Page 61 of Wake the Dream

Instead, a figure in black greeted her, a hood obscuring his face. The hand on her shoulder became hard. Heavy. One finger crooked in a silent bid to follow.

Caught between them, she didn’t know where to go. Where to follow. The darkness of the second figure comforted her. A welcome change to the heat and flash of pain from her fall. On the other side stood the person in white. When she looked at him, she recognized warmth. Light. An instant salve for her problems.

She tried to yell, to tell them she wanted her sister, to protest having to make such a choice at all.

The mist swirled around them until she lost all sense of direction. The two figures stood on either side of her like twin towers. Pulling. Waiting. Her hands went to cover her ears to fight off their voices, and suddenly she felt the bottom drop out from underneath her feet.

Wake up, wake up.

For God’s sake, Illaria, wake up!

Her lungs seized as she sat up, her heart nearly stopping. A keening sound slipped from her lips, echoing off the walls.

Jesus, where was she?

An apartment.

Where was Yelena?

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here. Breathe, Illaria, please. You’re scaring me.”

Her chest ached and a millennium seemed to pass before she finally drew air into her starving body. Sweat turned cold on her skin, the air filled with an oily, camphoric scent.

She fumbled until she came into contact with Kieran’s callused hand. He sat next to her on the bed. His bed.

“What. The actual. Hell...?” she managed.

Her arms felt dry and cracked, and when she glanced down, she saw some kind of dried ointment caked on her skin.

“You’re going to be okay. Thank God you’re all right.”

The relief in Kieran’s eyes kept her from speaking. She took a breath as he fell silent, mastering the sadness and the rage and the shock. It took three full seconds before she could think of what to say to him.

She squeezed his hand until her nails bit into his skin. “You’re not going to be okay unless you tell me what is happening, Shanahan.”

“I liked it better when you called me Kieran.”

Her confusion or tears would do no good although both pushed at her. “Why am I covered in dried snot? What...” She trailed off and blinked.

“It’s a magic poultice,” Kieran told her, turning away, his expression unreadable. “I couldn’t stop your bleeding. I didn’t know what to do so I called Caryss.”

The pieces clicked into place. “Excuse me? You had Caryss in this apartment slobbering over me? Please tell me you’re joking.” Illaria tried to shift her position and this time the pain registered. The dull ache across her back, her shoulders, down her arms and legs.

It would disappear in time, once her natural healing abilities kicked into high gear. Then she startled. Her magic. Remembering her dream, she tried to call her power, terrified that she’d reach for her wings and find them gone. Chopped off or burned. Those dark husks haunted her. She suddenly remembered how she’d tried to use her gifts to fend off the vampires but found nothing but a yawning emptiness inside of her.

Kieran calmed her with a soothing hand across her forehead. “Hey, stop. Don’t force it.”

“My wings.” Illaria swallowed. “Are they...are they still there?”

“Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be?”

She must have sounded as miserable and small as she felt because Kieran crept closer and kept his hands on her. “We got out of the house. Okay? I staked the last of the vampires except for one. I should probably get him before the sun comes up. He’s still tied up in the trunk of my car.”

“What happened to me?”

“Apparently, Fae are a vampire’s favorite food group. I had no idea. I am so sorry, honey.” The bed shifted as he gave a shuddering sigh and raked a hand down his face. The raw emotion there made her ache for him. Never—never did he let the tough cop persona drop. Or let her see what he tried to hide. “I failed. I swore to protect you, and I failed today.”

She leaned into his touch, resting her head on his shoulder. “Kieran, I’m okay—”

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