His voice drops, roughened with something that feels like it could break him if he let it.
"I remember lifting you up, pressing you against the door and my body. I craved you with every breath I took, and even that was not enough. We had each other against that door until we were both spent and lay like the dead on my floor."
The memory clings to the silence that follows, stealing my breath. My cheeks flush hot, and I let the air out slowly, as though releasing it might steady me.
William shifts back, dragging in a breath of his own. When he speaks again, it's not desire but dread shaping the words.
"But none of that matters now," he says, voice tight. "The Keres will be here soon. I don't know when, only that they're coming to drag you back to whoever is after you."
"My father wants vengeance for me stealing you away from him," William says, his jaw tightening. "I don't doubt that's who's after you. He knows you're my weakness even though you always told me you shouldn't be. That doesn't make it any less true."
He drops his gaze for the briefest moment, then locks on mine again, eyes burning with something that feels like both guilt and defiance.
"He'll use the same excuse he always does," William mutters, voice rough. "That he needs you for his ridiculous guardian games."
The words churn in my head until the room tilts. My mind spins, racing too fast to keep up. And then, because this is what I do when the world gets too sharp, too much, I giggle. A short, nervous sound that only grows louder, bubbling out of me until there are tears streaking down my cheeks.
I try to stop. I can't. The absurdity of it all tangles with the terror clawing at me, and the only release I have is laughter.
"Will," I manage between breaths, "do you hear yourself? Do you realize how insane that sounds? You expect me to believe we've been married for centuries? That we've had these… these earth-shattering experiences?" My voice cracks, another giggle forcing its way out. "And that my mother is a Greek goddess who controls life itself?"
Another nervous laugh escapes me. Damn nerves.
"You know I've been having these nightmares… nightmares, not dreams," I snap. "These Keres, or whatever they are, I never saw them..."
I jab my finger into his chest—too close, too solid, too much.
"But I do see you," I bite out. "Standing over my lifeless body. I remember your eyes. I remember every detail, including what you say to me."
"Angelia," he says, his voice fraying at the edges, "please. You have to listen."
His stare holds me like chains.
"You are the daughter of Clotho, the Fate," he says. "Which means when she dies or gives up her power, you become the next Fate. Whether you want it or not."
My breath shakes, but he presses on.
"You're turning twenty-one in this… fabricated life they built around you, right? Which means you're actually turning five hundred and twenty-one. At least they attempted to keep your birthdaythe same." Will, sounding frustrated, continues. "You've been ready; you're going to start seeing the destinies of strangers, family, and everyone. You'll be the one to place the soul in every body that comes into this world."
I'm actually turning five hundred and twenty-one.
The words detonate inside me. The ground lurches. My vision fractures, and then I'm no longer here.
I'm standing in the middle of a temple, the air thick with fog and the sharp scent of myrrh. Shadows coil between the pillars. Then screams. Not from mouths but from everywhere, echoing through the hall, inside my skull. A hundred voices clawing at me. No, a thousand.
Light ignites in my hands, burning threads spilling from my fingers like molten gold. They whip outward, snapping into the air, tethering to shapes that flicker in and out of sight—faces of children, men, women, strangers, and family. Some sobbing. Some begging. Some are silent, just watching with hollow eyes.
One thread lashes to a newborn in my arms, its chest heaving as my light sears into its body. Another thread pulls me toward an old man collapsing in the leaves, his soul ripping free, begging me not to let go. They all pull, tear, and demand—hundreds, thousands, my skin crawling with it, my heart pounding like it's about to break apart.
I scream.
The temple vanishes.
I'm back—gasping, staggering, the taste of blood sharp in my mouth. My nails dig into my palms, searching for proof I'm real.
It wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Just a hallucination. Just my mind shattering under the weight of his lies.
I force myself to look at him. William hasn't moved, his eyes still locked on me. Too steady.
I wish I could believe him. I don't. I can't.
My heartbeat is still rattling against my ribs, the phantom of that forest and those threads lingering like afterimages burned onto my retinas. I can't stop shaking.
But William keeps talking as if nothing happened.
"You've been practicing the craft since you could remember, haven't you?" His tone is steady, almost conversational now, which makes it even more surreal. "Is it the grandmother or the mother presiding over you? You're probably only learning spells and charms. Maybe healing remedies. Little things to keep your hands used to the motion of weaving."
His eyes flicker, but his voice doesn't slow.
"Are the professors teaching you yet how to give life?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. "Guarantee they won't be. Because your real mother, Clotho, doesn't want you realizing who you are."
I stare at him, still trembling. Shaking my head hard, trying to clear the residue of what just happened. Skepticism rises like a wall between us.
Shelby. Only Shelby knows I'm a witch. She wouldn't tell this stranger—would she? I need to talk to her in the morning and get the truth out of her. Find out exactly what she's told Will about me.
The thought that my best friend might betray me makes my chest ache.
Why would my mother or grandmother be preparing me for something like this anyway? Preparing me to become a Fate? Everything I've read says a Fate's life is one of isolation, of unending loneliness. Is that what they've been steering me toward all along?
