I didn’t know this male in the slightest, but my gut said he wasn’t the kind of person to touch someone while they were unconscious. If he hadn’t touched me, then, maybe he’d evolved. That was possible, wasn’t it? Before I’d asked Cyrus to burn them all away, my own abilities had been growing and changing.
There was also the fact that I didn’t see a being of supreme beauty sitting across from me. Nightmares could see each other’s true faces, but I was human…
Wasn’t I?
The tattoos, I thought. I can see his tattoos.
Damn it. What if Belanor was right, and my abilities weren’t completely gone? Wouldn’t they have resurfaced by now? The Seelie Prince’s tortures hadn’t been a walk in the park. Surely one of them would’ve worked, if any of that power had lingered?
I was on the verge of asking more about the tattoos when Gil finally spoke.
“Indeed I am,” he said, apparently coming to some sort of decision. My gaze snapped back to the male’s face. A hint of trepidation had appeared there, and when I saw that, I felt like an asshole. If Gil was telling the truth, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to ask each other questions in the beginning. Being a Nightmare was practically a death sentence, and admitting what we were to a stranger was all but guaranteeing it.
“You weren’t kidding about being a gambler,” I remarked.
His eyebrows drew together. “How are you shielding your power like that? I could’ve sworn you were human.”
“That,” I said, swallowing, “is a long story.”
Gil looked around with exaggerated speculation. “I think we’ve got some time. Unless that recent knocking-me-unconscious incident was just a misunderstanding, and we can come and go as we please?”
I opened my mouth to make an excuse for why I couldn’t tell him how I’d ended up here, but nothing came out.
Why not? I thought, considering it. There wasn’t anything else to do, seeing as I still didn’t trust Gil enough to fall asleep around him. Most of what I’d gone through was public knowledge, or Belanor already knew through his violation of my mind. I wouldn’t be giving my tormenter any new information by talking, even if Gil was part of his wicked plans.
And so, in that small white room, I told another Nightmare my story.
I stuck to the basics, reciting the past few weeks of my life as if they were a bulleted list. Meeting Collith at the black market. Accepting the twisted offer he’d made. Undergoing the three trials to win my brother’s freedom. Becoming queen and forging a Court bond. Gaining power.
This was the first point in my telling that Gil interrupted. “Pardon me. Did I hear you say that your abilities work during the daytime?” he questioned.
I raised my chin at the skepticism in his tone. “Yes. I’m not sure of the exact moment that changed, but I know it was during my first week at the Unseelie Court.”
Gil’s expression was impossible to interpret. After a moment, he made a gesture that I should continue. I hadn’t gotten much further when he cut in again. “Wait, you don’t need to touch the morsels?” the Nightmare demanded.
“Morsels?” I echoed with a bemused smile. “Is that what you call our victims?”
“Victims? Oh, my, you are angsty, aren’t you.” Gil closed his eyes once more, returning to the slumped position he’d been in throughout my narrative. “Back to the matter of physical touch. No Nightmare I know has evolved to the point they no longer need it—I still do. That tells me magic must be involved.”
I wanted to ask him more, but that would bring our conversation into treacherous territory. I could imagine Belanor sitting in a control room somewhere, hanging on to our every word. In response to Gil’s comment, I just made a noncommittal sound, then continued on with the story.
When I got to the part involving Gwyn of the Wild Hunt, my telling became more halting. I spoke of the huntress’s dark predictions for my future. I recounted that shattering night I had succumbed to the darkness inside me, then gone on to slaughter everyone at that black market. Carefully, I explained the decision I’d reached and the subsequent request I’d made of Cyrus Lavender.
I kept out certain details, of course, like what Cyrus really was or anything about Collith’s true ability.
My tale concluded once I reached the present. I told Gil what I knew about Belanor and why he’d taken us.
“Is that his name?” Gil asked, frowning. “I think I might’ve heard his voice while I was out. Asking someone about the ‘chances of survival.’ Didn’t hear the rest, though, and then I woke up in here. With you.”
I wanted to believe him so badly, and I longed to talk to Gil anywhere other than this room. Suddenly I had even more motivation to survive whatever Belanor threw at me. But what were the chances of both of us walking out? There was a reason Belanor had been talking about the chances of survival. And spells, like most things, often required multiple attempts. Maybe the Seelie Prince would keep bleeding us until we ran dry, or maybe each attempt took the life of the Nightmare being used.
There were too many gaps in my knowledge. I’d go insane if I let myself keep thinking about it.
Out loud I just said, “You must’ve gotten on Belanor’s radar somehow. Oh, shit. I should warn you… he might have you branded. The symbol looks Enochian, so I think it’s part of the spell, rather than a super special way to torture me.”
“Jesus,” Gil muttered. He patted his pockets again, more forcefully this time. He looked paler then he had a few minutes ago. His mouth was pinched. It was as if he were finally realizing how much danger we were in. “Jesus. You don’t know anything else? Like, will this spell require him to cut my throat open?”
I barely heard him—I was wondering anew at the fact that I’d met another Nightmare. The voice in my head kept insisting I shouldn’t trust him, though. Even if the Nightmare part were true, he could be lying about the rest. If Belanor had ordered Gil to use his abilities on me, this conversation was probably a tactic. When a Nightmare encountered a victim who was a bit more strong-minded, it was easier to exert control over them if there was a connection established between us, no matter how small.
Too bad I didn’t care. Belanor had found a weakness I wasn’t even aware of until now—a desperate need to connect with more of my kind. To learn about our abilities and our history. Becoming human hadn’t changed that.
I’d never called the phone number Dracula gave me. Secretly, part of me had believed it would lead to disappointment. What if this was the only chance I got to speak to a Nightmare besides Damon? What if he knew things my parents hadn’t? There was no way of knowing how old Gil was, since we all aged differently. Maybe he’d been alive much longer than he looked.
While all of these thoughts raced through me, Gil’s head lolled against the wall, facing forward again. He sat there quietly, his lips twisted. I stared at his profile again, as if I could find the answers I longed for by looking at him hard enough. “I thought… I thought my brother and I were the last ones,” I said.
“Oh, you’ve a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” Gil shifted and let out a sigh. He’d regained control of his fear already, I noted. Nightmares tended to be good at that. “There are still a few of us around, if you know where to look. In small, forgotten pockets of the world.”