Beautiful nightmares, p.72
Beautiful Nightmares, page 72
“In the cave, you said that was ‘one of my secrets,’” I said softly, still not looking at Oliver. “Do you have others?”
He threw a pinch of sand at the horizon. “Everyone has secrets, Fortuna.”
At this, I finally turned to him. I opened my mouth to argue… before I realized that he was right. Even now, despite my efforts to be honest with Oliver, there were things I had withheld. I faced the skyline again and decided to let him keep his secrets, just as he let me keep mine. At least he’d had the courage to share one of his tonight, and he did it knowing there might be a cost.
The sun rose, driving away what remained of the moon and stars, but for once I didn’t mind. There was something to be said for sitting in the light of day after spending so much time in the dark. It gradually banished the shadows inside me, until even the anger had dissipated, too. Sighing, I leaned my head on Oliver’s shoulder and enjoyed the subtle warmth of morning on my skin.
Neither of us tried to broach the silence again. I didn’t ask Oliver if he still loved me, and he didn’t tell me that he wished things were different. I thought of the memory I’d regained in the cave, and an image filled my mind of young Oliver, peering out from behind our tree with frightened eyes. Those two children no longer existed. We’d grown up. We’d changed. I didn’t know what our future looked like, but tomorrow didn’t exist, anyway. There was only now.
As if he were agreeing, Oliver pressed a kiss to my forehead.
And now is so beautiful, I thought.
* * *
I woke to someone tapping my nose.
At first, it was easy to ignore. Within seconds, though, the touch became more insistent. Eventually it forced me back to full consciousness, and pulling my mind from the darkness felt like tugging my foot out of a thick patch of mud. I couldn’t open my eyes. Not yet.
Despite this, I knew straight away that I was no longer in the dreamscape—I could smell the distinct tang of hair dye. The tapping hadn’t stopped, either. I scowled and yanked the covers over me, but this didn’t deter Emma, of course. There was a faint click in the stillness, and light streamed through my eyelids. I made an intelligible, furious sound Emma didn’t acknowledge.
“Up and at ’em, sweetheart. You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours!” she said. I listened to her bustle across the room and open the curtains. “Gil and Lyari both stopped by last night. Not together, of course. Lyari isn’t fond of vampires, is she? Finn, either. Poor Gilbert, it’s not as though he can help it.”
“Why do you hate me?” I mumbled, finally lowering the covers. My eyelids were heavy and reluctant. Once they were open, my vision clear, the first thing I saw was the sky. It was starless, as though the world was wearing a black shroud.
“Funny, isn’t it, how love can be so easily mistaken for hate?” Emma mused, walking past the bed again.
I sighed, wondering how much weed she’d smoked. A glance at the alarm clock revealed that it was barely six a.m. “It’s too early for this, Ems.”
The old woman stood on the threshold now. She wore her usual robe and slippers, but today her head was covered in a shower cap. I couldn’t see which color she’d chosen through the patterned plastic. “I woke you for two reasons,” Emma responded, ticking them off on her fingers. “One, you need to eat and hydrate. You may be descended from angels, but you still have human needs, my girl. Two, you have another visitor this morning, and he was very insistent. He’s on Cyrus’s porch. I tried to get him to come in, but he wasn’t having it. Stubborn, that one.”
Someone was waiting for me on Cyrus’s porch? Emma left before I could ask questions, but the affection in her voice had been unmistakable. It was also telling that Finn hadn’t bothered to get up from his bed in front of the fireplace, I thought as I followed Emma through the doorway.
To confirm my suspicions, I moved to the window at the end of the hall. It wasn’t quite as dark as I’d thought upon waking—there was a smudge of color on the horizon, the weakest of yellows, like the artist painting today’s sunrise had dipped their paintbrush in water before putting the bristles to canvas. Using this light, feeble as it was, I spotted a silhouette straight away. It was tall, slender, and familiar. Wings fluttered in my chest.
