As Finn closed the distance between us, I tore through more ideas and possibilities. Drops of sweat slid down my body and my chest heaved, nearly popping out of the leather bands mashing them down. I didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the wolf thundering toward me in an explosion of flying sand, flashing teeth, and mindless snarls.
I glanced up at that box again, but I was too far to the right, and I couldn’t see any of the figures standing there. My mind kept working. I had four seconds before Finn ripped my throat open. Belanor expected me to fight. Or he hoped the horror of battling someone I loved would break me. The only reason he’d provided a small weapon was to make the match long, bloody, and painful.
So I dropped the knife.
A new plan formed that was sloppy and desperate. It was all I had, though. I stared down the werewolf hurtling in my direction, froth streaming from both sides of his mouth. I pretended the crowd didn’t exist, and there was no such thing as faerie princes or wicked spells. There was only my friend, who was going to survive this because I’d make sure of it. I lowered into a tense stance and waited for him, my heartbeat filling my ears. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Just as Finn reached me, I jumped and swung myself up by his massive shoulder.
Once again, the fact that I’d surprised him was the only reason I succeeded. Within an instant, Finn reared. I clamped my thighs against his heaving sides and my hands fisted in his fur. His arms reached back, trying to find purchase on any part of me, but I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Please remember who you are. You’re Finn, and I’m Fortuna. We’re pack. We don’t have to play their game—let’s throw the whole damn board in their faces.”
The werewolf bellowed. I wasn’t sure if my words had agonized or incensed him. I threw myself off Finn’s back to dart away, but I was too slow. He spun to confront me, and that great head slammed into mine. I was airborne for a moment before hitting the ground, just barely missing the wall of the pit. My vision blurred. The ground shook with the thunder of Finn’s approach. I tried to get up but everything tilted.
I steeled myself for the final blow.
Then faces rose in the darkness. Damon. Matthew. Emma. Cyrus. Bea. I’d told my father that I would live for them, and for myself, too.
For the second time, I forced myself to move just as the werewolf dove. A hot jolt of pain went through me at the same moment I heard the wall explode. I leaped to my feet and spat blood into the sand—Finn’s claw must’ve caught the corner of my mouth as we passed each other. We couldn’t keep up this relentless dance for much longer.
Finn has sustained some injuries of his own, I noticed. He’d hit the wall at full momentum, and some of the bricks were now cracked and concaved. The werewolf struggled to rise, his head bent. A long line of blood trailed through the sand. Resentment filled my heart as I watched him. He shouldn’t be here, I thought. He should’ve been safe, at home, with the rest of our family.
The crowd sensed the shift in my mood and screamed even louder.
I glared up at the stands, wishing I could make these horrible creatures scream for a different reason. Something silver glinted in the corner of my eye, and I glanced over automatically.
When I saw who was in that high box, standing next to Belanor, I froze.
Laurie.
The real Laurie. He looked more glamorous than I’d ever seen him, wearing a white coat and a dusting of gold along his cheekbones. That infamous silver hair was raked back, secured at the back of his head in either a bun or a braid, I couldn’t tell. He gazed down at me with the bored expression of a courtier. I didn’t need to be inside his head to know it was an act.
I also knew that the moment I laid eyes on Laurelis Dondarte, an inexplicable surge of relief went through my veins. As if part of me associated him with safety. The thought that everything was going to be okay.
My relief was short-lived.
A dark shape rushed at me—Finn had moved faster than I was prepared for, especially after the blow he’d taken. I barely managed to avoid him this time. A fresh bolt of pain crippled me and I looked down. Four fresh cuts across my stomach bled freely.
There was no new plan or desperate idea, only reactions. The knife was where I’d left it, I noted distantly. Finn was running at me again, hunting me like a wolf chasing a stag. Losing precious seconds, I threw myself across the sand. My desperation was so overwhelming that I grabbed the knife by the wrong end, and the blade sank into my palm. I gasped at another burst of pain.
The crowd’s laughter rang in my ears. Guess I’d given them some entertainment, after all. As I lifted my head, a familiar red haze blinded me.
Fury.
Most often, anger was a weakness, an emotion that led to dark choices and regret. But sometimes, it lent strength. Endurance. The right kind of anger could lead to change.
They weren’t going to make me a killer again.
I squeezed my eyes shut and dove within myself. When I came to that mental wall Collith had taught me to envision, I didn’t falter or hesitate—I shattered through it.
I relived the hunger and the power. I heard the screams and the moans. I remembered the shame. Through every moment, Laurie’s voice was there, a hum in the background like an audience on the other side of that red curtain. Don’t you know what strengthens a Nightmare’s power? Unleashed fury. Pain. The things bad dreams are made of.
All of this happened within two to three seconds. Then Finn was there, opening his mouth to rip me in half. “Finn, stop!” I cried in true terror, twisting to protect my face.
Acting purely on instinct, I grabbed hold of the werewolf’s mind with an ease that was startling, even in the chaos of the moment.
Oh my God, I thought. Oh my God.
I was a Nightmare again.
Power sang through my veins, but I didn’t stop to marvel at the return of this wondrous feeling. Finn had frozen with his body hovering above mine, his jaw unhinged, one of his clawed hands drawn back to rip my body open. Staring at him over my shoulder, I remained on my stomach, panting into the sand as I learned his secrets as gently as I could while still trying not to sacrifice speed. The knife lay a few feet away, discarded in the sand—I must’ve dropped it when I wrenched myself around.
There was no time to find memories or learn the reasons for Finn’s fears. In seconds, I discovered that he was no longer afraid of Astrid… but the previous werewolf alpha had been replaced by a new figure. When I saw who now stood within the shadows of Finn’s nightmares, my being flooded with such incandescent hate that I felt like the sun.
I didn’t want to do it. I would’ve done so many other terrible things to avoid it. I was getting Finn out of this alive, though, and I needed him coherent to do that. I imagined my heart turning to stone as, for the first time in what felt like a small eternity, I gathered someone’s fear and made it real before them.
Finn went rigid on top of me. For a disorientating moment, I was in my body and peering out from his eyes, too. Being human and going so long without power had made me clumsy with it. I closed my eyes and concentrated. In the next breath, I opened them again, and I watched Finn face the cruel illusion I’d made to save us both.
Belanor looked down at him with open disdain.
The Seelie Prince was wearing clothes I didn’t remember—this was Finn’s fear, which meant he must’ve seen Belanor exactly as he appeared now.