Seventeen

In the space of one heartbeat, while Quinn was transfixed by Zaire’s mouth so close to hers, the landscape changed. Dust replaced the sand, and ebony rock hid the sky and stars. A hostile heat stifled, and sulfur infused the dry air. Scattered pools of white-hot lava bubbled like cauldrons. In the cavernous darkness, in corners too deep for any light to reach, eyes watched her—some red, some yellow, all glowing with hatred and hunger.

A sleeveless sheath of purplish-blue so dark it nudged the edge of black replaced her usual uniform of leather pants, corset, and boots. It did nothing to protect her from the blistering heat.

Zaire strolled from a pocket of gloom between two sizzling pools, and her breath caught. Magnificent wings flared wide for a moment in a rustle of raven feathers, before they fluttered and folded neatly at his back. His face, always fierce, held a sharp, inhuman perfection to it now, as if all the harshest qualities had risen to the surface and drowned any hint of emotion. Every inch of his black clothing shimmered, blending with the shadows behind him.

Prince of Purgatory. No wonder the other V’alkara had called him that.

A crushing sense of dread and hopelessness crawled over her skin, searching for a way in, and Quinn trembled. The creatures watching in the void drew closer, wary but curious.

“Dreamcaster.” Zaire’s musical voice held a dissonance that made her stomach boil, so wrong she fought not to retch. His nightmare eyes rolled with unending, devouring darkness. “Kneel.”

Her knees folded, and she dropped to the ground in a stirring of dust as his will overpowered her, an invisible skin snapping around hers, bending her to his whim. She gazed up at him, unable to look away as he prowled closer. Shrieks rang in the distance, the screams of nightmares past, when she’d fallen beneath their claws nightly, before she was strong enough to defeat them. With growing strength, they crept from her memories and called her back to their embrace.

“You’re mine now.” Undisputed authority thundered in Zaire’s soft voice, the rippling command tightening like a collar around her throat.

Those words, a promise she would’ve paid to hear him say only a minute ago, sent a rattling chill through her. His lips curved into a small, cruel smile, reflecting only enslavement and possession. He brushed her jaw with his knuckles, so gentle, but his heat scorched her skin.

“Your fear tastes sweet as honey, little mouse,” he murmured, those black hole eyes digging deeply into her core. She drowned there, paralyzed, and even as he unraveled her soul thread by thread, a secret part of her longed to lose herself in him. It was what she’d dreamed of, all those long years apart.

To be possessed by him.

Her heart pounded, pounded, pounded in her head, demanding that she fight back. And she knew she should. Surrendering would erase everything she was. She existed for a reason, even if she hadn’t discovered it yet. But the endless darkness in his eyes coaxed her to submit and sink into silent dreamlessness, to forget her troubles and her wandering, drifting, meaningless life. Forget Zaire—

Quinn gulped in a breath of parched air and ripped her gaze from his. She might yield almost everything else in her life without much regret, but not Zaire. Never him.

An unseen hand shoved her shoulders, forcing her face down to worship at his feet. The nightmare screams drew nearer, increasing in volume.

“No.” She bit out the word. Sweat slid down her temples, rolling along her spine. Never would she worship another person, and no one could force her to. “No,” she repeated, her voice more of a gasp as the weight on her back intensified, demanding compliance. She clenched her jaw, slowly losing. Planting her hands on the dry, dusty ground for leverage, she pulled his will tighter, nearer until it pinched her skin and fisted her chest. Closer. Tighter. She couldn’t breathe.

Her arms trembled, and her elbows bent as she snarled between gritted teeth. The unseen hand pushed her face down, inching toward the dust. Once her forehead hit the ground, the battle was over. There’d be no waking up, not from this.

Quinn squeezed her eyes shut. Stronger than the screams of nightmares unearthed, voices gathered, murmuring in that beautiful, bone-rattling, alien tongue. She didn’t need to see to know that those voices belonged to the eyes watching with such avarice. Every muscle strained against the force pushing her closer to the ground. Her head thundered in time with the voices as she wrenched on the invisible husk strangling her, pulling tighter. Tighter. The tendons in her neck strained. The pressure in her skull threatened to collapse bone. Tighter.

With an inaudible click that vibrated sickeningly inside her, she snapped the bands directing her. She forced her gaze to his. “No,” she repeated, her voice sharp and clear as glass. “Kneel yourself, Prince.”

Zaire landed on his knees so hard the ground shook.

The hand on her back vanished, and she was suddenly free.

Panting, Quinn pushed herself upright. Still kneeling, she glared into his black void gaze only inches away. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“It’s what I do, who I am.” He didn’t blink once as he wrenched his will from her control and cinched it around her like a cage, twice as strong. He cocked his head in an animal way, giving the impression that he was an alien wearing human skin. “Do you regret requesting to know me yet, Quinn?”

The way he purred her name, despite his will battling hers for dominance, sent sparks colliding through her. Speaking was an act of sheer, stubborn Carmichael willpower. “I’ll never…regret…knowing you.”

A single black flame billowed across his eyes and disappeared. His ancient smile spoke of torture and endless despair. “You will.”

Before he could act on that promise, she cracked his shield into a thousand pieces. His power might be reinforced, but she’d played this game before. Demons never changed their tricks, and while Zaire might adapt, she knew how to deal. He was here only because she allowed it.

One by one, the glowing eyes in the darkness blinked out.

And since this was her dream…Quinn dropped her gaze to his lips. “Kiss me, Prince.”

His breath came faster, another tell that he lost ground to her, but he didn’t obey, stubbornly resisting. This showdown was starting to be fun.

“What are you waiting for?” She grinned as the cave overhead melted inch by inch into an open sky and a billion stars. Her dress morphed into her preferred corset, pants, and boots. “I thought you were going to teach me stuff.”