Retreating, I glanced down at what I’d fallen asleep in. My visitor would have to wait a big longer. Realizing that I hadn’t brushed my teeth in fourteen hours, I rushed to the bathroom. The hunger pangs started while I was in there, proving Emma right for what felt like the millionth time. Later, I promised myself, thinking of the person on that porch.
Once I was dressed, my long hair scraped back into a ponytail, I moved toward the stairwell. As I went, I reached out with my senses, borrowing some of Finn’s power to enhance my own. Nym was in his room, pacing and muttering under his breath. Damon, Danny, and Matthew were still sleeping, their breathing deep and their heartbeats steady. Lyari wasn’t asleep, from what I could tell, but she was also in her room. Emma was in the bathroom, humming to herself while water ran into the sink.
It had become habit, checking on my family every morning. Even though we’d beaten Belanor, and the immediate danger had passed, I was afraid for them. I’d made too many enemies. It would never be completely safe for the people I loved, which meant I always needed to be on guard.
Reassured that all was well, I lifted my coat off the hook. Its weight settled upon my shoulders while I hurried down the steps and out the other door. Seconds later, I emerged into the frozen morning, immediately seeking that bright figure with my gaze. He wasn’t looking back at me. Something about his profile made me uneasy, or maybe it was his posture. He never stood that stiffly. Frowning now, I crossed the short distance between the barn and the house, then ascended the familiar, time-beaten steps.
At the other end of the porch, Laurie stood with his back to me. He was dressed in a flawlessly-tailored white suit, his hair a splash of brilliance in the solemn dawn. He wore his crown again, the same one I’d seen on Belanor’s head when I first awoke in the palace. The lit end of a cigarette set Laurie’s hand aglow.
Seeing it brought another conversation to mind. I drew closer and imagined Collith standing next to Laurie, his back to me, too, just as it had been when I’d come upon them the night Naevys died.
I thought you quit.
I only indulge myself when the sorrow is too much to bear.
“Are you just going to stare at it?” I asked finally, knowing the suddenness of my question wouldn’t startle him. Laurie would’ve heard the door open, heard every footstep I took. I walked down the length of the porch and halted at his side. The view from this side of the house wasn’t anything significant—it was only the garage and a line of naked trees.
“I don’t like the way they make my breath smell,” Laurie replied without turning. His voice was absent. Keeping his focus on those distant trees, my friend tapped the cigarette with his usual fluidity. Sparks tumbled through the air and faded before they hit the ground. “Sometimes I just like to hold one.”
Oddly enough, learning this small thing about Laurie made him seem more human. I considered asking him what was wrong, but it was such an obvious question for people like us; our lives were an ever-turning wheel of chaos and turmoil. His twin brother had just died. Regardless of the relationship between them, that must’ve had an effect.
As I searched for a safe topic, I realized Laurie still hadn’t told me why he was here. I was about to breach the silence again when he said, “I’m returning to the Seelie Court today, and I’m afraid you won’t see me for a while.”
My first instinct was to argue with him. I didn’t believe the war was over, not like Laurie seemed to. Belanor had just been a tool. A weapon. His wielder was still out there somewhere.
My second instinct, which hit while I was still fighting the first, was pain. Laurie is leaving. The thought felt like a piece of debris lodging in my heart. It meant something that he’d come here so formally, spoken with such uncharacteristic reserve.
Laurie was saying goodbye.
But I didn’t say any of this out loud. I allowed the tension to linger between us for another moment or two, waiting for my emotions to settle like the final gust of a storm. When I deemed it safe to speak again, my voice was calm, revealing nothing of the wreckage inside me. “How long is ‘a while,’ in the mind of a faerie?”
Twisting his lips in thought, Laurie tossed the cigarette with a flick of his long fingers. The wooden boards beneath our feet were protected by a layer of ice, so there was no risk of causing damage as he put the embers out beneath his boot. “Rest assured,” Laurie said, grinding the bits of light with his heel, “it won’t be in terms of years. I still owe you a boon. Also, someone needs to make sure you remember what an orgasm is.”
