Beautiful nightmares, p.50
Beautiful Nightmares, page 50
It had been, and still was, the worst night of his entire life.
“She was beautiful, Finn,” I murmured, blinking the images away. The action caused some tears to fall, too.
Finn’s amber eyes met mine. The lump in his throat worked, and his voice was more gravelly than usual as he replied, “Yes. Yes, she was.”
Slowly, I pulled my hands back and tucked them under the table. Finn did the same. Though we couldn’t be more different physically, it felt like we were mirror images of each other. Identical in our despair. I was tired of it. I was weary of hurting. I was sick of grief. I had tried all the healthy ways of dealing with it—exercise, therapy, family. Suddenly I was in the mood for trying some unhealthy tactics.
With a hollow smile, I cocked my head at Finn. “Hey, would you like to get drunk with me?”
The werewolf searched my expression. I’d hoped he would smile or say something, and when his silence once again filled the space between us, I swallowed a sigh. Deciding to proceed with my plan anyway, I twisted around and waited until Gretchen noticed me. “Ma’am? Could we get a couple bloody marys?” I called.
She gave me a polite nod. “You got it.”
I smiled, but she had already turned away. The absence of her usual warmth made my brows lower. It wasn’t until I started fiddling with the ring that I remembered Gretchen had no idea who I was. It was harder than I’d expected, being unknown to the people I’d worked with for so long. But if it meant keeping them safe, anonymity was a price I would gladly pay.
Gretchen had just started making our drinks when a large group of men entered, leaving a row of snowmobiles parked outside. They approached the bar in a burst of noise, reeking of gasoline and sweat. Gretchen listened to their orders, nodding, already in motion. If I hadn’t been wearing the ring, I would’ve gotten up to help. Grateful my hands were still out of sight, I clenched them into fists and fixed my gaze on the table.
Ariel was the one to bring our bloody marys over. “Enjoy!” she said, flashing a white-toothed grin.
I caught the curious glance she gave me, and I knew the instant Ariel recognized my scent; her eyes brightened with curiosity. But she was a faerie, through and through, and she didn’t ask any questions. Since I had taken enough risks for one day, I didn’t offer an explanation, either. I grasped one of the drinks and pulled it close, hoping that Gretchen had been generous with her pour.
As the sun marched along its high, blue road, I drank. The bloody marys gradually became hard liquor, and if Gretchen harbored any judgment for the stranger getting tipsy in her bar, she kept it hidden. Finn was less enthusiastic in his pursuit of forgetting—the glass that rested in front of him was still his first. I never saw him put it to his mouth, but the liquid inside gradually lowered.
“You’ve become one of my best friends, you know,” I told the werewolf abruptly. Unable to look at him now, I stared into the depths of my glass. “That’s why Belanor chose you for the arena—he was trying to break me. He was right, too. The thought of killing you is what forced my powers out of a dormant state.”
More silence from his side of the table. Insecurity took root inside me. What if Amy wasn’t the only reason for Finn’s distance? Was it anger that stopped him from speaking? I raised my gaze, on the verge of apologizing for the part I’d played in what he’d endured at the Seelie Court. The words vanished from my mind when he growled, “What does he want?”
He was looking out the window again, the golden eyes that Regina liked so much shining unnaturally bright. Following them, I discovered that Gil stood on the other side of the street. He’d clearly borrowed some clothes from Adam, because he wore an oil-stained tank top beneath an unfamiliar coat. Though he wasn’t looking at us, I knew he was aware of my presence—the bond prickled from our proximity to each other. Gil’s movements were overly casual as he threw a cigarette down and ground it into the concrete with his boot.
“He’s in control, I swear,” I said quickly, seeing how Finn’s body had gone tense. He’d started to rise from the seat. I put my hand on his arm, and once again, the touch seemed to soothe him. Slowly, Finn sank down. But he didn’t take his eyes off the blond vampire trying so valiantly not to glance in our direction.
Guess it’s true what they say about vampires and werewolves, I thought. Natural enemies. Finn’s ferocity had still taken me by surprise; most of the time, I forgot that an actual wolf lurked beneath his skin. No matter how kind or how gentle he was as a person, he would always possess another side, too. A wild creature that used its teeth to tear at flesh and howled at the night sky.
