Chapter 290: Shattered Deals and Shattered Dreams
Jacob~
The hallway was so quiet it felt like I was walking through cobwebs. I rested my forehead against Easter’s door, letting out a shaky breath as her last words kept looping in my mind. She dreamed of me as a killer... but also remembered me as her protector.
That meant she didn’t just see the fake memories Mariel wove into her head a few minutes ago. She saw the real ones too – the ones I’d buried deep and had Mariel lock away forever. Usually, erasing someone’s memories was easy. Quick and clean. But with Easter, that wasn’t enough. I needed Mariel, the Dream Weaver. She didn’t just erase memories; she rewrote them so they could never crawl back up to the surface. Her work was supposed to be flawless.
But hearing Easter speak today... I knew it in my bones. The threads of Mariel’s weaving were starting to unravel. And for me, that was all the opening I needed.
I stepped away from the door, clenching my fists so hard my knuckles popped. Anger burned through me like a wild animal tearing at its cage, hot and relentless. I could almost taste it – sharp and bitter on my tongue. My powers stirred inside me, restless, vibrating through every bone.
I took one last lingering glance at the door, at the fragile woman trembling just beyond the wood, and whispered softly, "Hang in there, little dove. I promise... I’m going to fix this."
I turned and walked away, my footsteps heavy with finality down the narrow hall. As I moved, my body blurred, melting into silver mist that drifted into the shadows. The world hit me all at once – scents, sounds, every tiny vibration humming through my senses with raw, ancient power.
I called on the strength coiled deep within me. I am Mist. Father of wolves. Creator of werewolf spirits. The one Mariel thought she could turn into a puppet.
She was wrong.
I followed her energy and I found her in her favourite haunt – the old abandoned opera house at the edge of the city, with cracked stained-glass windows and rotting velvet seats. The scent of her magic lingered like mildew and roses, sickeningly sweet and poisonous.
She stood on the shattered stage, bathed in moonlight pouring through broken glass. Her trinket covered dark hair glimmered, falling down her dark velvet dress like dark oil. Her arms were folded, lips curved in a smile too calm for what she had done.
"Well," she drawled as I emerged from the shadows, my body solidifying with a silent thunderclap, "I assume you’re here to comply? I hope it isn’t to beg."