Page 24 of Wake the Dream

She continued to prowl, taking the stairs two at a time to punish herself, and once again paused in the doorway of Yelena’s room. Maybe she’d missed something. Maybe her sister had left some kind of clue as to where she’d gone, what she thought. A journal? No, Yelena didn’t indulge in the typical teenage norms, despite the fact that, in Fairy, she’d be considered a teen at one hundred and sixty-five.

Illaria attacked her sister’s dresser. Clothing of all styles and colors of the rainbow fell to her frenzy, thrown over her shoulder and added to the piles on the floor. She searched for anything to tell her where her sister, her lifeline, had gone.

Stupid, she knew, to hinge so much of her emotional health on Yelena. A psychiatrist would have a field day with her brain. Her confidence dropped a notch lower, and with a moan she drew one of her sister’s shirts to her chest, clutching it close. Illaria never cried. She usually turned whatever emotions she couldn’t deal with into sexual energy. But in this case, her desire even for that had dried up.

Still clutching Yelena’s shirt, Illaria curled up on her sister’s bed. And when she jolted awake, the light coming in the windows had turned gold and peach with the sun’s rising. Damn, she’d fallen asleep. Tears had dried on her cheeks, and her skin was tight when she stretched, yawning.

Feeling like day-old garbage left outside, Illaria pushed off of the bed, her legs and arms still sore from the day before. She’d punished herself to the point of pain and still hadn’t been able to outrun whatever dogged her.

She checked her phone in the kitchen, unlocking the screen while a cold bottle of ambrosia sweated on the counter. There were no messages from Kieran. Nothing keeping her abreast of the situation, as she’d asked of him. He didn’t even have the decency to call her back.

Fool of a man. He probably didn’t know how to find his way out of a paper bag. How could she trust him to find her sister?

Illaria clenched her phone, thinking how sweet it would be to see it fly through the air, through the kitchen window and out into the yard.

It was time to check on him. Not that she should have to check on a grown adult, but still. Better to be sure there was no new information than leave it to the whims of a foolish albeit good-looking police officer.

The clock on the microwave told her dawn had come and gone. Would he be at the station? He’d better be, if he knew what was good for him, she thought with a growl. Her bare foot tapped against the floor and Illaria watched the yard change from misty shades of green and blue to gold. Time to light a fire under the man’s ass.

She didn’t bother with a vehicle. She didn’t need one. Illaria let loose her wings again, surprised when her shoulders stung from her flight the day before. Yeesh, she needed to be careful with herself. Nothing would get done if she broke down, and that went for physically as well as emotionally. Gritting her teeth, she took off but made sure to stay low to the ground. It would hurt less if she...

No, no thinking about a crash. Her pride would wither and die.

Illaria fumbled the landing, tripping over her own feet and slamming her forearm against the exterior of the station to keep from smashing her face against the brick. Damn, she had to be careful.

It took a moment for her breath to return and her legs to stop their shaking. When they did, she straightened her spine and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Catching her reflection in the glass of the front door, she pinched her cheeks for color and smoothed down the silky strands of hair near her face. She still wore her crusty clothes from yesterday, with more wrinkles than when she’d started, but hopefully she didn’t look like she’d slept in them. Which she had.

Why hadn’t she bothered with a shower? Or at least some food. The sip of ambrosia had gone a long way toward soothing her nerves but did nothing for her stomach.

Smoothing her eyebrows, Illaria stopped cold when she got close enough to the glass for her breath to fog.

Her face dropped. Was she seriously primping in anticipation of seeing Kieran?

Those same brows drew together in a thin hard line. Absolutely not. She refused to want to look her best for that man.

With a scowl firmly in place, she pulled the handle and made her way inside the police station. Her footsteps echoed along the linoleum of the front hall. A half wall of glass to the left gave her an unimpeded view of the front receptionist.

Illaria didn’t pay attention when the young man rose from his rolling chair in an attempt to get her to sign in. She stomped straight ahead and followed the smell, her nose telling her where to go.

There was a certain scent inherent when any number of human beings over two gathered in one place at one time, the scent of sweat and body odor along with stale food. It mostly applied to men. Burned coffee also colored the air and beneath it came the chemical cleaners the night janitors used on the floors. It wasn’t enough to cover the rest of the stench, sadly, and Illaria tried not to cover her nose when she rounded the corner into the bullpen.

Dear Lord, did anyone take a shower in this place? She’d have to wear a hazmat suit if she decided on a second visit.

Desks lined both sides of the room, leading toward an office on the rear wall of the precinct where the captain took up residence. If the hierarchy hadn’t been clear, a giant plaque with name and rank decorated the door to the office. Pretentious much?

Illaria scanned from left to right trying to find Kieran in the mess when every head blended together. Too many humans. A burst of wind flew from her hands, ruffling paperwork and hair until attention turned her way.

Aha!

There he sat, on the outskirts, farthest away from the office and right next to the hallway leading to the bathrooms. The worst possible real estate for the lowest man on the totem pole. She wanted to say she felt sorry for him, but part of her gloried in his position. He deserved it, the rotten non-phone-call-returning scum.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she turned around to face the young officer who had been manning the receptionist desk. A light shone in his blue eyes and a familiar hunger rose in her at the sight of him, as though they both knew what would happen later.

Nope, sorry, no time for sex or pleasantries.

“You can’t be in here,” the man said, a little out of breath. “Not without checking in with me.”

Instead of indulging in the sliver of annoyance worming its way higher up her throat or the even stronger surge of lust urging her forward, she grinned. A small push of magic rose out of her skin in a warm breeze, brushing against him like a caress and ruffling his hair.

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