Page 44 of Gods of Prey
“And I’ll keep working on Sebastian. Try to spark his memories gradually.” I hesitate, then add, “But Sienna? No more secrets between us. Not if we want this to work.”
She studies me for a long moment, her bright eyes unreadable. “Some secrets aren’t mine to tell, Revel.”
With that, she fades from view, leaving me alone with more questions than answers. Sebastian is remembering. Jovie knows more than she should. And Sienna—the goddess I’ve opposed for millennia—is suddenly more complex than I ever gave her credit for.
As I look out at the Seattle skyline, rain beginning to spatter against the windows, I wonder if we’re really doing the right thing. The balance between Life and Death has stood for eons, but maybe it’s time for that balance to evolve.
Maybe Sebastian isn’t the only one who needs to remember who he truly is.
13
Sienna
Ishouldn’t be doing this.
The thought echoes in my mind as I slip into the ethereal space between waking and sleeping, following the silver thread that connects me to Revel’s unconscious mind. It’s past midnight, and he’s finally succumbed to exhaustion after hours of pacing and planning our next move with Sebastian.
This is the second time I’ve invaded his dreams, though the first was purely accidental—a side effect of my spectral form bleeding into his subconscious when we were both stressed. Tonight, it’s deliberate. I need to understand him, to find some way past the walls he’s built between us.
The dreamscape materializes around me, and I’m surprised to find myself not in Aurelys or even Seattle, but in a place I don’t recognize. Rolling hills stretch endlessly under a twilight sky, dotted with ancient oak trees whose leaves shimmer silver in the perpetual dusk. It’s beautiful and melancholy, like something from a forgotten realm.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.”
I spin around to find Revel standing beneath one of the massive oaks, but this version of him is different. His divine glamour is gone, replaced by something more raw and vulnerable. His golden hair is mussed, his shirt unbuttoned to his belly button, and his gray eyes hold a warmth I’ve never seen in waking hours.
“You knew I was here?” I ask, moving toward him.
“I hoped.” His voice is softer than usual, lacking its typical edge. “Dreams are strange things. They let us want what we can’t have.”
I stop a few feet away, studying his face. “And what do you want, Revel?”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Things I shouldn’t. Things that would compromise everything we’re trying to accomplish.”
The confession hangs between us like a challenge. In the waking world, he would never admit such weakness. But here, in the space between conscious and unconscious, his defenses are down.
I think that’s why I keep coming back.
“Such as?” I press.
Instead of answering, he moves closer, and I realize I can feel the warmth of his skin even in this dream state. It’s intoxicating after so many days of existing as nothing but cold spirit.
“You tell me,” he murmurs, his eyes searching my face. “You’re the one who keeps invading my dreams.”
Heat creeps up my neck. Does he realize it’s really me? “It’s not intentional.”
“Isn’t it?” He reaches out, and I’m shocked when his fingertips actually graze my cheek. In dreams, apparently, even Death can be touched without causing the other person to recoil. “You could have stayed away. But you didn’t.”
His thumb traces along my jawline, and I lean into the contact despite myself. When was the last time anyone looked at me with tenderness instead of fear or loathing? When was the last time I allowed myself to be vulnerable?
“We’re enemies,” I whisper, though the words feel hollow. It’s mostly a reminder for myself. After tonight, it sure feels like we’re falling back into old patterns, despite how much I dread the thought.
“Are we?” His other hand finds my waist, pulling me closer. “Or are we just two beings trying to do what’s right and failing miserably?”
The honesty in his voice breaks something inside me. All the tension, all the arguments, all the carefully maintained distance—it crumbles at once.
“Revel...” I start, but he silences me by pressing his forehead against mine.
“Don’t think,” he breathes. “For once, just don’t think about duty or loyalty or consequences or secrets or what we’re supposed to be to each other.”