The same could be said for me or Gil. I looked back at the vampire, and compassion stirred in my chest. If I concentrated on the connection between us, I could feel his uncertainty. His loneliness. Gilbert Payne’s entire life had changed, and suddenly he was in a strange place, tormented by pangs of an unbearable craving. Echoes of it reached me, like ripples of water traveling to shore. If those were merely reverberations of it, I couldn’t imagine the strength within Gil to resist. It was no small miracle that he hadn’t already come inside this bar and begun ripping the humans apart, limb from limb, spraying the air with the blood he so fiercely desired.
After a few seconds, I sensed Finn’s eyes on me. I suspected that if he were in his wolf form, the hair along his spine would’ve been standing on end.
I didn’t want to talk about Belanor or the horrors I endured at his hands, especially while I was buzzed, but it seemed inevitable. I swallowed and stared down into my near-empty glass, tilting it this way and that. “I didn’t tell you everything last night,” I said without lifting my gaze. “Before… before Belanor killed him, Gil was a Nightmare. He was like me, Finn. When I said that I brought him back to Granby because I knew Adam could help him, it was the truth. But it wasn’t the whole truth. I also think he can teach me things. Help me control my power.”
Another pause swelled between us. Eventually Finn said, his voice full of warning, “Newborns are dangerous, Fortuna.”
Now I did look up. My fingers curled tightly around the glass. “I’m dangerous, too. That hasn’t stopped you from trusting me. You probably shouldn’t—well, actually, I know you shouldn’t—but it hasn’t stopped you.”
The words came out sharper than I meant them to. I didn’t apologize, though. A muscle worked in Finn’s jaw as he stared at Gil some more. “I can smell the magic between you,” he muttered. “What else happened in that place?”
I hesitated. The bond was part of the story I’d left out last night, and I wasn’t sure why. Liar, my inner voice crooned. I cringed. Why did anyone withhold the truth? Shame and fear, a topic I happened to be an expert on. An image of Collith’s tear-filled eyes loomed in my memory, and to push it away, I thought of the awful thing I’d done in that small, white cell.
“The prince murdered Gil right in front of me,” I said flatly. “When he woke up again, and revealed he was a V addict, we realized he was in transition. Fighting him physically wasn’t an option, of course, so I turned to magic. By some miracle, I remembered a spell that I’d read about in Kindreth’s journals. I forced Gil to exchange blood with me and recite words of intention. Just as I’d hoped, it formed a link between us and helped him resist the bloodlust. In a lot of ways, it’s similar to what I shared with the Unseelie Court, but it’s also deeper than that. For lack of a better way to describe it, he feels like… family. Fitting, really, considering he didn’t get a choice in the matter.”
This time, I expected Finn’s silence. I gave him a wry, bitter smile and tipped my glass back, finishing the last dregs of the whiskey. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to say anything. I’m judging me, too.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said. I cocked my head in a wordless question, and the vulnerability in Finn’s eyes made my brows draw together. He paused one more time, as though he were gathering courage. Then he raised his golden eyes to mine and began, more impassioned than I’d ever seen him, “Does—”
The front door opened at that same moment, and Bella O’Connell came through, followed by four other women I recognized from my years of serving here.
The sight of Ian’s wife seemed to cast my mind in shades of gray. Hunching my shoulders, I reached across the table and took a drink from Finn’s, then set it down with a hard thud. I felt the weight of his gaze on me, but I pretended not to notice. The honey-sweet tones of Bella’s voice drifted toward our booth, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at her again. The humans settled at one of the round tables placed in the center of the room. Two of them had red-rimmed eyes and another placed a box of tissues next to the salt and pepper shakers.
Ariel turned from the bar holding four waters in her hands, and she noticed my come here gesture. She approached our booth, her head tilted in that distinctly fae way. Once she was close enough I asked under my breath, “What’s going on over there?”
The faerie’s pert nose wrinkled with obvious dislike. “Oh, that’s a support group Bella O’Connell started for the widows of Granby. They come here every Thursday, get absolutely wasted, and leave a pile of pocket change as a tip.”
