Lyra
The grass still soft under my bare feet should've felt comforting. But it couldn't. Not after knowing Draziel was hell-bent on sacrificing himself for me.
"You are the life I want, Draziel," I said to him, my voice trembling though I wished it were firm. "And you dying doesn't give me that."
He looked up to the darkened skies of the underworld, fingers running through his jet-black hair.
"This is your chance, Lyra. Your chance to live. Why can't you just take it and stop being so stubborn?"
We have always shared this pain. But why does he have to be so selfish about it this time?
I stepped closer, my chin tilting in defiance. "You're the stubborn one here, Draziel. You're doing this for yourself, so you won't have to watch me die again. But don't you see? By doing this, you're forcing me to watch you die instead, knowing you're never coming back."
He gripped my shoulders. His crimson gaze locked onto mine, unflinching.
The air around us thickened, pressing in as the underworld seemed to dissolve into the space between us.
"This is the only way to end the cycle," he said. "You've endured enough, Lyra. You've died for our love over and over again. Let me bear the weight this time."
"But, Draziel—"
His thumb pressed gently against my lips, silencing me.
"You've begged me to let you go before," he said softly, almost pleading. "This is my turn, Lyra. Let me go. I've lived for centuries, endured lifetimes of pain. Let me rest."
His lips broadened into a smile to assure me all will be fine, but it only caused the ache in my chest to spread more.
His mind was set on sacrificing himself. And nothing I say will ever change that.
"So what should I do after you die? I can't live, knowing you won't return to me."
He stroked my chin now with his fingers, soft and careful. His touch, though rough, sent sparks of warmth through me, but not so much as to quell the cold ache in me. "You are stronger than that. Even if we can't be together again, at least we've shared more than a hundred lifetimes together, every memory of which you'll remember—"
"But they can never replace you, Draziel." I cut him off, pleading that perhaps he might quit this nonsense. Instead, his eyes hardened with more resolve.
"I know. But they'll be enough to keep you going until you've lived the life you deserve."
I opened my mouth to protest, to beg him one last time to abandon this madness. But his thumb was again on my lips, brushing the pink bundle, silencing me.
"Let's not argue," he said, leaning closer. "Let's make the most of this moment." Then he dropped his wet lips on mine, and I tasted the remnant of rainwater on his lips.
Even though this was an attempt to crush my protests, I couldn't help but submit to him. He had a way of commanding my body into compliance.
Strong, possessive arms wrapped around my waist. His breath, hot and soothing, caressed my face.
His scent—earthy and uniquely him—curled around me like an invisible cocoon. It filled my nostrils and my lungs, drawing from the depth of my soul a hunger for him.
The universe could take everything from us. But this—the passion for each other—they couldn't touch.
Our love could be forbidden, our souls miserable from centuries of losses. But whenever I was in his arms, his rough, firm fingers tracing the column of my throat, cupping my breast firmly like they were his prize, I felt like more than just a mortal doomed to love an immortal king. I was his—the human he had chosen. And he was mine—the demon king I had dared to love.
The world faded away, and all I knew was his lips pressed on mine, latching onto mine with the fervor of a hungry animal.
His tongue traced every corner of my mouth—my tongue, my teeth, even all the way down my throat. His tongue lapping at the insides of my cheeks, teasing, coaxing me into action.
My hands moved as if of their own accord. One time, they were behind his neck, my fingers brushing the warm, tense skin, as his lips sent waves of longing crashing through me. Other times, they were in his hair, slipping through the soft, inky strands, pressing for more, as if he wasn't giving more than I could take already.
"I will miss you, Lyra, and I definitely would miss this." He murmured against my mouth, his voice rough with emotion.
"Then don't do this, Draziel, don't go," I breathed, moaning hard against his kisses.
"But I have to. It is the only way you can ever live."
His earthy scent spun over my tongue as he breathed the words into my mouth, forcing me to breathe him as much as I tasted him.
My hands brushed the stubble around his chin en route to his hair once again.
I had to save him from his own decision. I had to save him from his death. I couldn't let him go as cheaply as this.
My fingers tightened around the tender folds of his hair, and then in one firm, swift pull, I yanked out a lock. Simultaneously, I pulled his sword free from his hip with my other hand.