Or are all those books lying to me, too?
I don't even know what to think anymore. My pulse is a hammer in my ears. Has my family been lying to me my entire life? Are they even my real family at all?
Anger rises like heat under my skin. William's words feel like claws tearing at the bubble I've been living in, ripping it open until everything spills out.
He's saying my entire life—every memory, every safe corner of it—has been a lie, a training ground for me to become the next Fate.
I don't want that. I don't want immortality or destinies or cosmic responsibility. I want my life, the one I built, the one I chose. I want to be an ordinary college woman who will experience life, grow old, and marry my future husband. I don't want to be married to someone who is tied to nightmares and blood oaths. I want a couple of little people of my own running through a backyard, not souls screaming through my hands.
My head is spinning.
I'm in complete disbelief.
"Whoa." My voice comes out sharper than I intended, shaking. "None of this is true, Will. You need to stop. Stop reading folk tales and whatever else you're caught up in—"
His hands clamp around my biceps, strong enough to make my teeth rattle as he gives me a quick, jarring shake. His eyes burn red with rage, and for a flicker of a moment I picture the death that would suit him, a dark, fleeting thought born of fear and anger.
"Stop, Angelia," he says, his voice breaking like stone under pressure. "You have to listen. We're already risking everything with me being here. If you don't understand what's happening, you'll disappear forever, and I won't be able to find you the next time they hide you from the world. It's like everyone is against what we are together. Please just think about what's happening. Listen to me."
He searches my face, hunting for something: recognition, memory, anything.
Then his grip softens. He pulls me into his chest, his lips pressing against my hairline before resting his cheek on the crown of my head.
"I found you," he murmurs, his voice raw. "I cannot lose you again, and I will not, Angelia." If I lose you, I won't survive the fear of what's happening to you. I won't be able to find you again. My father will make sure of it this time. I'll be locked in the Underworld for all eternity for coming after you."
His breath drags, and his next words are a husky whisper, almost a vow.
"I refuse to allow anyone to harm you or take you away from me."
I pull back just enough to look up into his eyes. They're glacial and desperate all at once, fixed on me like I'm the only real thing in the world.
"I never realized how terrifying it could be to lose someone," he continues, his voice shaking. "No one in my life has ever meant as much as you do. You saved me from becoming a monster like him, my father. I owe you more than my love, Angelia. I owe you my soul."
He holds my gaze, searching for something in it. Absolution, memory, maybe hope.
"What am I supposed to do if you disappear?" His voice fractures. "If you die, at least I would die with you, and we'd be together in the afterlife. But if you're hidden and never found… that's the ultimate torture. That's the revenge he wants. My mind and heart would splinter. I'd wander this world dead to every emotion, mad with rage, trying to find you."
My brain stalls like a blown fuse. For a heartbeat, everything in me just stops. I'm positive my eyes roll back into my head. I can't see Will's face anymore, can't even hear his words as another vision crashes over me, sudden and merciless.
I'm looking through the same eyes again—but not mine.
A pale-yellow gown glimmers against my skin, lace running like vines down my arms. I'm walking through a forest carpeted with bluish-purple phlox, holding Will's hand. I'm smiling. We're talking. I can see the shapes of words forming on his lips, but no sound reaches me, like someone pressed mute on a memory.
Will looks different. More gallant. He's wearing a white button-down shirt tucked into black riding pants that cling to him in a way that makes my pulse hitch and polished black riding boots. His disheveled hair is pulled back; the beard I've grown used to seeing is neatly tamed, braided at the chin. His eyes, those impossible eyes, sparkle with a warmth I've only ever seen once before, when Evan looks at Shelby.
The vision fractures. I'm staring up at Will again, the smell of pine and earth heavy around us. My breath stutters.
I don't know who this man is. But somewhere deep in my gut, I do. I've known him my whole life.
I push away from his chest, needing distance, needing to see his face clearly. The closeness feels wrong, too intimate. My eyes sting, and my chin trembles as I search him for… something. Recognition. Proof. Anything.
"Please," he whispers, his voice breaking. "Please don't cry. I couldn't bear it. Angelia, I need you to leave with me now, or something terrible will happen to you."
I shake my head, trying to fling off the vision, the pull, and the whiplash of being thrown between worlds. My anger boils up, hot and electric. He came into my life and shattered everything. He speaks in riddles and fantasies that sound like they were ripped from a romance novel.
"How can you say those words?" My voice trembles, rising. "I want answers, Will! Let go of me and answer me now!"
I wrench my arms free and stumble back, my breath coming fast.
He turns sharply, his eyes flicking to something beyond the trees. His face pales. "Can you trust me, please?" he says quickly, urgently. "I'll explain everything when I can. First, I need to get you to safety."
No. No. I can't trust you. I don't even know who you are. You walked into my life less than twenty-four hours ago, speaking as though we're long-lost lovers reunited.
I meet his eyes again, desperate, searching them for truth, for a crack in his elaborate tale.
And then the ground trembles beneath us.