Page 14 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“I can’t think!”
His cry pierces my heart.
“You’re going to leave him like this?” I gesture at Varen, turning to Bodin.
“What would you have me do?” His voice is gruff, but I detect a hint of helplessness. “Restrain him?”
Horror twists my gut. “Is that what you’ve done before?”
“You’ve wreaked enough havoc for a year in one day. Let him work through his episode. Then you’ll explain yourself.”
“What?”
He brandishes a folded letter, a low growl reminding me of his authority.
“If not for this,” he growls at me, “I’d have ended you in your sleep.”
His words sting, but I force myself to look beyond them. I see the fear in his eyes—fear of losing control, of failing to protect those he cares about. It’s easier for him to be angry than to admit his vulnerability.
“Shut up!” Varen shouts. I whirl to find him screaming at the wall, spittle flying. “I can’t hear through the buzzing wings.”
“Varen?” I step closer, aware of Bodin tensing behind me.
“Too loud! Too many. Swarming. Swarming!”
He beats his ears violently, smearing coal and blood.
Bodin remains motionless, resigned. He must know about Fox. Why else accuse me of causing problems? Surely, Styx explained.
My nails dig into my wounded palm as I clench my fists. The angry slashes from Tinger’s pendant remind me why I broke it.
I’m not nothing. Not some insignificant creature to be crushed or trapped.
I glance between them. Varen, crouched in agony, unhinged. Bodin, pain hidden behind a stoic mask, hardened like Fox’s stone form. Titania did this. She’s the harbinger of calamity, not me.
She stole my power and summoned them, assuming they were still the monsters she’d bound millennia ago. She shattered Varen’s mind. She carved that defeat into Bodin’s features.
They’re not hers.
They’remine.
I’m the fucking giant, and I’ll find a way to crush her. Seeing them like this—broken and hurting—ignites my fierce protectiveness. I’m their mate. I want to help and heal them.
Clenching my teeth, I lower myself to where Varen crouches by the wall, rocking on his feet and hitting his ears. I feel Bodin’s gaze on me, a mix of concern and skepticism.
“Honey,” I murmur. “Look at me.”
When he doesn’t respond, I raise my voice but keep it steady.
“Varen, it’s me. Willow.” Nothing. “Varen. I’m here—Lookat me.” No response. I scramble for something he’ll understand, so I add questioningly, “I’m the queen bee?”
He stops rocking but still clutches his head, face forcibly averted from me. Anguish lifts his brows. I may not want to be a queen, but if that’s what he needs to hear, so be it. I repeat the name he gives me, using the narrative of his madness to communicate. He meets my gaze. Acute pain has contracted his pupils to pinpricks. It breaks my heart to see him in such agony.
I gently cover his hands and say, “It’s okay.”
Stop hurting yourself.
His breath comes in ragged pants. Conflicted emotions batter his expression. He wants me to save him, to help him, but his gaze flicks to Bodin, and suddenly, he slams up a wall between us by looking away. He tries to be strong. To be the kind of male who will be the staunch protector, not the protected.
