“Not a Nightmare anymore,” I said at last, wincing to keep up the pretense.
“Something which I still hope to remedy.” With that, Belanor turned.
A fourth faerie came into the room, and the door closed behind him.
When I realized we’d never met before, my runaway heart slowed, but not by much. Whatever face he saw, this stranger wouldn’t know it was the illusion of a Nightmare… as long as he didn’t know what the real Fortuna Sworn looked like.
He reminded me of the beautiful, dark-haired warrior that rode with Gwyn in the Wild Hunt. His skin wasn’t as tanned, though, and there was no bulge of muscle beneath his well-tailored clothes. The faerie’s hair was overlong, falling to his shoulders in strands of darkest midnight. His eyes were a blue that rivaled Oliver’s.
There were also ligature marks around his wrists and across his throat.
“This is Lord Vulen of the bloodline Ryllae. He just returned to Court an hour ago,” Belanor said.
The first name snagged on my memory like a sweater caught on a nail. So this was the infamous Vulen. He was the faerie Belanor had screeched for after one of the occasions I’d pushed him too far. We haven’t been able to reach him, the Guardian said.
I tried to smile at Vulen, but I suspected it looked more like a grimace. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” was all I said.
The newcomer gave no reply. I darted a glance at Belanor, and I didn’t like his smile. Before I could come up with an adequate insult, the Seelie Prince asked, “Have you guessed it yet, Fortuna Sworn? No? I’ll take pity on you, then. I’ve brought Lord Ryllae here because he’s a telepath. Not quite a Nightmare, but just as effective. Most of the time, at least. You may begin.”
The order was directed at Vulen. My terror exploded like fireworks, lighting up the bond between me and Gil.
“Fuck that,” he snarled. Without another word, he crossed the room in a blur, aiming for Belanor. I only had time to open my mouth, about to shout Gil’s name, before Peeks and Fende intervened. Watching them reminded me how deadly faeries truly were. Even Peeks, in spite of his size. Within seconds, they’d overpowered Gil and injected him with a clear liquid. He fought them with his face mashed into the padded floor.
When tremors wracked Gil’s wiry body, I realized the clear liquid must’ve been holy water. The vampire’s mouth filled with a line of froth as the Guardians dragged him to the edge of the room, away from their prince.
My fear burned to ashes beneath a blaze of fury. I was contemplating whether or not to reveal my powers and obliterate them all when Vulen focused on me.
Anticipating a painful assault against my mental walls, I went rigid and instinctively wiped my mind clear of every single thought, including the ones necessary to get us out of this. Telepaths could only hear what you were thinking at that moment. I needed to keep my mind blank.
Belanor dared to step closer. “Let’s try this again. I said, what do you fear, Nightmare?”
Don’t think. Don’t think. Vulen didn’t close his eyes, as I often caught myself doing when I entered someone’s head. He just… looked at me. Another second passed, but nothing happened. I glanced worriedly toward Gil, who’d started regaining his motor functions back. His fingers kept twitching, as if he wanted to swing a fist at Belanor’s head. I wouldn’t mind having a go at it myself.
Why wasn’t Vulen doing anything? My gaze swung back to him, and this time I didn’t look away from the telepath’s beautiful, sharp-edged face. Don’t think. Don’t think.
“What do you see?” Belanor demanded.
The telepath didn’t answer. Several seconds passed, and a satisfied smile started to hover at the corners of my lips. Vulen obviously hadn’t been able to get through. It meant that Belanor wouldn’t be able to use him against me.
My smile vanished when Vulen murmured, his voice like velvet midnight, “It’s the Witching Hour. She’s pressed up against a tree—”
“Please, don’t tell him.” I spoke so quietly that Vulen fell silent to hear me. Surprise flickered in his eyes; he must’ve seen that my request was sincere.
Belanor snapped his fingers. “Keep going.”
Once again, Vulen didn’t acknowledge him. We kept staring at each other, and it felt like my heart was in my throat. Suddenly I was furious at Lyari, and Nym, and Sorcha, and every other faerie who’d made me think it was possible to expect more from their kind. But when the seconds ticked by and Vulen didn’t try to get into my head, I couldn’t help myself. It felt as though something inside me had unfurled, like sunlight coaxing a flower to open. Hope. Maybe Vulen is one of the good ones.
The faerie’s throat moved. His face remained carefully expressionless, though. “She’s getting fucked by a human. He’s wearing a police uniform,” he said finally.
No.
I was mute with shock. Belanor studied me, his lips twisted in thought. “How interesting. Fende, secure her. The vampire, as well—I want him to watch.”
Not a moment after Belanor spoke the words, his armored faerie came at me like a freight train. My head smacked against the wall. Despite the thick pads, the violent ricochet sent a jolt of pain through me. I was too stunned to fight back as Fende seized my wrists and fit them into one set of the padded cuffs. The Guardians were doing the same to Gil with the other set.
Now that I was restrained, Belanor moved closer. Colorful spots filled my vision, but I still saw him reach for the button on his pants. With slow horror, I realized what he intended.
Belanor was going to recreate the night at the crossroads.
The night that I still couldn’t let myself fully think about, or I would lose all control and become the very thing Gwyn predicted.
“Don’t. Please,” I whispered past the white-hot throbbing in my skull. I could feel Gil’s rage and fear, not just through the bond, but all around us. I forced myself to look up at Belanor.
The Seelie Prince’s eyes glittered. Under the harsh lights, the melted side of his face stood out in stark detail. He stopped in front of me, standing so close that I could smell the woodsy shampoo he’d recently used. His gaze roved over my face, starting from my hairline down to my chin. The way Belanor’s lips curled made it clear he liked what he saw. “Now you beg,” he remarked. “Might we finally be getting somewhere?”
Another one of his rhetorical questions, because he reached for me. I heard Gil make a desperate sound as Belanor’s palms skimmed down my sides and then tugged at the drawstring pants I was wearing. The room tilted, my stomach clenched, and for a wild moment I thought I was going to vomit. Panic buzzed in my ears. Belanor said something, the words a meaningless hum.
My mind had gone to that place. That quiet, safe place, where the sky was so blue and the breeze smelled like open water. And there, off in the distance, a shining figure. His was the voice that I heard, speaking my name with a husky edge I knew better than any other sound. Just remember one thing, okay? You’re Fortuna Sworn, baby.
Suddenly the buzzing stopped. The room realigned itself. In a movement so abrupt that Belanor didn’t see it coming, I jerked my head back for momentum and slammed it into his face.
More pain shuddered through my skull, but it was worth it. God, it was worth it. After a moment, I managed to peer upwards again, wanting to see Belanor’s face. But he stood in the center of the room now, a safe distance from me. Or so he thought. He cupped his face, shielding the damage from view. I could still see blue blood dripping off his chin. In that instant, Belanor was the picture of his creepy cousin, Claude, after I’d punched him in the face.