Page 7 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
My mother often gave me little comforting messages after seeing the future in her prophetic visions. When it came time to live out those moments, I would think of her and smile.
But now I frown. It’s not because I don’t miss my family in Elphyne, but I feel the pull towards my mates more. They are mine. All six of them.
My head throbs, a war between two loyalties raging behind my eyes. For a moment, I see my childhood home—the familiar scent of my mother’s herb garden and the sound of my father’s rare booming laughter. Elphyne pulls at my heart, but Avorlorna tugs at my very being, six new connections humming beneath my skin. I press my palms to my temples, trying to quiet the clash of past and present. The bond is there, waiting to be found again.
Exhaustion crushes me like a tidal wave. I change out of my soggy clothes with heavy limbs and slide Fox’s shirt over my shivering body. It comes down to my thighs, but it’s more than I usually wear to sleep.
I add my new treasures to my growing collection on the table and make a mental note to investigate their magical properties later. The gloves and acorn call to me. Taking the spectacles and jar of wisps, I pad barefoot through the dawn-lit hallways, determined to find the familiar scent that calls to me like home. The sweet, smoky jasmine of Varen beckons me forward.
The castle shifted overnight. The doors have changed positions, but I know which direction to head—towards the clock tower. I’m quietly glad it’s on the same floor as my room because I wholeheartedly regret not bringing slippers for the journey by the time I reach their wing. The cold seeps in through my bare feet with every step across the stone floors.
Sweet, smoky jasmine lures me through heavy wooden doors into warmed chambers. I pause at the threshold and scan through the dusty, gloomy room. Dawnlight joins forceswith dying firelight to reveal the room’s disrepair. Scratches and nonsensical drawings cover the peeling wallpapered walls. A velvet Chesterfield by the bay window is moth-ridden, its clawed legs tarnished. Bits and pieces of broken things litter the floor, suggesting the baby Wild Hunt has been nesting here. A hint of musky animal scent laces the air, yet I see no sign of the troublemaker. The stronger scent comes from the tightly wrapped figure on the four-poster bed, tangled in a blanket.
Relief surges through me, lifting every emotion I’ve tried to repress since Fox begged me to cherish him. Since I felt his presence slip away. Since he told me to wait for him.
I pad forward, place the jar and spectacles on Varen’s bedside table, and then peer down at the softly breathing Sluagh. It’s hard to believe he’s a creature of chaos and destruction. To me, he is angelic, beautiful, and at peace.
He is in a place I long to be.
New muscle on his pale body confirms what I suspected—Fox fed him. The change in his physique is remarkable. The shadows beneath his eyes are gone, and his cheeks are no longer gaunt, but the hard angle of his jaw remains. Fox might have shaved him last night, too, because the stubble is so fine that it’s almost nonexistent. One arm, part of his naked torso, and a cotton-covered left leg are visible outside of his blanket tangle. His biceps are defined. His forearm is thick and corded. He’s nowhere near as built as the others, but he is no longer closer to his wraith form than life.
All this from bee bread.
I can understand why he was so disenchanted with normal food.
My fingers graze the cold spectacles on the bedside table. Legion might be the First, but Fox spoke about Varen’s visions with unwavering respect. He would be the best candidate for having his memories returned, except that the weight of twoseals causes his madness. If the spectacles work, and Varen is still speaking nonsense, I’ll be back where I started.
I peel back Varen’s blanket, intending to slip into his cocoon, but the tangle is unyielding. I’m almost finished unknotting his twisted covers when I tug too hard on a sheet corner wrapped around an ankle. He mumbles something and frowns. I freeze and wait for him to fall asleep. I’m left with a fluffy blanket, two sheets, and a bath towel. How in the Well’s name was he planning on extricating himself from this mess?
Finally, I wrap the blanket over the two of us and shuffle closer to him. The fatigue I’ve denied droops my eyelids. To it, I am safe now. To it, adrenaline is no longer needed. My body quakes with the final letdown, and I burrow closer to my mate. That word sounds less foreign the more I think it.
He’s so warm and delicious.
He stirs. A husky sigh leaves his lips, tickling my face.
“Shh,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”
“The queen searches . . .” His tone is rough as he squeezes his eyes harder. It’s all too real. He knows. I don’t want to break the news to him now.
“My room is cold and empty. Please, can I stay here for a while?”
Warm, large hands slide around my hips. His fingers flex as though trying to convince himself I’m real. His breathing becomes sharp and stilted. Panicked.
“Shh,” I coo. “Go back to sleep, Varen.”
Please.
Don’t be alarmed. Let us dream all is well.
He tenses. Fire crackles. The sunlight is growing brighter through the gaps in the curtains. It’s an omen, promising a new day already gusting with wind and snow. Still, with his eyes closed, Varen’s hand glides down my thigh, slips beneath Fox’s shirt, and up my bare back.
The sensation draws a gasp from my lips and a shiver down my spine. He tugs me closer until we’re flush, and my head has nowhere to go but to the enticing spot tucked beneath his chin. I have a face full of male neck and collarbone. The smell of him is stronger here. It’s sweet, heady, and masculine. It’s as warm as his embrace and soothes my frayed nerves.
He gently strokes my back with lazy, repetitive sweeps.
This.
This is what I needed so desperately.
