Deadly Dreams (Fortuna Sworn Book 3)

by K. J. Sutton

  I turned my head to see Lyari’s expression. She just raised her eyebrows. “So?”

  Smiling faintly, I stood up and shook the melted frost off my hand. Her reaction was a blunt reminder of the fact that Lyari was not human—she had never lived among humans, never known a world absent of magic or spells. She knew about seasons, of course, but strange things happened all the time at the Unseelie Court. Why shouldn’t a flower thrive in winter?

  “So, it’s November,” I told her patiently, though I was eager to get out of the cold. “There’s no way this thing should be alive.”

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You know better than anyone that we live in a strange world, Queen Fortuna.”

  “Damn it, Lyari, I’ve told you a thousand times. It’s just Fortuna, all right?”

  The beginnings of a smile lit her eyes, but the faerie didn’t allow it to reach her lips. “Your Majesty, I would prefer—”

  The entire porch shuddered and a blurred shape came at me. I stumbled back, my heel sliding through gravel, and I hit the ground. Air whooshed from my lungs. Lyari started to move forward, her sword bright as a star, but she stopped when the thing on top of me released a long whine. A moment later, a pair of yellow eyes met mine. I blinked, still struggling to catch my breath. After another moment I rasped, “Finn? Are you okay?”

  Those wide eyes blinked. Slowly, making a whining sound deep in his throat, the enormous wolf backed away. I knew guilt would set upon him soon, if it wasn’t already, so I forced myself to stand and act as though the fall hadn’t hurt.

  “You can go,” I said to Lyari, barely managing to hide a wince as pain ricocheted up and down my spine. I must’ve landed even harder than I thought. I would be healed by morning, though—I’d discovered that my bond to the Unseelie Court lent me power. Enhanced my abilities. It was the only explanation for how I’d been changing.

  From Lyari’s expression, I knew she would protest before she opened her mouth. I mourned the loss of her newfound trust for the werewolf. “He’s not stable, Your Majesty,” Lyari said, confirming my fear. “If the werewolf slaughters you—”

  “Oh, stop. I’m not in any danger from him and you know it.”

  Lyari and I argued as Finn began the transition back to his human form. We both pretended not to hear the sound of flesh tearing and bones cracking, but as the minutes ticked by, Lyari started to look faintly ill.

  Seeing that, I was barely able to contain a smirk. She wasn’t fearless, then. The rebellious, deadly Lyari of bloodline Paynore got squeamish at the sounds of a werewolf transformation. Weeks ago, I would have mocked her endlessly for it. Used the discovery as a weapon. It meant something that I didn’t now.

  The faerie saw my expression and stopped mid-sentence. The breeze drew her hair across her mouth, and she pulled it away impatiently. She said something in Enochian, then probably remembered I couldn’t understand her, because she abruptly switched to English. “Why are you smiling?” she snarled.

  I was still smiling. “No reason, really. It’s just obvious that you really like me.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lyari asked. Her expression was so comical that I nearly laughed, but something told me she’d like that even less than the smiling, so I suppressed it.

  “You heard me,” I told her, then turned away to go up the steps. “For the record, I like you, too. Anyway, I need to get some sleep, because I’m going to work in the morning. You’ll just have to trust that Finn won’t hurt me—not fatally, at least. You’ve slept on the couch every night this week. Go home.”

  At the top of the stairs, I faced her again. Lyari must’ve finally grasped the futility in arguing, because without another word, she whirled and stalked away. As she vanished into the darkness, moving silently, as only a faerie could, I joined Finn on the porch. He was fully clothed, now that Emma and I had taken to leaving him a spare set in random spots. It had been an interesting week when he’d returned to the house naked after every change. Several times, I’d caught Emma’s stares lingering a bit too long on certain parts of his body as he walked by. Finn, having lived amongst a werewolf pack before his time at the Unseelie Court, didn’t even seem to notice.

