Deadly Dreams (Fortuna Sworn Book 3)

by K. J. Sutton

  The shadow slid its arms beneath my knees and my back. I didn’t struggle when it lifted me from the floor—I held onto the silent rhythm I’d built. Two words, two syllables. It felt like a second heartbeat. Like a song in my veins. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

  It didn’t work. I felt the shadow place me on the bed yet again, and the chant deteriorated completely. Get me out of here! I thought in a soundless scream. I didn’t know who could save me or who I was calling to.

  But someone answered.

  As the shadow moved away—I heard the whisper-soft sounds it made crossing the room—a presence came out of the darkness. Another mind. At first, I thought it was the shadow’s, and a bolt of terror went through me. Why are you here? I thought wildly, bracing myself for battle.

  I heard you, a young voice said. You cried out for help.

  Before I could say anything else, the presence drew closer, and I realized she’d given me access to her mind. This was unheard of for any Fallen creature, much less a faerie. I still didn’t know who she was, but I could sense the female’s immortality, radiating from her like sunlight. Take it, I heard her say.

  Take what? I was about to say back. But then I felt a power that wasn’t mine, easing through my veins like a drug. Suddenly I knew. Though I couldn’t see her face, I recognized her essence, somehow—it was the young faerie that had come before me with her father. Daratrine. She’d been raped by an arrogant courtier, and I made sure he would never hurt anyone else. You’re only a victim if you let them break you, I’d told her that night.

  And she hadn’t let him—the faerie sharing minds with me was no victim. She was afraid, yes, but this didn’t stop her from doing what she thought was right. She wanted to help the beautiful queen that had believed her when few others would.

  How was this possible? Hadn’t the bond between me and the Unseelie Court broken when Gwyn drowned me?

  Right now, none of that mattered. In the way of physical power, Daratrine didn’t have much. Even the little she offered, though, was significant when added to mine. Others must’ve been able to hear her, as well, because it became a chorus in my head. Take it. Take it. Take it. Numerous faeries offered up their power to me, filled me up with it, until I felt like a glass overflowing with rich wine. Not all, of course—I could sense my enemies at Court, too, exalting in the pain they sensed in me—but more than I would’ve expected.

  After a few seconds, I came back to myself, heady with the amount of magic in my veins. My eyes felt like saucers as I sat up in the bed.

  The shadow was coming toward me again. I didn’t know what it had been doing—its hands were empty—but there was intention in its eyes. Dark, dark intention. I knew I was supposed to be frightened. It was difficult to think about anything beyond the delicious haze of euphoria, invincibility, and power. God, the power. No wonder He cast us out when we tried to take some of His for ourselves. I didn’t want to part with this, not even for a moment. Already I mourned the inevitable end of my Court’s generosity.

  Is this what heroin feels like? I wondered distantly as I struggled to focus.

  The bedsprings didn’t make a sound as the shadow started crawling toward me. This small, almost insignificant detail shone like a beacon, shining through the fog in my mind. In that moment, I knew why my abilities hadn’t slowed the shadow down, that night I tried to frighten it with water. Fortuna, you fool. My certainty was so overwhelming that it crowded out any revulsion or fear. Moving with the speed of the fae, I grabbed the shadow’s head, bunching its golden hair between my fingers.

  The shadow had broken free of my compulsion because I’d been wrong—the opposite of smoke wasn’t water. It was stone. Solid, touchable, corporal stone, while everything of smoke slipped through your fingers and into the air. Fresh with energy and resolve, I filled my mind with the image of a boulder.

  The borrowed power, still filling me like the most blissful of highs, responded eagerly. Stone, stone, stone, I chanted. No longer trying to escape, no longer running, but finding something. Accepting it. Learning how to use it. God, it felt so good, as though I’d been fighting a shadow of my own and now, at long last, the war was over.