“Classy.”
“Very. Are you sure you want to come back to work?” Ariel didn’t wait for a response; Bella was trying to get her attention, waving her hand so hard that the gold bracelet she wore moved like a flag.
Ariel had barely reached the table when Ian’s widow began rattling off her order. Listening to her voice caused a visceral reaction in me, like flipping a light switch. I couldn’t sit there anymore. The restless, jittery sensation racing through my veins was all-too familiar—it started happening after my parents’ deaths. The feeling came back when Damon disappeared. Then I’d gone to the crossroads and made a deal with a demon, making it unbearable.
The best way I’d learned to cope with it was by running.
“Would you mind driving me home?” I blurted to Finn.
His only response was to push away from our table and stand. Giving the werewolf a grateful smile, I dropped some cash where Ariel would find it and got to my feet, too. Gretchen was still busy behind the bar, and Bea worked beside her now. Silently promising myself that I would speak to them soon, I moved toward the door.
In doing so, I looked past the table of women again. Bella caught my gaze, and something made her frown. I turned away instantly, aware that I’d probably caught her notice even more now. Finn opened the door for me and stood with his back against it, waiting.
I hurried by, eager to be in the cool air and away from the human who reminded me of the lives I’d ruined. I may not have stopped her husband’s heart, but Laurie had done it for my sake. Ian’s blood was on my hands, and if Bella O’Connell ever found out, I wasn’t sure what would happen.
But I didn’t want to find out.
I’d parked alongside the curb. As I headed for the van, I couldn’t help a glance at the place where Gil had been smoking. The sidewalk was empty, a forlorn leaf skittering across it. He must’ve returned to Adam’s shop. Finn opened the passenger door for me, his nostrils flaring. I wondered if he was trying to pinpoint Gil’s location by scent. Stubborn, overprotective wolf.
Later, I wouldn’t remember getting in, or Finn doing the same. All the liquor I’d consumed felt like a pleasant warmth inside my brain. With a drowsy sigh, I slumped against the seat and closed my eyes.
They shot open again when Finn turned the key in the ignition and the radio blared at a deafening volume. His hand flew to the knob and spun it faster than I could track. Finn didn’t turn it back on, and I didn’t ask him to—the whiskey had quieted those voices I’d been so desperate to drown out earlier. Most of them, at least. The werewolf steered us in the direction of home, and I rested my temple against the window, thinking of the last time he and I had been alone together. Before the Seelie Court, before Belanor, we’d faced each other in a storm. Sometimes that night felt like a thousand years ago, and then the regret would hit me as if it had happened yesterday.
“You haven’t asked me about it,” I said dully.
Finn didn’t ask what I meant; he didn’t need to. It had been hovering around us, haunting us, since the moment I’d sat down at his table. Every time I thought of those moments, I could picture his face perfectly, remember the light of pleading in his beautiful eyes. I could feel the vicious bite of the wind and see the snowflakes swirling all around in a desperate frenzy. Don’t leave me again.
“You just got home. You need to rest,” Finn rumbled. The proximity of his voice made the image dissipate.
Relief bloomed in my chest. I worried it would show on my face, so I looked away, gazing out the window as if I hadn’t driven along this road a thousand times. The whiskey continued working its way through me, but it wasn’t enough. I could still feel the icy breath of memory upon my neck. Collith. Belanor. Demons.
“What will you do for the rest of the day?” Finn asked. The fact that he spoke at all was a dead giveaway of his concern for me. He could probably smell my rising tension.
Contemplating his question, I watched a bird soar over the trees. It was hardly more than a dark speck against the gray sky. Just before it faded from sight, Nym’s innocent voice came to me, the edges of it tinged with a broken sort of hope. What’s the point of having wings if I can’t fly?
I didn’t want to think about wings. I didn’t want to think about flying. I didn’t want to think about anything.
“Forget,” I answered finally, hearing Nym in my voice, now, instead of my head. Turning away from the sky, I looked at the road ahead with heavy-lidded eyes. “I’m going to forget.”