It hadn’t been too long ago a comment like that would’ve made me snort. To hide the effect it had on me now—it felt like the parts of my body that he’d touched, kissed, and licked came alive, tingling and throbbing—I rolled my eyes. “Oh, you think you’re just so funny, don’t you?”
“Incorrect. I know I’m funny.” Laurie winked. He reached forward and rested some of his weight on the porch banister, entirely unbothered by the snow against his bare skin.
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. My gaze dropped down to where we both gripped the railing, our hands inches apart. Why did the distance feel like so much more, though?
“I’ll miss you.” I said it quietly, like a confession. Strange that I should be afraid to say three such simple words when Laurie had seen all of me. Not just my body, but all the rest—the good, the bad, the murderous. He knew my thoughts before I did, sometimes. So of course he already knew that I’d miss him.
And yet, despite knowing the truth, Laurie hadn’t expected to hear me say it. Startled, he finally met my gaze. Now that he’d faced the horizon, his skin was tinted gold from the rising sun and strands of his hair caught the light. His Dondarte eyes weren’t just silver, I discovered as I tipped my head back. There were thin, delicate strands of blue tucked within the starlight. How had I never noticed it before?
“Don’t look at me like that,” Laurie said hoarsely.
Heat spread through my lower stomach. Fire. You’re playing with fire, Fortuna, that inner voice cautioned. For good reason, too—I’d been burned so many times. Laurie had scars of his own. To protect both of us, I needed to change the subject. Steer the conversation back into safe territory.
Instead, I heard myself ask, “Why not?”
Laurie stood very, very still. He searched my face, and whatever he saw there made his gaze intensify. The mask he’d been wearing cracked, letting me see the vulnerable male beneath.
“Because it gives me hope,” Laurie said. The truth of his feelings for me shone from his eyes.
If we’d been playing with fire before, we may as well have been surrounded by it now. My eyes fell to Laurie’s lips, and I couldn’t help it—I thought about leaning forward. Kissing him how he’d kissed me at the Unseelie Court. Kissing him in the way I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since we’d spent the day in that enormous, rumpled bed framed with velvet curtains.
I began to raise my hand, on the verge of bringing Laurie’s face down to mine.
Wait, I thought. My hand faltered. There was a reason I’d been resisting this, and being near Laurie always seemed to make me forget. But I remembered now—I couldn’t give him hope when there was none. Not for us. And it wasn’t because he was a faerie, or because the memory of Collith always seemed to be standing between us.
My gaze left Laurie’s, rising to the crown resting on his head.
If I opened this door with him, it would lead to the Seelie Court. To a life I’d been so eager to leave that I’d handed Viessa Folduin the throne without thinking about any of the consequences. Oh, Laurie would promise me that we could keep it separate, of course. We’d make grand promises about our future together. But I knew the demands of sitting on that throne. The heart of the matter was that Laurie didn’t fit in my world, and I didn’t fit in his.
Wishing I could avoid what came next, I swallowed and looked away, finally breaking our heated stare. “When is your coronation?” was all I said.
Laurie paused, and in that moment, as the potential of us shriveled, I swore I could feel his hope dying, too. Then he removed his hands from the railing and shoved them in his pockets. The air felt colder, somehow, even as the sun continued to climb. “Tonight,” he answered.
“Wow. You’re not wasting any time.” I bit my lip and looked down at our feet. The movement drew my attention to a tiny glow that didn’t belong. One of the embers from Laurie’s cigarette hadn’t quite gone out yet. I put the tip of my boot on it and dragged the spot of light backward.
I was still looking down at the ashes, the smear of black left behind when he remarked, “You’re judging me.”
For once, Laurie was wrong—I didn’t begrudge him for taking back his throne. If it made him happy, that was the most important thing. But I saw his comment for the opportunity it was. Crushing my pain like I’d crushed that ember, I shrugged and gave Laurie a mocking grin. “Yeah, well, it’s a hobby of mine.”
“Indeed it is.” Smiling faintly, Laurie turned his head again and squinted at the brightening skyline. “Perhaps you should ask the child’s witchy mother to put a new protection spell on this land. Your enemies seem to grow by the day, and next time one comes knocking, even I may not be quick enough to save you.”
