Page 152 of This Vicious Dream

But when I sweep my hand over his side of the bed, I find only cool sheets.

My stomach falls, my eyes pop open and I sit up, scanning the room. Empty. His things? Gone.

The knowledge is a brutal blow, but one I should have seen coming.

He out-maneuvered me.

If not for the fact that such machinations could mean the end of this world, I’d be impressed.

Instead, panic spreads wings in my chest and I roll from the bed, darting around the room to find my clothes.

My aching muscles make themselves known as I dress, and my cheeks flame. The bastard slid inside me over and over last night, until I was limp and sated and exhausted.

Too exhausted to even stir when he slipped from this bed.

Oh, he will pay.

I was going to tell him who I am to him. Not last night—he successfully drove all thought from my mind. But this morning. I was going to tell him…

I reach for my tunic and freeze. The long mirror on the wall reveals more than just the patchwork of scars slicing across my back. And yet it’s not the scars that catch my attention.

It’s the strange black marks positioned along my spine.

Dark as ink, they’ve been etched with unsettling precision—curves and lines interwoven into a pattern that makes no sense and yet feels deliberate…almost sacred. They wind down my spine from the base of my neck, following the grooves of my bones and ending between the dimples of my lower back.

My fingers tremble as I brush them over my skin. My scars feel rough, the raised edges making me flinch as memories of the pain and helplessness flash though me. But…the strange marks are somehow beneath my skin. They feel wrong. And yet…not.

A sick dread coils in my stomach as I lean closer, twisting my head as much as I can. The black marks ripple with my movement, and my heart thrums in my throat.

My hands shake, and the room does one slow spin.

But I have no time to investigate this new crisis. Not if I’m going to catch up to Calysian.

I yank on my tunic, then sweep clothes and weapons into my satchel. Minutes later, I’m striding out the door.

Only to find Hope’s stall empty.

“Where is my horse?”

The stablehand grins at me, his gaze sweeping from my feet to my tousled hair. “Your husband took the mare earlier this morning. He said he was leaving you to sleep.”

“Cease. Speaking.”

Surprisingly, he does. I turn and leave him standing by the open stall door.

Nausea ripples through me. This isn’t the same as abandoning me in our bed. Taking Hope…Calysian truly doesn’t want me to follow.

The symbolism isn’t lost on me. I named my horse Hope, and Calysian snatched her away from me the moment I needed her the most.

He left me.

He. Left. Me.

I blow out a breath. I don’t have time to wallow in this deep, crushing sense of loss. I’ll need to borrow or rent a horse, which will take me time. As Calysian knew it would.

I’m not surprised when Asinia’s pigeon swoops into the stable. I read her note, my hands shaking.

We are ready.

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