  I allowed the silence between us to stretch now, wanting Finn to choose when the conversation began. For too long, he hadn’t been given any choices at all. To entertain myself, I leaned on the railing and enjoyed the sight of stars. The sky had cleared somewhat in the time since Lyari and I stepped out of the woods, and the wide face of the moon peered down at us. Go to bed, I imagined her saying. It had been a long day after a shift at Bea’s and another one at Court. Lately, it had felt like my life no longer belonged to me. Like I had traded one cage for another.

  “What was all that about?” I asked after a few more minutes. It had become apparent that Finn didn’t intend to address his outburst.

  He wouldn’t look at me. Instead, he glared at something beyond the yard, as though the trees themselves had betrayed him. The effect was somewhat negated by his long, thick eyelashes, which were the envy of any female that saw them. “You are my pack,” he said after a pause that felt like a small eternity.

  I frowned, trying to understand. “Yes. We all are, Finn. Everyone here cares about you. Me, Emma, Damon—”

  “You are my pack,” Finn repeated, more forcefully this time. His face turned toward me. Now his eyes bored into mine, and I knew he was trying to communicate. It probably meant the wolf was closer to the surface than I would ever admit to Lyari. Human words eluded him. All he knew was what he felt, which as a wolf, was even more magnified.

  Realization struck me like a sizzle of electricity. Oh, Fortuna, you idiot. He was upset because I’d left without him again. Wolves ran in packs. Wolves didn’t leave each other behind. It must’ve felt like he was being rejected and abandoned.

  And, though he wouldn’t say it, I knew Finn had been feeling guilty since the night I met the demon. He hadn’t been there to protect me. To stop me. He might not know the full details of what happened on that crossroads, but like everyone else, he saw the effects of it. The change I’d gone through. Had I laughed even once, over the past month?

  “Finn.” I took a breath. “I wish I could promise you that I’ll never go off on my own again. I’m your pack, but I’m not a wolf—I’m Fortuna. Sometimes, I need to go places alone. It’s who I am. I’m also a survivor, just like you, and I will always fight to come home. But it isn’t… it isn’t your fault if the day comes when I don’t. It doesn’t mean you should stop living.”

  Silence wrapped around us as Finn searched my face. I worried my words weren’t enough, but they were all I had to give. After another moment, he faced the horizon again. I put my hand on the werewolf’s shoulder, thinking how strange it was that I could bear to touch him but not anyone else. Maybe because there was only innocence in my relationship with Finn, and I already knew his fears well.

  Almost immediately, his eyes fluttered shut. Etched in the lines of his face, I saw his need. His want. His humanity. There was nothing sexual about it—like most living creatures, he simply needed connection.

  After another minute, sleep called to me, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I gave Finn’s shoulder a parting squeeze as I drifted toward the door. The floorboards creaked when I stepped inside.

  Just before I closed the door behind me, Finn’s hoarse voice reached my ears as he said, “Good night, Queen Fortuna.”

  Despite everything else that had changed, there was one thing that hadn’t.

  As usual, I arrived at the dreamscape with my eyes closed. I felt the wind on my face first, along with the scents it carried. Paint, flowers, and the sea. When I was younger, I used to wish that I could put all those scents into a bottle, so I could pop the lid and visit the dreamscape whenever I wished. Now, though, as my nostrils flared and wind blew past my ears, they brought pain. It was a reminder of what I’d done to the kind creature living in my head.

  At least he was painting again, thou
gh.

  With the sense of passing time bearing down on me, I reluctantly opened my eyes. No matter how broken his heart may have been, Oliver’s world was still lovely and whole. The twisted oak tree stood nearby, its great arms outstretched, as though to embrace me. The sky was a pale blue, interrupted only by wisps of clouds and colorful birds. In the distance, there was the stone house that had cradled me and Oliver during our childhood. It had eventually become a place where we explored each other, our changing feelings, our sexuality.

  But now it felt like a haunted house, filled with the ghosts of what had been and what would never be.

