P.C. Cast - Burned

So, yeah, give Heath back to Zoey, and she’d want to stay. Stark rubbed a hand over his face. He hated to admit it—it broke his heart to admit it—but Zoey loved Heath, maybe even more than she loved him.

Stark mentally shook himself. The love she felt for Heath didn’t matter! Zoey had to come back—even Aphrodite’s vision said so. And, sure, if Heath weren’t involved, he’d probably be able to convince her to come back with him. That was the kind of girl she was—she cared about her friends more than she cared about herself.

Which was exactly why Heath would have to leave her, and not the other way around.

So he’d have to find Heath and talk him into giving up the only girl he’d ever loved. Forever.

Fuck.

Impossible.

But it should also have been impossible for him to have defeated himself and accept all that meant.

So think, damnit! Think like a Guardian and don’t just act and react like a stupid kid.

He could find Zoey. He’d done it before. And once he found Zoey, Heath would be there, too.

Stark’s gaze went to the hanging tree. It was bigger here than on Skye, and the pieces of cloth that were tied to its massive umbrella of branches kept changing colors and lengths as they waved gently in the warm breeze.

The hanging tree was about dreams and wishes and love.

Well, he did love Zoey.

Stark closed his eyes and concentrated on Zoey—on how much he loved her and missed her.

Time passed . . . minutes, maybe hours. Nothing. Not one fucking thing. Not even a vague inkling of where she might be. He couldn’t feel her at all.

You can’t give up. Think like a Guardian.

So love wouldn’t lead him to Zoey. Then what would? What was stronger than love?

Stark blinked in surprise. He already had the answer. He’d been given it with the title of Guardian and the mystical claymore.

“For a Guardian, honor is stronger than love,” Stark said aloud.

He’d barely finished speaking the words when a thin golden ribbon appeared directly above him in the hanging tree. It glinted with a metallic luminescence, reminding Stark of the torque of yellow gold Seoras wore around his wrist. When the ribbon unknotted and floated free of the tree and into the grove, Stark didn’t hesitate. He followed his gut and this small reminder of honor, and strode after it.

Zoey was getting worse. It was just not fair. Like she hadn’t had enough bullcrap to deal with lately? Now this had happened to her—this shattered-soul thing, and she was slipping away from him, from everything. At first it was little by little. Recently, it’d been more like humongous, cataclysmic piece by piece. As they moved farther and farther into the heart of the grove, keeping away from the edges of the trees and what was probably Kalona stalking them out there, she’d started changing faster. There didn’t seem to be shit he could do about it. She wouldn’t listen to him. He couldn’t reason with her. She wouldn’t even hold still. Literally.

He could see her in front of him. Even though he was almost jogging along the mossy bank of a musical little stream, he wasn’t moving quickly enough for her. She wandered ahead of him, sometimes whispering things to the air around her, sometimes crying softly, but always restless—always in motion.

It was like he was watching her evaporate.

Heath had to do something. He realized what was happening to her was because her soul wasn’t whole. That made sense. He’d tried to talk to her about it—tried to get her to call the pieces together and then go back to her body. He didn’t really understand all this Other-world stuff, though the longer he was here, the more he just knew things, which was probably ’cause he was dead as dirt.

Jeesh, it was totally weird to think that he was dead. Not scary weird, bizarre weird, ’cause he didn’t feel dead. He felt like him, just in another place. Heath scratched his head. Damn, it was hard to figure out, but what wasn’t hard to figure out was that Zo wasn’t dead, and so she really didn’t belong here.

Heath sighed. Sometimes he felt like he didn’t belong here, either. Not that this wasn’t a cool place. Okay, sure, Zo was a mess, and they couldn’t leave the grove without Kalona or whothehellever pouncing on them and probably fucking killing him again. If that was possible. Take away that stuff, and it would be fine here.

But only fine.

It was like his spirit was searching for something else—something it couldn’t find here.

“You died too soon. That’s what it is.”

Heath jumped in surprise. Zoey was standing in front of him, rocking back and forth, from one foot to another, staring at him with eyes that looked haunted by sadness.

“Zo, babe, you’re kinda spooky when you do that pop-up-in-front-of-me thing.” He made himself laugh. “It’s like you’re the ghost, not me.”

“Sorry . . . sorry . . .” she muttered, and started walking a circle around him. “It’s just that they told me that you’re not happy here because you died too soon.”

Heath stood still but turned with her as she paced around him. “Who’s ‘they’?”

Zoey waved her hand in a vague gesture at the grove. “The ones that are kinda like me.”

Heath stepped closer to her so that he walked right beside her as she continued her relentless movements. “Babe, don’t you remember we talked about them? They’re pieces of you. It’s why you’re feeling so messed up right now. The next time they talk to you, I want you to ask them to come back inside you. It’ll make things lots better.”

Her eyes were big and lost when she looked at him. “No, I can’t.”

“Why not, babe?”

Zoey burst into tears. “I can’t, Heath. It’s gone on too long. I can’t bring my soul together. I can’t remember things—I can’t focus—the only thing I know for sure is that I deserve this.”

“You do not deserve this!” Heath stepped close to Zoey and was lifting his hands to plant them squarely on her shoulders and make her listen to him, once and for all, when a golden ribbon caught the edge of his vision, drawing his attention momentarily away from her.

A moment was all Zoey’s restlessness needed, and with a miserable cry she said, “I have to go! I have to keep going, Heath. That’s all I can seem to do.” Before he could stop her, she went away from him with a strange, almost floating motion that carried her pale body like a feather in a strong wind, quickly, erratically, and farther into the grove.

“Well, shit. This is so not working for me.” He started to follow Zoey. He had to make her hear him. He had to help her. Then he faltered, slowing to a stop. The problem was, he didn’t know how to help her. “I don’t know what to do!” he shouted as he slammed his fist into the side of one of the grove’s moss-covered trees. “I don’t know what to do!” Heath hit the tree again, ignoring the pain in his hand. “I. Do. Not. Know. What. To. Fucking. Do!” he punctuated each word with his fist until his knuckles split open, and the scent of his own blood lifted to linger around him.

That was when the shadow covered the sun. Wiping his throbbing hand on the moss, he looked up.

Darkness. Wings. Blotting out the Goddess’s light.

Heart thundering, Heath crouched, fisting his bleeding hands defensively, but the attack didn’t come.

What came instead was revelation in the form of whispered thoughts that seemed to seep from the shadows above and sink through the blood scent into his veins.

She would stay here with you, forever, but she must be whole.

Heath blinked in surprise. “Huh? Who’s there?”