Page 42 of Queen of Whispers and Mist

“You as opposed to...”

“The rest of the crew.”

She couldn’t seem to do more than hold on as Buttercup towed her and Ronan, the conversation taking place in her mind both surreal and a wonderful way to ignore how Ronan didn’t seem to be breathing.

“What makes you think it’s either or?”

“The part where they’re going down with the ship and you’re choosing to save me.”

The rocky shore finally came into view, and a shiver of relief worked itself over her.

“Destiny has marked you, Forsaken. It is not your time.”

Shadow’s grip fell slack at the unexpected words, and she almost fell, but a harsh squawk had her readjusting her hold. They were so close now, and she didn’t want to swim the rest of the way.

“W-what do you mean?”

“Worry not about the path, Forsaken. The stars will lead you where you need to go. Trust yourself to recognize the way and the man in your arms to guide you.”

“But—”

There was no way to finish the question bubbling up because the tips of her toes were scraping against the sand and Buttercup was no longer towing them as much as flying ahead. Shadow collected Ronan’s waterlogged form, using everything she had left to half carry, half drag him to the sandy beach. She was tripping over her feet, the crashing waves more than she could handle once they reached her thighs.

“Come on. Almost there,” she grunted to herself.

But her poor body had reached its limits. Between the fire in her lungs, the burn in her limbs, and the lingering ill effects of the abuse she’d already sustained, the best she could do was drop to her knees. Even so, she refused to give up. Rolling onto her butt, she took a fistful of Ronan’s shirt in each hand and dug her heels into the sand. A scream tore from her throat, her body trembling as she inched them both to safety.

Ronan still hadn’t reacted in any way.

Once they were a safe distance from the lapping waves, she let go of him, chest heaving and limbs quaking from exhaustion. Now that they were out of the water—and away from the darkness—there was no ignoring the panic that had taken up residence within her. Ronan had been in that water far longer than her without the benefit of Buttercup’s resuscitating air.

Her eyelids fluttered, threatening to close. She could no longer see or hear Buttercup and had no way of knowing if the phoenix was still trailing her or if the protector had gone back to rescue others from the ship.

“Ronan.” She cupped his face, turning it toward her. “Please. Wake up.” There was so much more she should do, that she should say, but she was so damned tired. It took more than she had to keep her head up, her eyes open. “Ro... nan...”

His name was barely more than a rasped plea as her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost consciousness.

* * *

Erebos

The Fatherof Dreams sat back on his throne, lips twisted in a cruel smile. Many might see today as a loss, but for him, it was an undisputed success. He’d found her, just as he planned. And now he had her trapped in one place. It was almost too easy. He’d forgotten how much fun could be had in the chase.

So why make it quick? Why not draw it out and play with his pet a while, make it an experience to savor? Why not let her believe she’d won? There was nothing as delicious as destroying the last flicker of hope within a soul. He intended to be there when it happened, to revel in the moment when darkness utterly obliterates the light.

Sinking into the familiar dreamscape, he crooned, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

As it had been ever since he warped it, there was nothing to see in this dreamscape but a dense shroud of mist. But that was no matter. He didn’t need to see her to know she was there. To taste her fear and deliver his message.

“Do not think you’ve bested me, Shadow mine. You live because I will it. So run. Hide and lick your wounds. Believe the danger is past. It will only make it sweeter when I catch you. If I’m going to hunt, I want to ensure the experience is worthy of my effort.

“You know better than any other that I’m just getting started.”

CHAPTER15

RONAN

The gulls registered first, their soft caws the perfect accompaniment to the crash of the waves. Next was the gentle breeze, carrying the scent of sea, sun, and the barest hint of burning wood. Before he could question it, the extreme difference in temperature hit him. His back was chilled and damp, but his front side was warm to the point sweat trickled from his temples. Or was that salt water?

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