  I quickly averted my gaze from it and continued my search for Oliver. There he was, a tiny figure against the horizon. Sitting on the edge of the cliff, as he had been for the past month every time I came, the white button-up he wore looking bright in the afternoon light. I started walking through the tall, golden grass—the summery dress I wore fluttered around me—and sat beside him. I was careful to make sure our legs didn’t touch, a fact that Oliver probably didn’t miss, knowing me as well as he did. But we were both in perfect denial about what had recently happened between us. Our friendship, for all intents and purposes, had gone back to normal. Well, apart from the fact that we no longer enjoyed a physical relationship. With the exception of Finn, the thought of any male touching me—even Oliver—opened a black pit inside my body.

  Once I was settled, he turned his head and gave me a gentle smile. Sun-bleached hair fell into his eyes. “Hey, you.”

  Guilt filled my throat and made it difficult to speak. “Hey, Ollie.”

  Tonight, it seemed those four words were all we could manage. The words Oliver had spoken to me on that starry rooftop filled the space between us. I love you the way a man loves a woman, Fortuna. I want you to be mine, the same way I’m yours. Though I’d never given him an answer, we both knew my heart longed for someone else. Someone who had barely looked at me since I’d dragged his soul out of the darkness.

  It was my need for Oliver’s friendship that had made the dreamscape solidify again. His paintings had stopped disappearing and there was no danger of my forgetting him anymore. Not when he held the nightmares at bay and loved me with such a fierceness that, sometimes, it felt like the only thing keeping me from completely shattering.

  I must’ve made some kind of sound because Oliver reached for my hand. I knew he just meant to comfort, but I still couldn’t stop myself from jerking away. For a terrible moment, a memory blinded me as it overlapped reality. A night sky high above. Grim, dark trees all around. A man’s figure outlined in moonlight.

  When I pushed the memory away, I saw that Oliver’s brows had drawn together and his eyes were dark with pain. It looked as though I’d stabbed him. “You’re scared of me,” he said.

  I shook my head instantly, gripping the rocky edge with white fingers. “No. I’m not. Oliver, I swear to you, I’m not.”

  “Then why won’t you let me touch you?” he challenged. “You even flinch when it happens by accident. I saw it when you handed me a paintbrush last week.”

  “I can’t talk about this,” I said, shaking my head again. I sounded as though I were being strangled.

  Before Oliver could say anything else, I pushed myself up and stumbled away. But the memory followed me like a bad feeling. It found its way through the shabby mental wall I’d erected, and within seconds, it filled my skull again. I felt the demon’s breath on my cheek. I heard its sounds of pleasure. I saw the dark leaves near his head stir in a breeze.

  Oliver’s voice sounded in my ear, and it was then I realized that I’d fallen. I didn’t get back up. I stayed there, on my knees, with a fist smashed against my mouth to contain the sobs. I stared down at the grass without really seeing it. Oliver didn’t touch me, but I felt his presence. I felt others, too—faeries from the Unseelie Court, who’d sensed my pain. The wall standing between us had cracks and gaps, allowing them to peek through. Watching me, the fae whispered and cackled and hissed.

  “No,” I gasped. I had to keep them out. They couldn’t know where Collith was or what sort of condition he was in—he was too vulnerable to fend off a challenger.

  Panic breathed down my neck. Gritting my teeth, I buried my fingers into the earth and focused on the wall. I shoved stones into the holes and plaster into the cracks, again and again, until I was separate from them once more. When the quiet returned, my breathing gradually slowed.

  After another minute, I finally raised my tear-stained face.

  The cheery daylight had retreated, giving way to the soft glow of dusk. Not because any substantial time had passed, but because the occupant of this world had willed it so. Oliver sat nearby, his arms looped around his knees. His hair looked white in the moonlight. Every part of him was rigid, as though it had taken all his strength not to reach for me.

  When our gazes met, his was filled with undeniable anguish. His face had lines where there hadn’t been any before, and that sprinkling of freckles I loved so much stood out starkly against his pale skin. “Please let me help you,” my best friend said. The wind picked up, undoubtedly from the force of his emotions, and his shirt flapped against his hard torso. “Please.”

  It felt as though someone had scraped out my insides and left only a shell of pain. My voice was a shadow of what it had once been as I replied, “You can’t. No one can.”

