Twenty-seven

Blood flowing from her nose, ears, and the dozen different cuts on her arms, legs, and torso, Quinn gazed up at the demon looming over her. Its death-black crown swallowed what was left of the stars, and its eyes gleamed with triumph. Her cross swung back and forth from its pale, skeletal fingers, a timeless clock marking an end.

“Hand over my cross.” She refused to break the demon’s mind-numbing stare and pushed down the terror until it was a buzz in her nerves, more unsettling than overpowering. “Let’s see how fast I can kill you from the ground.”

The demon made no response. None of them had, not unless their final shrieks counted. It lifted its sword high, a monstrous blade bigger than her, and smiled—with needle-sharp fangs, of course.

Quinn released a breath and dug her fingers into the cold sand, the only ammo available. Empty-handed, her tank on E, and she had no idea how many more demons she had to face. This dream wasn’t ordinary by any stretch. She couldn’t change her surroundings. She couldn’t summon another weapon. She couldn’t whip up a barrier for some much-needed rest. It was do or die. Adrenaline had burned out hours ago, and her entire body trembled with exhaustion. If a demon wasted her, if she collapsed beneath the fear and pain before claiming them all, she lost Zaire.

Surrender wasn’t an option.

The sword sliced down, and she rolled, the hiss of steel too close to her ear. Throwing her handful of sand at the demon’s face, she scrambled up, ready, but the demon whirled away from her.

To face Zaire.

Merde!

Zaire held his black sword in one hand, one of his many knives in the other, and the murderous expression on his face chilled her blood. How did he get here? Gwen hadn’t mentioned this possibility. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Her lungs seized. If he stole her kill, it would ruin everything.

“He’s mine, Z.” Quinn limped around the demon, willing it to focus on her instead of her V’alkara. “My kill. Mine. Either stand back and let me do my stuff or leave.”

“I don’t think so.” Zaire’s voice was as deadly as his expression. He plunged his blade toward the demon’s heart.

With a gleeful smile, the demon deflected the strike with his sword and lunged, a lethal slice at Zaire’s neck. So fast she had trouble tracking him, Zaire ducked, blades flashing in a counter. The echoing clang of weapons ricocheted up to the black sky as they circled one another, testing for weaknesses.

Quinn clenched her fists, waiting for an opening, her heart a battering ram in her ribs. Her cross still swung from the demon’s bony fingers, a memento it refused to surrender. She couldn’t die, and she couldn’t let Zaire take out his own demon. Her timing had to be perfect.

Even as she focused on the clash between man and beast, a quick study of their fighting styles, awe laced with the worry. Zaire’s every move was smooth and liquid, each thrust and parry a precise step of an intricate dance. He obviously knew what he was doing. Any other situation and she’d sit on the sand and watch him like a starry-eyed girl.

Zaire stumbled, and the demon swung its armored forearm at his ribs. Gleaming black, her cross sang through the air, its long chain still twined through the scourge’s fingers.

The opening she waited for.

Quinn lunged for the chain and jerked with all her might. A sharp crack rang out, and the chain was suddenly free, claiming several shards of white bone. She fell on her butt and bounced back up. Never taking her gaze from the demon, she wrapped the chain around her wrist where it belonged.

The demon screamed, not the death wail of an entity banished, but one of red-hot rage. Zaire’s sword protruded from its shoulder, lodged in bone. The demon spun and slashed its gigantic weapon at Zaire’s head.

He leaped aside. The demon’s blade exploded in the sand where he’d stood a heartbeat before.

Holding its injured hand to its chest, the demon fumbled with the sword, its black eyes fixed on her. A few fingers short probably made it tough to wield a weapon properly.

Quinn grinned and twirled her cross, the whirr a familiar, comforting battle chant. Time to end this.

Growling, Zaire sprang for his stuck sword, and as his hands closed around the hilt, the demon wrapped a bony arm around her V’alkara’s back. The sand beneath it exploded, roaring like a tornado as the ground opened in a black void.