  Thankfully, Oliver’s shadow was not so strong—the second I entered its psyche, it went still between my hands. Stone, stone, stone, I thought, almost dreamily. Daratrine took up the rhythm, even if she had no way of understanding its purpose. I heard others, too. There was so much power flowing between us, it felt like a deep, rushing river. One misstep and I could get swept away. But, like drifting to death within a siren’s arms, I would drown smiling.

  As the chorus and the river went on, my sense of self utterly faded. Stone, stone, stone. The world became blinding, searing power. I was stone and stone was me. It spread through my limbs and my hand. Covered my skin like ice over water.

  When I opened my eyes, slowly, feeling drunk on the magic, I found myself staring at a statue.

  It was chilling, seeing my best friend’s face frozen in an expression of such desire and fury. Cracks ran through its soundless scream. Despite this, it still looked alive. Sitting there, our faces inches apart, I hardly dared to breathe. Doubt trickled in. What if it didn’t work? What if the shadow broke free again?

  Maybe, as an extra precaution, I should put more power into the shadow. Reenforce the cage we’d put it in. Daratrine, I thought. There was an eagerness in my voice that startled me. I ignored it and tried to feel for her in my head. Where are you?

  But her presence was gone. Her voice didn’t sound through the darkness. I was about to try again when a new, inexplicable pain shot up my arm. Before I could react, the dreamscape fell away in a colorful whoosh.

  I opened my eyes in the real world and instantly saw the source of what had woken me—Finn stared with his bright, golden eyes, his face so close to mine that I could see the delicate lines in his irises. His teeth were buried in my hand. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that it was uncomfortable. There was a strange light in his eyes, and it took me another beat to comprehend that it was a reflection of my own.

  They were shining bright, bright red.

  “It’s okay, I’m okay,” I said. But my voice was weak and there was doubt in Finn’s gaze. Still, he released his hold on me, revealing the indents his teeth had left in my skin.

  It felt like part of me was still trapped in the dreamscape. To reassure myself, I glanced down at my stomach, where there was no knife jutting out, then around the room. Everything was solid and familiar. There was no sign of Collith, though—maybe he’d had a nightmare of his own.

  I sat up, pressing against the mattress for leverage, and realized the sheets were drenched in sweat. I cringed and eased down the bed, into a spot that was cool and dry. Finn watched me, his eyes tracking every single movement, and there was something about his silence that felt expectant. Finn didn’t ask questions, but he was asking now. Maybe he could smell my terror, sense how real it was. This had been no ordinary nightmare.

  To my surprise, I wanted to tell him. We may not have known each other long, but in that short time, we’d become friends. And something told me there was nothing I could say to Finn that would change that. I tangled my fingers together and took a brief, fortifying breath. “When my parents—”

  “Fortuna? Is everything all right?”

  The door creaked open and Collith filled the doorway. He held a glass of water in his hand. Finn took this as a cue to slip away, moving quietly for something so large. Collith approached the bed, but instead of sliding between the sheets, he stopped and studied me. I put my hand on my throat in an instinctive gesture, protecting myself, guarding the secrets inside me. As always, Collith saw too much. His gaze went to my hand, where there were probably imprints from Finn’s teeth, and to my forehead, where beads of sweat had gathered as I slept. As the silence stretched, I thought of the conversation I’d had with Bea on the day of my panic attack, and remembered how freeing it had been to tell her the truth. No more pretending.
No more masks.

  Are you all right?

  No.

  Even though Finn had left, it was still going to be a night for the truth. I angled my body towards Collith and let out a breath. “I want to tell you about Oliver.”

  His expression didn’t change. Collith set down his water—the gentle sound it made felt loud in the stillness—and got in bed. Then he looked at me with those hazel eyes and said, “Okay.”

  I paused to gather courage… and then I told him. I told him all of it. About the first time I’d dreamed of Oliver, about the parade of child psychologists, about the changes in our friendship as time went on, and finally, about the shadow creature that had almost killed me tonight.