“Don’t worry about me, Laur. I can take care of myself. Just focus on that wicked Court of yours… and don’t turn your back on Sorcha.”
I spoke with an air of finality, because I expected him to sift halfway through my sentence. Avoiding goodbyes as he so often did. But Laurie stayed where he was, standing on this cold porch. Still silent, he took off the crown and held it in his palms. Seeing him remove his crown was like watching the sun rise in the west or witnessing rain falling upward.
“I allowed myself to get distracted,” Laurie said abruptly.
I frowned, waiting for him to continue. But he didn’t—he just kept staring at that crown, his jaw clenched. It took me another second to understand. By me, Laurie meant. He’d been distracted by his feelings for me. I’d just been a diversion, a momentary inconvenience that had almost made him lose what he truly wanted.
Laurie’s revelation stung. In spite of this, I didn’t get angry. Instead, I studied his detached expression and thought of that little boy from his memories. Scared. Lonely. The throne had become all he dreamed about. The reason for everything. The purpose for his pain.
Collith looked at the throne and saw potential and obligation. Laurie looked at it and saw identity and fate.
The spell on Creiddylad’s tomb had demanded sacrifice. It had learned Laurie’s secrets through his blood, and it hadn’t taken his sister, or his beauty, or his immortality. No, the magic had taken his throne.
Everyone had a weakness. Everyone had something they would kill for and die for.
I now knew what Laurelis Dondarte’s was. To my utter shame, I felt my mind latch onto this with the same cunning and ferocity I’d seen in Gwyn’s eyes. It was as if the Unseelie Queen was a separate being that I shared a body with. It was she who wondered how we could use a powerful creature’s weakness to our own advantage.
For the thousandth time, the silver-haired faerie standing next to me smiled as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. His eyes glittered in a way that was all-too familiar. Just like that, he was Laurie again. My friend, my sparring partner, my arrogant protector. “You’ve become more like us than you want to admit, Lady Sworn,” he said. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to get sexier, but here you are, surprising me once again.”
The breath caught in my throat, and I knew even that small sound would reveal too much to Laurie. Thankfully, he was no longer there to hear it. I stood alone on the porch now, aching in more ways than one. I wrapped my arm around the wooden beam next to me and leaned my temple against it, sighing. A single gust of air curled through the dapples of frost-edged sunlight.
“I forgot something.”
The sound of Laurie’s voice made me jump. I turned, opening my mouth to ask him what he’d forgotten. Before I could say a word, he was there in a rush of warmth and heady scent.
His kiss was sudden, thorough, and just the right amount of rough. As I kissed him back, Laurie’s hands slid into my hair and became fists. Claiming me. Ruining me. Despite the cruel things he’d just said—that I was a distraction, a desire second best to the throne he so longed to return to—my hands went up of their own volition, pressing on the firm planes of his back to pull him even closer. Our bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, and I could feel Laurie’s arousal against me, evoking images of a crackling fire, its lights and shadows flickering over our bare skin. I forgot where we were or that someone could look out the window and see us. All I could think about was Laurie. His tongue, his hands, his cock. Laurie.
Only when my lips felt bruised, my clit pulsing with unsatiated need, did he truly disappear. The instant I felt the pressure of his mouth pull away, my eyes flew open. The porch was empty, just as I’d known it would be.
“Fuck you,” I whispered, but the hurt in my voice gave the words a different meaning.
At that moment, Emma’s comment came back to me. Funny, isn’t it, how love can be so easily mistaken for hate?
It wasn’t a mistake, I thought, staring out at the horizon. It would be impossible to mistake these feelings for hate or anger. I was certain of it, and that certainty was the reason why my own fear filled the air. Anyone who defined this feeling as hate wasn’t making a mistake… because people chose hate. It was so much easier. Love was painful. Love was terrifying.
As if I was trying to escape it, I retreated from the railing, turned, and launched off the porch.
And I ran.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
