Chapter 28

The fire in the stove in the corner was nearly spent now, and if someone looked close enough, they could identify each atom of heat drop from the air as a distant whistle like a freight train wiggled its way through the living room. A black hole punched through the reality of the humble home, and as the flecks of darkness seeped from it, little flashing crystals of ice danced in its whirlwind. But the soiled brown boot stepped out of it, and as soon as he was in the safety of his home, Haldir collapsed to his hands and knees on the cold floor.

Hand over hand like that day in the boat, he dragged himself across the kitchen. His legs were like the thinnest jelly, and no matter how he willed them to obey when he stood, he crashed to the floor again.

A trail of frothy, yellow bile followed behind him as his stomach twisted and his back curled with each retch. But when he made it to the cold tile floor of the bathroom, he found mercy, at last. It soothed the nausea just long enough for him to catch his breath.

The calloused tips of his fingers wrapped around the edge of the white vanity, and with all the strength he could manage, he heaved himself upward until he slumped over it. Like a wet noodle, his arm waved at the light switch until he caught it between his fingers. And there in the bright light that shined down on him, he traced his unchanging face in the mirror. Just below the smudged strokes he made on the glass, his hot breath caused a mist to form, and he found another set of fingerprints nearly half a foot below him. "Sheets. No wonder she used sheets." A flash of a memory of her sobbing in the bathtub came to him, and he reached out to it. "I'm so sorry."

There was barely a space left on him not caked in her murder, and it was as if she meant for it to be that way. No matter how he scrubbed his fingers, it refused to be washed off easily. Like a Scarlet letter to be worn forever to announce to everyone he met how he failed yet another woman in his care.

With not even a single photograph of her to remind Haldir of the love of his life, his soul's mate, this was the last thing of her that remained. His soapy palms hovered over the running water, but he couldn't move them. It was all he had left, and he wouldn't see her washed down the drain like she meant nothing at all. "Please forgive me."

A hand not of this world rested on his back and stole what was left of the heat in the room, and there were whispers in his head that made him look under his bed. 'Kill them all.' It was so long ago when he put it there, but the rotten old wooden trunk peeked out from under the side where Mory slept last night.

The shirt he wore was stiffened, and it scratched at his face when he pulled it over his head. And as he came closer to the bed, Mory's pancake scent got thicker to taunt him.

The buckle of his worn brown belt jingled while he yanked at it, and when he was finally free of his clothes, he lowered himself into the spot she last laid in. Wrapped up in her blankets, Haldir tossed and turned until he was face down where her hair spread over the pillow. And like her healing hands were on him again, the ache in his bones let up, and he breathed easier.

From the other side of all things, his King came to him again and nudged at his mind. 'Kill them all and come home. We need you, old friend.'

His lips pressed to the soft flannel, and he caressed it like it was the soft curve of the cupid's bow of her top lip. "Yes, Your Majesty. I'm on my way."

Despite what the hunters thought of themselves, they weren't so clever at all. Because regardless of what they thought they'd learned about killing supernaturals, they didn't know shit about Haldir.

Shot. Stabbed. Drowned. Burned. Hung. And none of them had taken. He didn't expect that would change tonight, either. He wanted it too much.

Stark naked by the bedside, Haldir yanked the trunk free, and the musty air that wafted from it when he opened the lid made him choke. "Hello again."

The ancient bastard sword he used in his early days was hardly as fine a looking piece of weaponry as the cursed knife he carried at his side. But it served him well over a millennium and was still as sharp as the day it was forged in the fires of a smith's shack that used to sit where the inn now stood.

Then there was the ax, the one he used to fight alongside his children the day his path crossed with Mitchell Riley, Sr. He kissed the blade and pressed the broadside to his forehead. "All for you, my love."

In his head, he searched his memory for the best places to make camp up top past the tundra. And as he tucked his shirt into his flannel-lined jeans, he nodded at what he would do. "The mine."

His green field jacket fell down over his shoulders as he tugged it in place down each arm. And as he let go of the pull of his zipper when it reached the top, he patted Mory's space as he whispered his plans to himself.

Haldir fixed the sword across his back like they did in the old days and tucked the ax into the worn leather straps that crossed his chest.

The glacier is vast, and they surely expected him to be coming by now, so they must have watchers posted along the road. That was fine with Haldir. He'd memorized every inch of that island over his lifetime, and there was no hiding place that he didn't already know about.

His jaw twisted right as he cracked his neck, and as he stalked away from his bed, he slapped at the switch for the overhead light. "Alright, motherfuckers. I'm coming."