  Collith just listened. Once in a while, he interjected with a question. There was no judgment in his tone, no hint of disbelief in his face. I tangled my fingers together on the bedspread as I spoke. By the time I finished, it seemed as though hours had gone by. But the sky outside the window was dark. I waited for Collith to react. Was he disgusted I had been in love with someone that wasn’t even real? Did he think I was insane? I felt my heartbeat in my throat, a feathery and frantic rhythm, like a hummingbird’s wings.

  Startling me, Collith pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. As he leaned back, his breath cooled my cheek. “I think you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever known,” he murmured.

  There was no hint of judgement in his expression. Was I still asleep? Was Collith another creation I’d dreamed up? It just didn’t seem possible he was real. Emotion lodged in my throat. I couldn’t speak, even if I wanted to. But I had run out of words anyway, and there were gray smudges beneath Collith’s eyes. The demon may have returned his soul into a restored body, but it hadn’t done anything to heal Collith’s mind. And that mind was slowly killing him with memories of Hell. Faeries were only immortal because they had willed it into being—they could undo it if they were determined enough.

  Trying to hide a sudden twinge of fear, I lowered myself to the mattress and tugged at Collith so he’d do the same. As though we’d done it a thousand times before, he laid down and curved his body along mine. His cool skin was a whisper of relief against me, my body still hot with adrenaline from my nightmare. Within minutes, he was asleep. His chest moved against my back in steady, deep breaths. I waited for sleep to come for me, as well, but it didn’t.

  The moon rose higher and higher. Long into the night, I stayed in the circle of Collith’s arms, staring at the wall. I should’ve been thinking about the Unseelie Court and figuring out how those faeries had been able to help me without a bond. Instead, my mind relived that moment, again and again, when all that power rushed through me. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to forget it.

  But there was one thing I did know.

  I wanted more.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When I woke up, I realized that I had nowhere to be. No shift at Bea’s, no appointment with Consuelo, no dinner or meeting at Court. It meant that I could spend the entire day with Collith, and we could make the sort of memories normal couples had.

  Then I promptly fell back asleep.

  An hour later, Collith woke ravenous and declared that he was making pancakes. The kitchen was already fully stocked, of course, because he never did anything halfway. Wearing faded jeans that hung low on his hips, Collith filled a mixing bowl with the confidence of someone who had done it countless times before. Music floated upwards from his phone, a folk song that I’d never heard before.

  Clad only in the button-up shirt Collith had worn yesterday, I perched on a stool and found myself watching more than helping. There was a window behind the Unseelie King, and sunlight streamed through the glass, landing on his bare skin and sleep-tousled hair. As I stared, he glanced up at me, probably feeling the weight of my gaze. He smiled, flashing perfect teeth, and a dimple deepened in his unscarred cheek. He’d never looked more human.

  Three words ballooned in my heart. Three syllables formed on my tongue. They seemed so small, so simple, but I knew they would change me. Collith refocused on his mixing bowl, singing along to the music, and I searched for the courage to say them out loud. A minute passed, then two, and I swallowed the words back down. Another day, I told myself. We would have plenty more.

  Or so I believed.

  As Collith poured the batter onto a griddle, I lazily flicked flour at his face. He looked at me—his eyes were more green than hazel, in the morning light—and went still. “Don’t start what you can’t finish,” he warned, then launched himself at me. I squealed and ran. Our laughter floated through the sun-dappled air and the music from his phone played on.

  While light crossed the sky, we filled every hour with each other. We took a shower and explored our bodies beneath the stream of hot water. We watched a movie on Netflix—or, more accurately, turned it on and made out through every important scene. We played a game of pool and, halfway through, shoved the balls aside to make love on top of the table.

  And I filled my phone with pictures.

  The two of us only parted when I left to collect my belongings from the other house. When I walked past carrying such a large box, Emma’s curiosity was piqued. She followed me back to the barn and visited briefly, wanting to see the results of Collith’s work, but she was the only one. Not even Lyari or Finn made an appearance. It was as if they’d all agreed to let us be, as if they knew something was changing, and Collith and I needed distance during the transition.