Her stomach fell. The demon was fleeing and taking Zaire with it. It slid down the rabbit hole, quick as a snake.

Desperately, Quinn flung her cross at its eye, chain and all. “You’re mine!”

The sandstorm ended, taking the demon, her cross, and Zaire with it.

***

Quinn let the white sand slip through her fingers and fall noiselessly in the growing pile beside her feet. The night surrounded her with the silence of her failure. Hours had passed since Zaire disappeared with the demon. Lesser demons had come, and she’d destroyed them all, no cross required. Her fury had been more than enough.

But Zaire hadn’t returned.

She lifted her gaze from the bottom of the sand pit where she sat, her ineffective attempt to dig down to wherever the demon had taken Zaire. The sky was as black as the void Zaire had fallen into, every star gone. She blinked back the hot sting of tears. The years she’d spent without him, alone and apart and trying so hard to stay positive without any proof, weighed on her until her heart threatened to stop due to the pressure.

I’m a dreamcaster. I’m not afraid.

The affirmations faltered, powerless. Without Zaire, what was the point of being a dreamcaster? Of fighting her demons every night? The knot of despair in her throat strangled her. Without Zaire, the hope that had been her anchor would be gone. She’d survive, only to face an emptiness that could never be filled.

All her fighting and waiting and trusting had been for nothing.

An agonized cry tore from the deepest part of her soul, and she lurched to her feet. Her legs wobbled before standing firm, and she seared the black sky with a glare. “I’m not going anywhere!” she screamed into the empty night. “I might’ve stumbled, took a few cuts and bruises, lost my weapon, but I’m not giving up!” She clenched her fists, trembling so hard she toppled to her knees. “I won’t be moved, and I won’t let you go, Zaire!”

Her voice echoed, longer than it would have in the real world, taunting with her own fragile words. Eventually, it faded into the distance and silence returned.

The sudden burst of defiance drained away, leaving her hollow. Her usually wicked control had slipped beyond her grasp. She’d tried everything she could think of to escape this desert and go to wherever Zaire was. Visualizing the sand vanishing into a black hole had only shifted the top layer an inch. She couldn’t summon bombs or fireballs or a drill to take her to the bowels of the dream.

Quinn dropped her head into her hands and let the tears fall. Even waking up was out of her control. She doubted Gwen would do anything to disturb her, but she couldn’t stop nature. Eventually, she’d wake up. To a life without Zaire. Her ribs tightened around her heart, a cage closing in.

A few grains of sand slipped down the mini dune at her feet, and she wiped her wet eyes. A faint rumbling underscored the silence, growing so gradually she wouldn’t have noticed it without the sand movement.

Her stomach twisted. Despite the hours of rest, even standing was a struggle. Her tongue felt like the surrounding sand, dry and dusty. She’d trade an eyeball for a drink. Without true rest or water, whatever monstrosity came next would be tough to fight.

Still, better a slugfest than a snivel. Her butt was sore from sitting around, anyway. She wearily stood, straightened her aching shoulders and waited.

The world shook so suddenly, so forcefully, sheets of sand slid like white silk in the wind. Quinn’s feet slipped, and she toppled to her tush. A few yards ahead, the ground blasted up in a thundering roar.

The earthquake ended, and when the sand settled, a man stood there. His clothing was so dark it seemed to swallow the shadows even as it collected the sudden starlight glittering overhead. He pivoted and faced her, and all his predatory attention zeroed in on her.

Zaire. Her blood heated. Still planted on her butt, sand in her hair and corset and mouth, she couldn’t move as he stalked toward her, his mouth twisted in a cruel expression. Nothing there reflected humanity. Black storms brewed in his eyes, and it took all her willpower not to quake in terror. He held the demon prince’s dreadful sword in one hand.

Quinn pushed to her feet, holding his terrible gaze. If she were going to die, she’d do it standing up.