“Kissing you won’t aid in that regard.” Tension slivered his voice, and the black in his eyes shimmered.

She trailed her fingers over the stubble on his jaw, the scratch thrilling. The muscles there jumped at her touch. “So you’re telling me you’ve kissed other dreamcasters and it didn’t help them at all? And you won’t kiss me to see what effect it might have?”

He stiffened, and his chin lifted, haughty. The prodding of his will lessened another degree. “I’ve never kissed another.”

“It’s good that you don’t go around kissing strange dreamcasters.” Very good. She wasn’t sure what she would’ve done if he’d confessed to her teasing accusation.

“No.” His voice caught, took on a husky edge as the dust beneath their knees softened into white sand and a cool breeze erased the stifling heat. His throat worked. “I’ve never kissed anyone else.”

She studied his face, searching for any hint of lies, any sign he might be trying to trick her into losing control of the dream again. There was only truth and longing as his focus wandered to her mouth. “Why not?”

His gaze drifted back up to hers. “I refuse to kiss someone I don’t want.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t kissed anyone else, but the two times they’d kissed, she’d instigated it. Maybe he’d rather not kiss her either. She sat on her heels, emotions tangled in her throat, making her words croak. “You don’t have to kiss me. I’d never force that on you.”

His hand shaking, he brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb. “I’ve never wanted anyone.” Zaire’s whisper cracked. “But you.”

She went still beneath his light touch, the slow warmth branding her. This could be the ultimate nightmare. The boy she’d loved since she was a girl finally here, in the flesh, telling her that he wanted her, too. This could be his final V’alkara test, letting her believe the dream, only to shatter it. But when his head dropped and his lips brushed hers, she didn’t care. If she fell under his thrall, a means for escape could be figured out later.

Zaire eased back, and his eyes reflected the sky above, black alight with silver. Leisurely, he leaned in and kissed her again, gently, as if she might break.

Gentle was great. Sweet had its place. But after their battle of wills, she didn’t want that. Quinn flicked out her tongue, tasting his lips.

All tenderness in his face burned away beneath a predator’s hunger. In the span of one heartbeat, his arm lassoed her waist and locked her tightly against his strength. His free hand delved into her hair and curled around her head, holding her still, and he kissed her like he might consume her.

She melted into him and slid a hand over his pectoral, right above his heart, marveling at the leashed power of his body. Her eyelids fluttered closed. She ached with her need for him, filling all the empty places in both her body and the space inside her heart reserved for only him. He invaded her senses, his midnight winter scent, his silken tongue, the low hum of desire rising from deep in his chest. She fell into his depths, and pulling herself back out would be impossible.

Wanting more, she looped her arms around his neck and wriggled closer to his hardness and heat. He snarled, savage, and nudged his knee between hers. The friction made her gasp, and he broke away from her mouth, skimming hot kisses across her cheek to the sensitive spot right beneath her ear.

“Quinn,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Quinn—” He released her so fast, she lost her balance and landed on her elbows in the sand.

She lifted her head, every part of her throbbing in time with her pounding heart. Zaire stood several yards away, his back to her, his shoulders heaving, hands clenched at his sides. While romance might not be her expertise, she had a good idea what he was thinking: he was destructive to her well-being. He was dying. His focus had to be on Braden, not a relationship doomed.

Quinn blew out a long breath and stood, her legs trembling with the fire still rushing through her blood. The only way she could have Zaire was if he were free. Braden’s rescue came first, dealing with Zaire’s nightmare dilemma was next. Once they figured out those two puzzles—and they would, no matter the odds—they could face whatever obstacles came their way.

Together.

Taking it slowly, giving them both time to cool off, she crossed the sand between them. He didn’t turn as she stopped behind him and leaned her forehead against his strong back. A fine tremor rolled through him.

“How can you touch me after what I just showed you?” His voice was hoarse, strained. “What I tried to do to you? After witnessing what I truly am?”

“I saw a man who learned and practiced what he must to survive in a den of monsters.” She slipped her fingers beneath the hem of his strangely heavy shirt and scraped her fingernails down his spine. His skin heated beneath her touch, temptingly smooth. “I saw a man who’d risk playing his dirtiest trick and enduring the backlash if it convinced someone he cares about to turn away from the abyss.” Quinn lifted his shirt and pressed a kiss to the mark she’d just made on his back.

Zaire groaned, and the yearning rumble made her toes curl, but he held his ground, and so did she.

“I know you’re dark and dangerous,” she whispered against his skin. “I know you’ve seen and done things I can’t fathom. I know you struggle with your demons. But beneath that, I see the boy I met years ago, the one who gave me hope. You’re strong. You protect the people who matter to you, even if that means sacrificing yourself. You saved me from the nightmares. You showed me that I’m not alone.” Her breath shuddered, skating over his back. “Zaire, I see you, and I’m not afraid.”

He shivered as she slipped her arms around his waist, a silent declaration that she wasn’t going anywhere. After a moment, his callused thumb caressed her knuckles.

She smiled against his odd metallic shirt. Progress. But as much as she wanted to explore their fragile connection further, she didn’t want to do anything to wreck the peaceful moment. Content to simply lean against him and bask in the minimal stroke of his thumb, his solid realness, her gaze drifted to the white sand. A few inches from her foot, where once there was only sand, a coffee mug had appeared, tilted at enough of an angle to show a picture of Jenny and Braden on its white surface. The cup she’d taken from their house.

Tingles whispered down her arms and back. She could take a hint.

“You said you know who has Braden,” she murmured. His thumb stopped, a sign he’d heard. “What now?”

He lifted his face toward the stars and sighed. “I leave.”