  We made tacos and margaritas for dinner. I didn’t know if it was the lovemaking or the fact that I’d had an entire day free of terror or scheming, but I ate even more than Collith did. We sat at the brand-new dining table he’d ordered, with enough seats to accommodate eight people, and a Mariachi band played from Collith’s phone now. Unlike other meals I’d shared with an attractive male, there wasn’t a single awkward pause—Collith never seemed to run out of questions. When we weren’t talking about me, my co-ruler displayed a vast array of knowledge I hadn’t known he cared about, from human politics to U.S. history. Shakespeare to environmental concerns.

  We were both careful not to speak of Naevys or the fact that Collith hadn’t yet returned to Court. And I was careful not to wonder about how the Unseelie Court had lent me their power during my confrontation with Oliver’s shadow.

  At some point toward the end of the evening, I took a sip from my margarita and laughed. Collith raised his eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

  I shrugged and took another bite. “I just had the thought, ‘I’m eating tacos with the King of the Unseelie Court.’ If someone had told me a few months ago…”

  My mirth faded as I realized that I hadn’t mentioned Mercy’s Telling yet. But how accurate was a vision from some ancient spell? Would talking about it somehow change our course? The thought of never holding that baby again… never hearing the soft sounds she made as she slept…

  Unaware of the abrupt shift in my mood, Collith made a contemplative sound. He put his plate in the dishwasher, rinsed his hands in the sink, and faced me again. His palms rested flat on the counter. “You’re going to be doing other things with the King of the Unseelie Court as soon as you finish that,” he informed me, his voice a notch deeper than usual.

  And just like that, I was done eating.

  Our perfect day came to an end when, later that night, I woke drenched in sweat.

  I didn’t know what had yanked me back to consciousness—I hadn’t gone to the dreamscape and I couldn’t remember a nightmare. Swallowing a whimper, I sat up to escape the damp sheets. Beside me, Collith slept on, his eyelashes a dark fringe against his pale cheeks. I stared at him, admiring the curves and planes of his face, and something in my chest loosened. Breathing became easier. I started to lay back down, but just then, something moved beyond the window. I shot upright, hoping it was a tree branch or an animal.

  No. There was someone standing in the front yard.

  I was getting really, really tired of these mysterious visitors. I
knew it wasn’t Gwyn or Mercy—the silhouette was unmistakably male. The moonlight wasn’t strong enough to make out his face. What if it was another assassin? Or maybe Dracula, coming to say his goodbyes, as well? For a few seconds, I debated whether to wake Collith.

  I need to speak with you, a voice said.

  I let out a breath and the tension eased from my body—I recognized that severe tone. He’d used the bond between us to communicate, and I felt his presence as I had felt Daratrine’s. He radiated resentment and impatience, but not malicious intent. The sense of paranoia clinging to me melted like frost on a window.

  Give me a few seconds, I replied. My visitor remained silent.

  With painstaking movements, I slid out of Collith’s arms and retrieved a sweatshirt from a box of clothes. It smelled like him, a scent akin to a crisp autumn, and as it settled into place I already knew Collith wouldn’t be getting it back. I also found a clean pair of jeans in the box. Well, clean enough.

  Near the stairwell, my boots lay abandoned in a pool of melted snow. I yanked them on and hurried through the doorway. Downstairs, the lights were on, and yellow light bounced off the concrete floor. Collith had probably left them on intentionally, in the event Finn came to find me.

  Gravel crunched under my boots. Within a few steps, the ground changed to snow. I lifted my head, sending swirls of breath through the air, and searched for that dim figure. My visitor was standing under a tree, his face cast into shadow. His dreadlocks had been tied back, as though he were ready for battle, and his arms were bared to the elements.

  I knew I sounded exasperated as I started, “Nuvian, what are—”

  “Viessa has summoned you,” he cut in, keeping his amber eyes fixed on my forehead.