Mark nodded. He wasn’t about to.
Riley closed his eyes and whispered a chant in Latin, a tiny portion of his power filling the room. When he opened his eyes, his smile was wider. “He’s closer than I thought.”
“What do you mean?” The Queen found the words Markcouldn’t.
Hope was a dangerous thing, especially to one with his luck. Too much and the heartbreak would kill him, too little and he would give up on the best thing to happen to him in over a decade.
“He’s not in the Underworld, and he’s fighting to get back.” Riley reached for Mark’s wrist again, studying the effect of Caster’s claws.
Blood seeped through the wounds his claws plugged into. The pain was tiny and insignificant. The hope was unbearable in its unrestrained persistence.
“There is a”—Riley paused for a breath —”void between this world and the Underworld.”
“He’s there?”
He nodded, still studying Mark’s bleeding hand like it contained all the answers. “A friend of my mother’s once told me of its existence. She said it was the reason resurrection spells were possible.” He released Mark’s wrist, his gaze on Caster, the pain he worked so hard to conceal, apparent on his face. “She said there were doorways out of the void that, if a soul knew to follow, they would avoid the Underworld.”
“You think Caster has found one of these doorways?” The awe in the Queen’s subdued whisper matched the hope Mark was now trying to embrace.
Riley nodded. “He’s trying to tell us he’s found one.” He stood. “I thought Ethel had sent him to the Underworld and we would have to go in to get him out.” The conviction of his tone, the punch in every word, indicated his desire to do whatever ittook. “But this is easier.” He started to walk away from Mark, taking some of the hope with him, but he stopped halfway to the door. “I just need to prepare a few things and call my mother’s friend. Can you give me some time?”
Mark nodded. “Will he be OK until you’re ready?”
“Talk to him. If I’m right and he’s stuck in the void, he can hear you. He needs your strength.”
Damien followed Riley out, their steps fading into his renewed focus on the only sound he allowed himself. His breath synchronized with the distant heartbeat as Caster’s mother took Riley’s abandoned seat, reaching for Caster’s other hand.
Her smile was a simple curve of the lips, but it was enough. The silence contained their pact to be here by his side until he could be with them again. His wolf sensed the pain flowing past the wrist to make his arm throb, but the intelligent animal understood his need to continue to feel it. It whined its pain into the space connecting them, but did nothing to kill the hope they both clung to.
Voices. Incoherent murmurs followed the intense light flowing past the door that was now at arm’s length, but still too far away. His latest attempt to reach the hope it promised had zapped the last of his strength, and he’d ended up on the floor. Now, he was stuck from the waist down, certain that the darkness did its best to pull him through the solid ground.
“…will he be OK until you’re ready?”
Mark? His breath returned to him in a whoosh of energy, and he closed his eyes, trying to reach past the door, reach Mark’s voice. He sounded so broken.
He gathered the strength Mark’s voice had provided, the desire to go to him, and every protective instinct he had to resist the pull of the darkness, pushing to his feet. The darkness responded with a roar that tore through the void space, splitting his eardrums. He winced and roared back. Nothing, not even undefined darkness, would keep him from Mark.
But the darkness would not be thwarted. It resumed its attack, the once pinpricks of a needle growing into slashes of a sharp blade across his calves, then on his thighs. His wounds healed, the pain persisted, but even that was not enough to keep him still. Nothing would keep him from Mark.
“I’m coming, my love,” he whispered into the darkness, the words intended as a comfort for Mark and a vow he would do everything in his power to keep.
This time, the step toward the doorway was lighter, his body yielded to his strength, and he lifted his other leg, the distance too great even though he could almost touch his destination. As if reaching out to him, offering its help, the light seeping through the doorway grew more luminous. Another roar from something beyond the floor, perhaps the darkness itself, filled the space. Caster roared back his resistance, reaching past the reserves of his remaining strength. He was so close.
Another labored movement of his bloodied, embattled legs, and the doorway grew larger, the light within it beckoning him like a siren’s song. He started to smile as his outstretched hand reached the light, but his smile drowned in immense fear when a dark, clawed hand closed around his wrist, pulling him into the light with little effort.
§
Mark refused to let go of Caster’s painful grip on his hand. Blood stained his wrist, the bedding, and even the clean clothes he’d worked so hard to push Caster’s unyielding body into. This and his beating heart were the only connections he had, and he wasn’t about to let it slip. He wouldn’t survive his failure twice.
The Queen’s sharp gasp broke the silence, and he turned to her. Caster wouldn’t like that he’d forgotten to keep his thoughts locked away, but he didn’t even have the strength to regret the indiscretion.
“Honey—” She started, but he shook his head against her pity. He didn’t deserve it. “It’s not pity.” She reached for his wrist, but did nothing to break the connection. “This. This shows your strength. You led him back to us, to me. I’ll always be thankful for that.”
He could only nod.
Her smile seemed brighter. “Do you hear his heart?”
He nodded again, unable to find his voice.