“Oh, God,” I whispered, curling my hand into a fist.
Memories of my mom surfaced. Many of them flipping together, forming a whirlwind of the hours where she was utterly detached from reality. Episodes where she spoke to people who weren’t there or when she believed that she was still being held by the fae. All those times when it was like I wasn’t even there with her. When it was like she couldn’t even see me.
I had just experienced that. A hallucination so real I had mistaken it for reality.
God.
It was official.
I was losing my mind.
* * * *
I didn’t know where I was or why…why I hurt so badly. I was cold, and yet I was hot as I lay on my side on a hard table of stone and stared at the still flames across from me. They didn’t even seem real to me, barely flickering. I was in a tomb, that much I knew, and there was a chain secured to my neck. And I hurt.
My gaze dropped to where my fingers lay limply in front of me. They were covered in tiny, stinging cuts.
I hurt all over.
I was also hungry.
None of these things pointed to anything good.
I started to shift onto my back but stopped with a wince. The skin there felt raw too, because…because there were cuts there also.
Disjointed images and memories took form. The glint of a blade. Pale blue eyes. Screams…screams and laughter—cold, malicious laughter.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled the musty air and sifted through the cotton that seemed to take up space in my head. There was an odd sense of having done this before as I started with my name because that seemed like a good place to start.
My name.
I had one. I knew I did. A moniker tied to a past, to memories, to a duty. A name that was often shortened.
Lite Bright.
The two words popped up in my head. Someone called me Lite Bright, because my name sounded like that—sounded like light.
Bri.
Brighton.
My eyes opened, and I focused on the dark, low ceiling. Brighton was my name, and…and my friends—I had friends—they called me Bri, but he called me sunshine. A whoosh swept through my chest, twisting with sadness and…and love. Love that wasn’t…returned by him? I saw him suddenly, golden hair brushing broad shoulders and eyes the color of honey set in a face so exquisitely fine that he didn’t seem real. But he was real, and his name was Caden. He was the King, and he’d wanted me…and then he didn’t. The twisting motion inside me returned at the memory of what I knew in my bones was the last night I’d seen him. We’d been together. It hadn’t been planned, because I…I had been angry at him, and he’d pushed me away until he pulled me to him. We’d made love. Or at least I thought we did, but then something…something happened.
Dampness crowded my eyes, and the back of my throat burned. What had happened?
“I am honored to become your Queen and serve our Court together.”
The words returned with a jolt, along with the face of…of the Summer fae who’d delivered them. His chosen. His soon-to-be Queen. He’d made love to me and yet was promised to another who was worthy, a beautiful fae creature—
I cut those thoughts off as my cheeks became wet. Reaching up, I wiped the tears away. The stinging of my fingers, salt in open wounds, cleared more of the fog. What had happened with the King wasn’t important now, because I was here….
It took me what felt like forever to remember how I had ended up here, and even once I did, some of the details were still missing. Like where I’d been when Aric had taken me, and how long I’d been here. It felt like…weeks, but I wasn’t sure if that was the case or not. I slowly realized that more was gone though as my history stitched itself back together, forming a puzzle that was missing pieces. I could remember Tink and his cat, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t recall the cat’s name. I knew who Ivy was, but her last name was just out of reach, as was her boyfriend’s first name. Or was it her husband? I could only remember his last name, but not his first. And saying Owens over and over didn’t magically make his first name appear. I knew there was something important I needed to remember, something that Aric had said, but I couldn’t recall it. I knew who had killed my mother but couldn’t remember when or how it had all gone down. I knew something had happened to me that night too, but that was just outside my grasp. There was more I knew was gone, because….
Because parts of me were being stripped away, peeled back and discarded with each feeding.
Was that what had happened to my mom before she was killed, back when she’d been held captive by the fae? She’d been fed on so much that she’d lost a part of herself…and lost touch with reality from time to time.
Was that what was happening to me each time I had to backtrack through what had happened to remember, each time recalling less and less? Would I eventually stop remembering altogether?
I shuddered.
Panic forced me upright, and I ignored how every square inch of my body protested the movement. I let my legs dangle as dizziness swept through me, and the right side of my face throbbed. Gingerly, I prodded at the swollen skin along my jaw. The flesh around my left eye felt the same, and as I stared down at my legs, there were fresh bruises and cuts there, a map of slices and ugly shades of red and purple. I remembered how the cuts had gotten there, but I had no idea why I had the injuries.
I couldn’t think about any of this. I couldn’t dwell on it. Not when I still had parts of myself, which meant that there was still an opportunity to escape.
Steely resolve finally settled in my stomach like a lead bullet. Purpose returned, driving home the need to keep going, to keep living.
I would not die in this place.
I would not die by Aric’s hands.
I would not give him that.
A hollowness opened up in my chest even as I repeated those three sentences over and over. My gaze tracked to the side of the slab of stone, and I saw tiny scratches there, likely marked by the rock lying on the floor next to it, a shard no bigger than my thumb.
I counted the marks. Twenty-nine. A sense of knowing led me to my feet and over to pick up the sliver. I worked at the stone, scratching a slash over the last four ragged lines. Thirty.
Thirty days that I was aware of. That was at least how long I’d been here, and I knew in my bones that I had to escape because this wasn’t like when Ivy had been taken back when Caden had been the evil Prince, hellbent on opening all the doorways to the Otherworld. She’d had help from the inside, and people were looking for her. People who cared enough to risk their lives. They’d found her the night she had been aided in her escape. How long had she been held? Three weeks? An incredibly long time, but she had been found.
A sudden memory surfaced—the hallucination of Caden freeing me. That hadn’t been real.
The hollowness spread, threatening to choke me with bitter hopelessness that seemed to linger like a heavy, oppressive shadow.
I dropped the stone, and slid to my knees, curling inward.
“They care,” I whispered to myself. I knew that Ivy did. So did Tink, and Ivy’s man. I knew they cared. Maybe even Caden. He liked me, just not enough. But the truth was, I knew how the Order operated. I knew enough to know that if Caden, the King of the Summer fae, was looking for me, they’d have found me by now. Ivy’s…boyfriend—husband?—had nearly torn the whole city apart looking for her.