’t, either.”
Braxton meets my gaze with unwavering seriousness. “Make no mistake,” he says. “I have no illusions about Killian de Luce. I was there in that French crypt, witnessing his actions firsthand.”
As the words settle, I’m struck by how what once felt like a devastating, life-altering revelation is now just another unfortunate event in a long string of them. Time and clarity have a way of softening the hard edges.
“Here’s the thing,” I say, “Killian might spin tales of seeking redemption, but aligning with him comes with a risk. He might promise to spare my dad, presenting it as a victory, only to turn around and target you, under the guise of liberating me for himself. And when I react with fury, he’d simply shrug and remind me:I’m the scorpion, remember? It’s in my nature. What else did you expect?”
Braxton nods, scrubbing a hand along his jaw. “You’re right. I guess I didn’t want to close off any options. But facing what we now know, how do we go about stopping Arthur?”