  Oliver opened his mouth, probably to argue, but I didn’t want to hear it. Moving with preternatural speed, I pushed myself up and bolted toward the sea. Oliver made no effort to stop me. As I ran, I concentrated only on the sounds of my feet pounding against the ground and my heart beating harder. I stared directly into the sinking sun and thought, Wake up, wake up.

  I threw myself off the edge without hesitation, arms outspread, head flung back. There was a moment of incandescent, blinding light. I was weightless. I was fearless. I was free.

  And then I woke up.

  Chapter Two

  As I shot upright, a book tumbled to the floor.

  It took another moment, maybe two, for my mind to adjust. This was reality. Oliver was the dream. Frowning in drowsy confusion, I looked down at the book resting on the rug. A slant of moonlight fell across the cover. Moby Dick. I scowled now, wishing I could shove the novel into a drawer and forget about it completely, but a promise was a promise—I was still trying to keep mine after Oliver had won our bet from the game at his make-believe fair.

  A clock next to my bed announced that it was 2:43 a.m. The numbers glowed bright green. I stared at it, straining to hear voices or sounds, but it seemed I was the only one awake. A rare occurrence when I lived in a house full of sad people, each plagued by their own losses and wounds.

  Jesus, it’s cold. I huddled there on the mattress, wondering if the furnace had gone out. My breath made white clouds whirl through the air. To my left, moonlight still cascaded over the uneven wooden floor, making the rocking chair in the corner look strange and otherworldly.

  Since going back to sleep wasn’t an option—for now, at least—I sighed and tossed the covers aside.

  Clad in boxer shorts and an oversized T-shirt, I walked past the bleak, white walls of the room I occupied in Cyrus’s house. I didn’t want to depend on my friend’s generosity any longer than necessary, so I hadn’t bothered to add any pieces of myself in here. Everything was bare. A stranger wouldn’t know a thing about me, except that I was a slob. My new clothes littered the floor, the dresser was covered in books, and the bedsheets were always rumpled and haphazard.

  Though my feet were frozen, I didn’t pause to find the slippers I’d recently bought—I was thinking of the others now. Recent experience had taught me there were monsters in this world, and not even walls could stop them from reaching those I loved. Worry pierced my heart and sent it into a frantic rhythm.

  Floorboards creaked beneath me as I moved to check on everyone. Neither Cyrus nor Emma stirred when I poked my head inside their rooms. Miraculously, neither did Finn, but I’d le
arned that he slept harder on the days he changed form. It was only within the last week that he finally stopped sleeping in front of my door at night, and that was because I’d told him I was tired of tripping over his big, furry body. I studied the werewolf more closely now, noting the faint pink scars that marred his handsome face. I also noticed that a month of food and kindness had caused him to fill out. His shoulders were broader, his arms thicker, and his ribs were no longer poking from his skin.

  Feeling slightly calmer at the sight of him—a reminder of how peaceful things had been this past month, give or take an assassination attempt—I moved on.

  At the end of the hall, I poked my head into the room where Matthew and Damon slept.

  My brother snored lightly, deep in the throes of sleep. A few feet away from his bed was the most recent addition to our patchwork family. My two-year-old nephew, who nestled against the bars of the crib we’d just bought yesterday. His pink lips sucked on a pacifier and a stuffed ladybug was tucked under one arm. Sound asleep, despite the strangeness of his circumstances.

  Two weeks ago, Savannah left him on our front step with a note taped to his small shirt. Take care of him for me, her harried handwriting read. Tell him I’ll be back someday. When it’s safe again.

  She’d driven away the moment someone opened the door. We hadn’t seen or heard from her since.

  It would be up to Damon whether he told his son the truth of what Savannah’s note meant. For now, though, he was still acclimating to his new reality as a father. Fortunately, Emma had been eager to help. I wasn’t sure how we would’ve coped without her.

  Reassured that my family was safe—although there was still one more room to visit—I turned and slammed into a table resting against the wall. Air hissed through my teeth and I bent to grab my smarting knee. Every time, I thought sourly as I hobbled to the living room and sat on the couch. But in a secret, terrible way, I enjoyed the pain. It proved that, no matter how it sometimes felt, I was alive at the very least.