He jerked back by reflex. "What did you do that for, Lyra?" he demanded. The crimson fillings of his eyes flashed questioningly as they roamed my face. "What do you want with my sword and my hair?"
"I am sorry, Draziel, but I can't accept this. This can't be the end for us," I said. My fingers smoothed the dark strands in my hand.
His gaze narrowed, darting between me and the obsidian blade in my grip, tightening. His eyes— those deep, crimson orbs— already piecing together what I intended to do.
His muscles quivered from suppressed rage. He hadn't expected me to understand the rules of his power, let alone use them against him.
To time travel, he had always had to cut his palm and let his blood flow down a tiny column in his sword, and I figured if it worked with his blood, why shouldn't it work with his hair?
"Stop now, Lyra," he warned, stepping closer. "Nothing you do now can stop the blood oath."
"Let me worry about that, Draziel." I stepped back, putting some distance between us. I needed space, just enough to carry this through before he could stop me. He was the fastest creature I know.
I shoved the lock of his hair against the blade's smooth surface. And it began to glow, pulsing with a deep, unnatural green.
No!" he roared and lunged, faster than I could move. His hand snatched at the robe, pulling me to him. I acted quickly, slashing free with the sword. The fabric fell away in tatters as a glowing void formed behind me.
"Lyra, stop!" he screamed, loud and alarmed. His fingers brushed against me as I fell, weightless, into the void.
His screams followed me into the abyss, echoing around me as I tumbled through space and time.
Then, with a jarring thud, I hit the ground, the air knocked from my lungs. My heart raced as I sat up. Adrenaline surged through me, making my limbs tremble.
I made it. I was in the past. I carried my eyes around carefully. It was still the same castle field, but instead of the usual dark sky that plagued the underworld, it was a hot sun beating down on me in an effervescent golden glow.
If I could stop Draziel from making that deal with Zarek in the past, then I could save his life.
I kept looking around, turning on the spot, trying to map out when in the past I had traveled back to. It should be just like I had thought in my mind when making the jump through time, a few hours before Zarek invaded our castle with his forces and started the war that claimed my 177th life. That way, I'd have the chance to talk sense into Draziel before he is consumed in the chaos and war.
I could even warn him about my 177th death, and we could try to avoid it. I was still 29, with at least 10 months till thirty.
But the massive castle walls were gone. The field was vast and barren, with only sparse patches of grass. My heart thudded against my chest as it began to dawn slowly on me that perhaps I hadn't really traveled back to the time I planned. My gaze jumped around fervently, my heart thudding even more. Its beats filled my ears. When in time had I travelled?
A gust of wind swept past, carrying a swirl of sand that stung my eyes. I blinked, rubbing them. When I opened my eyes again, he was there—Draziel.
He stood before me, his eyes boring down into me. His earthy scent overwhelmed my senses as always.
He took a step closer to me. His large, imposing body ambushed me. "Who are you, human, and why do you have my sword?" He demanded, steel in his voice, his lips curled in disgust.
His eyes jumped from me to the obsidian steel in my hands, and they sparked with more hate.
The sword suddenly felt heavy, as if I was holding onto every one of my crushed hopes.
He snatched the sword from my hands, holding it behind him. I did nothing but remain a statue before him.
My heart nearly sank into the hollow depth of my stomach. He wasn't Draziel—at least not the version I had left behind—he was another. His robe flowed regally around him. He looked immaculate, unlike my defeated, brooding Draziel.
His chin was clean, no stubble. His jet-black hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail, small horns curving from the dark strands. This was before he had cut his horns in rebellion of continually losing me.
Then his crimson eyes confirmed to me my greatest fear as I looked up at them. They lacked the tiny golden flecks that marked each of my deaths.
My stomach twisted, squeezing out every bit of air that remained in my lungs. For that moment, it was almost impossible to breathe.
This version of him had never met me, never lost me, and never learned to love a human. This version had also never ever learned to time travel.
Realization hit me like a brick wall as I stared into the hate in his eyes. He held onto my only way back, and he doesn't look like he would give it back. I was stuck—stuck with the version of the man I loved and who is yet to love me and has no idea he will.