Chapter 19 A sanctuary
The sun bled out, and the moon climbed, fat and silver, into the sky. The Hollow began to stir. I could hear them coming back. Low rumbles of laughter, the thud of heavy boots, the clink of bottles. I was standing on the catwalk overlooking The Pit, watching the cage.
They carried themselves with a quiet confidence, an awareness of their own strength that was both intimidating and, I had to admit, a little bit hot.
Then I saw him.
Malach came up from the tunnels with Jed by his side. He’d changed. A dark gray henley stretched across his broad chest, black jeans hung low on his hips, and he wore heavy work boots. He looked… solid. Real. Less naked. Which I appreciated.
His gaze found me instantly.
I felt it like a physical touch, a jolt that ran down my spine. I didn't look away, and neither did he. The noise of the pack faded into a dull roar, the world narrowing to the space between us.
He said something to Jed, who nodded and walked away. Then he started toward the stairs that led up to the catwalk.
I braced myself, muscles tensing and my heart pounding an frantic rhythm against my ribs. He was a slow-motion storm as he climbed the stairs. The air thickened, growing heavy and electric with his presence. He was getting closer and closer.
He stopped in front of me.
"You're still here," he said, stating a fact like he was commenting on the weather.
"I was just admiring the… ambiance," I said, my voice tight.
"The ambiance of an abandoned coal mine."
"Best one in the county, I'm sure."
He looked at me, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face, and it did things to my insides that I was not prepared for. "You know, for a master thief, you're a terrible liar."
"I'm not lying," I shot back instantly. "I'm being polite."
He took a step closer, and I backed up until my back hit the railing of the catwalk. The metal was cold against my skin.
"You're here because you want to be, Eva," he said, his voice a low murmur. "You're here because the torc is calling to you, and you're here because..." He paused, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, a surprisingly gentle gesture. I bit my tongue, the whole 'No touching' rule just flew out of a window somewhere inside this cave.
"You're here because you're starting to remember."
"I don't remember anything," I whispered, the lie was heavy on my tongue. The flash of memory from the night before came back: stars so close I could touch them and a desperate, burning love.
"You will," he said, dropping his hand. "Come with me."
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and began walking back down the stairs. I hesitated for a moment, then followed, a prisoner and a pilgrim in one body.
He led me through a maze of tunnels, deeper into the mountain than I'd been before. The air grew colder, the sounds of the main hall fading away until all that was left was the echo of our footsteps. He stopped in front of a heavy steel door, the kind you'd see in a bank vault. He placed his palm on a keypad beside it. The door clicked open with a heavy sigh.
"After you," he said, gesturing for me to go inside.
I looked at him, then at the dark opening. "What's in there?"
"Your past," he said, his voice quiet. "Our story."
I took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.
The room was unlike anything I'd ever seen. The walls were lined with glass display cases, each one lit by a single, focused spotlight. And inside each case was… something of mine. A piece of a life I didn't remember.
I walked towards the first case, my feet moving as if in a dream. Each item was accompanied by a small, handwritten label in the same elegant script as the Bible's notes.
His writing.
So many memories, so many lifetimes. I saw the lock of hair, the silver crucifix, the bent, tarnished glove. The Polaroid. It was like looking at a stranger. A stranger who looked just like me.
"These are… me?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
"They're all you," he said, standing behind me. "Every last one."
I turned to him, my mind reeling. "Why? Why would you keep all this? It's… it's like a serial killer's trophy room."
"It's not a trophy room," he said, his voice quiet. "It's...." He struggled for the word. "It's a sanctuary. It's proof. Every lifetime you died, this was all I had left."
He walked over to the Polaroid. "This was the last one," he said, his fingers tracing the outline of my face on the glass. He turned to me, his eyes filled with a pain so deep, it made my own heart ache.
“I waited years for someone to look at me like I’m a man instead of a monster. Don’t make me wait another night.”