“Regain control of your wolf,” the Seelie Prince ordered. It was Belanor’s expression, his face, but my words came out of his mouth. “Remember yourself.”
And because Finn was afraid, he obeyed.
The sound of crunching bones filled my ears. I pulled my power back, retreating from Finn’s mind, and my eyes were burning. If I were to look into a mirror, I knew they’d be red as human blood. Finn heaved on top of me, his weight crushing. But I barely noticed. I barely noticed anything, because my entire existence had shrunken down to one need.
I was… ravenous.
All these vulnerable, unguarded minds around me, just ripe for the plucking. So many fears to reap. My mouth filled with saliva.
No. Stop. Think. I knew there was a reason I should resist. I squeezed my eyes shut again, and after a second, I pictured my family again. Maybe because I’d just been thinking of them a minute ago. Damon. Matthew. Emma. Cyrus. Bea.
Finn threw himself to the side, and suddenly I could breathe again.
Feeling more in control, I started forming coherent thoughts. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. When I finally opened my eyes, I immediately searched for Finn. He was within touching distance, panting, pieces of gore lying around him in the sand. Surprisingly, the loincloth had survived the transformation. I watched Finn’s features settle into place as he fully returned to his human shape.
It was never a pretty process. A patch of wolf fur, along with the flesh it had been attached to, stuck to Finn’s blood-smeared hairline. I grasped it between my thumb and forefinger, delicately peeled it free, and tossed it to the side. The skin beneath it was smooth and unblemished. Finn’s eyes met mine, and this time, there was recognition in them. Warmth spread through my chest.
“Hey, there,” I said softly.
“Hello, Your Majesty,” my werewolf murmured back.
A shout floated down from above, distracting both of us. I looked up. Faces in the stands were getting bored or restless. None of the spectators seemed to realize something had changed, because there was no fear or surprise in their voices. It must’ve looked strange, Finn just laying on top of me and neither of us doing anything. Most of them were calling for our executions so the Guardians would bring out the next fighters.
I planned to relish in the sight of their greed giving way to shock, then horror.
Finn and I got to our feet. While he absorbed the sight of the stands—he was probably seeing all of this for the first time, since he’d been out of his mind before—I turned toward that colorful box. A quiet calm had draped over me. Those shining figures still stood there, Laurie included. Right now, though, I only had eyes for Belanor.
There was no way my voice would reach him, but he’d be able to see the shape of the words. They were simple ones. “I’m going to kill you,” I told the prince.
It was immediately clear that Belanor hadn’t figured out what happened, either. I realized that the mask he’d put on me as a means to protect himself would now be the reason he lost his life. Without it, the prince might’ve seen my face change into the exquisite features of a Nightmare. As it was, Belanor was completely oblivious to the danger. He just sneered down at me now, a familiar promise in his eyes. It was always the look he got when I could expect another round of torment and agony.
That was all the encouragement I needed. I started to raise my arms, an involuntary movement as I mentally reached across the space for Belanor’s psyche. I was going to make him wish he’d never been born.
Finn’s desperate cry sliced through the chaos, and at the same time his voice sounded, I caught a familiar scent. “Fortuna, behind—”
Then there was nothing.
My first thought, when I opened my eyes to the dreamscape, was that Belanor had drugged me again.
I hadn’t seen this place in so long that I’d truly believed it was gone for good. Reawakening the Nightmare within hadn’t just pulled the bad things from that inner darkness—it had brought the good things, too.
My second thought was of Finn, and my stomach sank. He was back in reality, subject to Belanor’s every sadistic whim.
But I didn’t try to wake myself up, in spite of how much I wanted to be at his side. The moments leading up to my arrival here were vivid, and I knew I’d been knocked unconscious. There would be no leaving the dreamscape until I recovered from the hit to my skull.
Resigning myself to hours of feeling powerless and anxious, I turned my attention to the dream world I hadn’t seen in weeks. I stood next to the oak tree, where I usually arrived. With one palm resting against its bark, my gaze roamed the distance, automatically searching for a familiar figure. Oliver was gone, I reminded myself. He’d been gone even before I became human.
If I needed further confirmation of his absence, there was the fact that none of Oliver’s touches were present. No diamonds in the center of the flowers, no tree bark made of candy, no music with every step I took. It was still beautiful, though. The tall grass bent serenely in a breeze. Beyond the cliffs, that endless sea glittered, shining in hues of pink and orange from the descending sun. Other than the eerie statue standing in the center of it all—Oliver’s shadow, which I’d turned to stone with a mere thought—everything in the dreamscape seemed as if none of the past few weeks had ever happened.
They had happened, though. I thought of Finn again, worried what was happening to him while I was unconscious. Belanor wouldn’t kill him, not when the werewolf could still be useful to his mission. Right?
“Fortuna?”
It felt like everything inside me stopped at the sound of Oliver’s voice. It couldn’t be real. This was another hallucination, another impossible fantasy. I turned, slowly, my eyes darting in every direction. Searching for him. I halted when I spotted his silhouette just a few yards away.
Then I was flying.
I ran so hard that my arms pumped as if I were in a race. There were absolutely no thoughts in my head, only need. I saw Oliver brace himself an instant before I was on him.
When his arms came around me, it was like I’d come home.
Emotion swelled in my throat. Neither of us spoke—we simply held each other. God, I’d even missed his smell. Like paint and sea.
“Is it really you?” Oliver asked finally, pulling away to see my face. His thumbs brushed my cheeks, and the touch loosened something inside me.
For the first time since that conversation with Viessa in a dank dungeon, I felt like myself again. I bit my lip, hoping pain would distract me from another rush of feeling.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I countered when I could speak. My voice still wavered.
“I have two more questions first.” Oliver’s gaze flitted to something behind me. “What the fuck is that?”
I turned too quickly, sending a flash of pain through my neck. When I realized Oliver was looking at the statue of himself, I relaxed slightly, letting out a breath. I’d been so focused on him that I hadn’t even noticed that pile of warped stone as I ran past. It was just as eerie-looking as it had been my last night in the dreamscape. Oliver’s face, twisted into an expression of such hatred it was chilling. Wings spouted from his back, feathered things that might’ve been as beautiful as an angel’s, once, but time and darkness had stolen their fullness and weakened the bones.