And that was exactly what I did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
By the time I fell into bed, I’d finished half a bottle of vodka from Collith’s liquor cart.
I thought Finn had been drinking, too, but he either held his liquor extremely well or he’d only been sipping from his cup, rather than the generous gulps I’d done, because he entered the room on feet far steadier than my own. Moments after I’d fallen across the mattress, I felt him tug the covers over my lower half.
“You don’t need to take care of me,” I said. Or tried to, at least—the words slurred together more than I wanted to admit.
Finn’s answer was soft as ever, but there was a lining of steel in his voice. “Yes, I do.”
I tried to look at him. I couldn’t seem to open my eyes, though. After a few attempts, I gave up and mumbled, eyes still closed, “Why?”
But the werewolf didn’t respond this time. Or maybe he did, and I fell asleep too soon.
I was so drunk that I couldn’t find the dreamscape. That didn’t stop the nightmares from finding me, though. They shrieked and cackled their way through my head like hyenas. Every bad thing that had happened to me. To my family. Then I heard the melancholy chime of an old clock, marking the Witching Hour. I saw an empty crossroads, the ground lit by a single streetlight. Ian O’Connell stood there, smiling. The badge on his chest gleamed.
When I tried to run, I sat upright with a frantic gasp.
It took several seconds to realize I was at the loft. Ian was gone, and the crossroads had been replaced by four walls and a wooden floor.
I didn’t know that I was awake, at first. I searched the room wildly, expecting to see one of the shadowy figures that had chased me all night. Fende and his branding iron, a minotaur and its ax, Gwyn and her sword. Nothing moved. Panting, I started to swing my legs to the floor. In doing so, my gaze fell onto the cover of Moby Dick—I was never going to finish that wretched book—and the sight of the title calmed me. My heartbeat slowed.
Dreams, I thought. They were all just dreams.
Oliver had been guarding me for so long that I’d forgotten how it felt, recovering from a nightmare. As I got comfortable again, I finally noticed glowing eyes in the dim corner. Finn. Some tension left me at the realization. I knew I should probably lecture him for spending the night in a chair, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not when I was so grateful to see him there, solid and reassuring.
“You only pretended to drink that beer, didn’t you?” I said, sinking onto the pillow. For the second time that night, I didn’t hear Finn’s answer, if it ever came.
The next time I awoke, he was gone and Lyari sat in the corner instead. Sunlight poured through the window and shone on the faerie like a spotlight.
Once again, I was jarred at the sight of her without armor. That was how I knew I wasn’t dreaming anymore; I would never conjure Lyari Paynore and make her look so… ordinary. My Right Hand wore a pink cotton shirt with quarter sleeves, and dark blue jeans covered in knee-high boots. Her hair was scraped back into a low ponytail. Had she gone back to Court for her clothes? Where was she keeping her belongings now that she’d been banished? God, I’d upended Lyari’s entire life, and I hadn’t even given a thought to setting up a room for her.
I opened my mouth to ask her where she’d slept, but she spoke first. “What do you dream about?”
It wasn’t like her to ask questions, especially personal ones. Something about Lyari’s expression made my own questions fade. I studied her, then rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “Last night? Just your run of the mill nightmares,” I answered blearily. “Every other night? That’s a very complicated answer, and I’m too hungover for it today.”
“There’s water on the nightstand.”
Startled, I turned my head to look. She was right—a tall glass rested next to the alarm clock, bubbles clinging to the inside of it. The tiny pockets of air glowed in a slant of sunlight. I reached over, picked it up, and downed the entire thing. My gulps were loud in the stillness.
As I drank, Lyari started talking again. “Before I left Court, my mother berated me for lending you her journals. She was quite… agitated about it. I got the impression there’s something she doesn’t want anyone to see.”
Even though Lyari didn’t ask the question outright, I heard it tucked within her words. Did you find something? There was no point in hiding this truth, either—she would hear my heartbeat or detect some other tic. I nodded, wiping my damp chin with the back of my wrist. “I did read a passage that echoed the same sentiments. On the page, Kindreth mentions that she should burn the journal after she’d written the spell down.”
