“Enjoying yourself, slave?”

I spin, looking around the Flora Queen’s dark forest for the man who spoke. The sacred oaks around me shiver in the night air.

That voice …

So familiar.

But there’s no one here in the forest, no one but me.

I rub my arms, not sure how I myself ended up in the queen’s sacred oak grove.

No matter, I’ll just fly back to my room.

At my back, my wings open, beating a few times to loosen up.

I feel something drip onto my arm. Another wet drop splats against my hair.

I lift my forearm to my eyes. In the darkness, I can barely make out the fluid, only that it’s dark.

Dark and warm.

I suck in a breath.

Blood.

Another drop hits the crown of my head. I glance above me at the latticework of branches. The bark is oozing blood, and the longer I look, the heavier it flows down the trees. I can hear drops of it hitting the leaves of the forest floor. It sounds like the beginning of a storm, the blood first coming in soft patters, then faster and faster. The droplets hit my skin and my clothes.

“Life and death are such intimate lovers.” A voice cuts through the darkness. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

A man steps out of the woods, his irises and plaited hair as dark as the night.

He’s everything I ever imagined a fairy to be before I met Des. The upturned eyes, the pouty, expressive mouth, the straight, narrow nose, and pointed ears. He has the sinister beauty I’ve read about in fairy tales.

The man’s lips curve ever so slightly, his eyes brightening in that manic way that fae eyes do.

“Kill her,” another man says from behind me.

That voice! So painfully familiar. Any other time I’d whip around, but my gut is telling me that the true menace is staring me down, and I will not turn my back on him.

“Her soul is not mine to take,” the black-eyed man says, still staring at me with a dark intensity.

I feel the bite of a blade at my throat, and from the corner of my eye I catch sight of a lock of white blond hair.

“You’re right,” the familiar voice at my back says. “It’s mine.”

All at once the realization slams into me.

Des. It’s Des’s voice at my back.

“Enjoy each small death you have left,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m coming for you.”

And then he slits my throat open.

I gasp awake, my body tangled in sheets, a strong set of arms around me.

Predawn light filters into the room through the window, casting everything in shades of blue. It’s so very different from the darkness of my dream.

I glance up, into Des’s soft silver eyes, and my heart nearly stops.

My ear still tingles where he spoke to me seconds ago, and I swear I still feel the phantom prick of pain across my throat from his blade.

His eyes widen just a smidge at my reaction. “Cherub, are you … afraid of me?”

I swallow down the lump in my throat, not wanting to answer.

It was just a dream, and yet … and yet it felt real.

What had Des told me a while back?

Dreams are never just dreams.

He searches my face a bit more. “You are.”

Des runs his hand over my bracelet. “Why are you so scared of me?” The moment he asks the question, Des’s magic settles over my shoulders, and I don’t need to look down at my wrist to know that yet another bead is now missing from it.

I get up from the bed, dragging a bedsheet with me.

“It was just a dream,” I answer.

Not good enough. The magic is still there, still pressing down on me.

“And?” Des says, also aware I’m under the grip of his magic.

I clutch my throat. “And in it, you killed me.” The answer is good enough to release me from Des’s power.

He lounges back in our bed, his face brooding. My eyes drift to his sleep-tousled hair and his bare chest. It’s an odd sensation, to be both frightened by and drawn to someone at the same time, but I am.

“Callie,” he says, seeing me fighting my impulses, “come here.”

I hesitate, and I swear that momentary pause breaks something in my mate.

His voice drops lower. “It’s okay. I would never—” His voice cuts off. “I would never harm you,” he finishes.

And now I feel like a royal schmuck. I know he would never harm me. He’s that one part of my soul that lives outside my body.

I pad over to him. He gets up from the bed, all six plus feet of him staggering, intimidating.

He steps up to me, then folds me into a hug. The presence that, in my dream had felt so hateful now feels immensely loving. The muscles that were used to kill me are now here comforting me.

“Tell me everything about your dream,” he says.

And I do.

By the time I’m done, my unshakable mate looks … worried.

“What is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head, frowning. “Nothing good. Normal dreams I’d be able to wake you from. These ones … these ones don’t release you until they’re ready. I’d assumed I’d lost my touch for waking you up, but now I wonder …”

I search his face. “What?”

“Controlling dreams is a Night Kingdom trait. It’s possible that someone’s targeting you while you sleep, perhaps the same someone who’s taking soldiers.”

He’s coming for you.

“The Thief of Souls,” I whisper.