LOGINAlex13 Years Ago…Emma grabs my trembling hands, turning them over to check for injuries I already know aren’t there. Beyond the blood-splattered stone walls, another battle rages, an endless swarm of bodies against the glow of torches and bonfires dappled over the countryside. Red velvet and tarnished armor scatter at my feet while my cousin sucks in a breath, her ocean blue eyes meeting mine. “What have you done?”“Go to the nearest clinic outpost and find a way home to Crimson Peak,” I urge, my voice trembling. Below, at our feet, dark, almost black blood pools around my shoes, spreading toward Emma’s boots. Tangles of platinum hair float in a crimson current.“Alex–”“Go. Now.” I grip her shoulders, squeezing tight, leaving bloody prints on her healer uniform. “Alex? Alex, what have you done!” Emma sobs as I push her out of the puddle of blood, her boots leaving sticky tracks across uneven cobblestone. An ancient temple in horrendous disrepair rises around us, blocking the rain
SkyeAlex moves us away from the couch, taking two steps to the side and pressing me against the smooth plaster wall. I breathe in his scent, closing my eyes against the sensation of his hands closing around my hips, his body flush to mine. It’s like the library but… better. We’re alone. There’re no wandering eyes, no whisper-hissed lead up to this–to this. His lips part over mine before he leans in to kiss me like this is the first time all over again. I make an involuntary sound–a moan, a noise I doubt I’ve ever made, and Alex sighs into the kiss, turning it from exploratory and measured to something wild and more passionate than anything I’ve ever experienced before. His hands travel up the curve of my waist until he clutches my ribs, his thumbs resting precariously near the slope of my breasts, which ache with an intensity I’m not prepared for in the slightest. I feel deliciously heavy. I feel… warm and out of control in a way that would normally have me spiraling, but now?He p
SkyeI sleep through the night and wake to the grainy red numbers on the clock on Alex’s bedside reading 8:43 A.M. I don’t normally sleep this late. I’m usually in my office by now, or in one of the lecture halls or research centers, but right now, I’m curled under a thick blanket that smells like Alex, resting my head on his pillow, watching the minutes tick by on his clock. When I slide out of his bed, the door to his bedroom is ajar, but not by much. I realize with a small squeak that I’m in my underwear and the sweater I wore yesterday, but in the same instant, I notice the sweatpants and sweatshirt resting on the edge of the bed, neatly folded, with a new, sticky bandage for my knee on top. So, this all really happened. It wasn’t a bad dream. I killed my great-grandfather. My beloved great-grandmother is dead. I lost my bracelet, am now a murderer, all things considered, and crash-landed in Alex’s condo when he had no idea I could spirit across an entire kingdom without so mu
Skye“Don’t move.”I suck in a sob and blink back tears. Alex crouches in front of me, his hands on my upper arms to steady me. I’m still kneeling when his apartment comes into full focus. I never gave it much thought when I woke up here in a drug-induced haze, but it’s a masculine, nearly identical layout to mine. He’s not fussy about his decor. Small knick-knacks rest on shelves, with more books than I have rocks, which is a feat, but that’s it. His scent is everywhere–clean and reassuring–familiar and… comforting. More comforting than I deserve. Strands of my hair stick to my tear-dampened cheeks. My eyes feel heavy and sore from crying. I stare at the space between us, at the shards of sharp glass reflecting the light of the aurora spilling through the windows and the soft amber haze of a floor lamp in the corner of the room, but then the glass darkens, turning inky and sticky with an oozing crimson liquid my mind doesn’t immediately comprehend. “I’m going to pick you up,” Alex
SkyeIt’s raining in Maatua. Pouring, actually. Rain pelts the familiar metal roof while I stand on the porch, my fingers curled around the handle but frozen in time. I can already feel the vacuum-like sensation of doom hanging heavy in the air when I take a deep breath and pull. The humidity dries out, turning the air warm–but it’s just as heavy–as the door closes on a phantom wind behind me. Voices speak in muffled tones in the kitchen just down the hallway in front of me. A tea kettle whines against soft voices I recognize without seeing the faces they belong to. My mom. My aunt Brie. Aviva and Cole. Lexa and Nora. Other cousins and family friends. I look up at the ceiling, where the wide, open living room bleeds into a lofted hallway, and the upstairs bedrooms are cast in rainy shadows pouring from the skylights. One door is open. “Sweetheart.”I look straight ahead and find my mom in the kitchen archway. She bunches a rag in her hands before walking out of sight and returning
Alex“The dean isn’t coming,” says Dr. Michelle Ambrose, one of my colleagues, as she twists her rings around her fingers and glances at the door of the lecture hall where we’ve all gathered under my direction. “I sent him an email an hour ago. I’ve sent him twelve emails today alone,” she continues, sniffling. “Laney was one of mine. She’s in my lecture class. She’s–” She closes her eyes, her pale, gray-blonde hair falling over her face as she bows her head. I look around the room at the eight seats filled by professors and the rows behind them filled further with the administrators from the biology department, our postdocs, student teachers, and assistants. Several graduate-level students came, but it’s the young students in the back, shrouded by shadows of confusion and grief, that tie my stomach in knots. I’ve been pacing as the department filed in, stuck in my own head, torn between thoughts of Skye and our argument, her points, which, if I’m being honest, were correct, and thi
MaeveMisty doesn’t ask questions, and I’m thankful for it. Blake watches with a scowl as Soren sits on the edge of the bed and extends his arm to Misty, who inspects it then looks at me. “It was an accident,” I tell her, swallowing past the guilt, and honestly, shame of hurting Soren like this. “
MaeveMonths ago, when the trees were green and summer bloomed all around me, I used my powers to try to spirit home from the Roguelands. My powers did, in fact, take me home, but… not to the home I expected. I should have realized it then. Now, the landscape coming into focus is desolate and bar
MaeveSoren rises and walks to the pile of blankets scattered on the damp ground. Blankets that still smell like him, like us. He pulls a knife from the backpack, sliding the blade’s ridge over his palm–not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to feel it, likely imagining his own death by my h
MaeveI blink into the shadows of my room. The curtains are still drawn, but strips of deep, golden sunlight creep between the seams of the fabric, alerting me to the time. It’s nearly sunset. I slept most of the day, save for Cole occasionally checking on me, but now my stomach is tight with hunge







