Chapter Four
When I become aware again, I’m still yelling my lungs out. It takes me a moment to realize I’ve returned to my honeymoon bedroom. Lincoln’s beside me. I’m lying on my back. While resting his weight on his left elbow, Lincoln gently shakes my shoulder with his right hand.
“Myla, wake up,” he says softly.
I pant in a few rough breaths, but I do stop screaming. “What happened?” I ask.
“You’re having another bad dream.”
I sit upright and check my clothes. Yup, I’m still in my robe from last night. I scan Lincoln carefully. All the bloody scratches are gone, and he’s wearing blue silk pajamas. I cup his face in my hands. “Are you all right?”
“Of course, I’m fine. The bigger question is…are you feeling okay? You’ve been nothing but trouble these past few weeks.” He winks. “Not that I’m complaining. You are carrying my kid and all.”
I freeze. This is so screwed up it isn’t even funny. Lincoln never acts like my pregnancy is a burden. And he certainly doesn’t ever refer to me as a Myla-shaped vessel that exists solely to carry his child. I drop my hands from Lincoln’s face. “What happened last night?”
“Don’t you remember?” He chuckles. “More pregnancy hormones.”
“Answer the question, please.”
“Your mom stopped by to help with your latest baby freak-out. I went to the study. When I came back, you were snoozing.” He eyes me hungrily. “Come here and give me a good morning kiss.”
That’s not happening. At least, not until I get some answers.
Instead of moving in closer, I scooch farther away. “Why are you wearing pajamas?” Lincoln’s mother Octavia constantly buys him nighttime wear, but that’s only for show. Lincoln always sleeps nude. Yet another reason why this is so screwy.
“This is what people wear when they sleep, Myla.”
“You don’t.”
Lincoln shakes his head. “What? You’re an expert on me after a three-week honeymoon?”
“You do realize that everything you’re saying is an insult, right?” I tick off the comments on my fingers. “I’m crazy with pregnancy. I’m nothing but a baby carrier for you. I’m overestimating how well I know you. This isn’t the normal Lincoln here.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry if I’m acting a little crazy, Myla. It’s just that hearing you scream threw me off this morning. Whatever I’m saying, it’s only because I’m worried about you and our child. I’m truly sorry if it came off as rude or whatever.”
“You’ve never acted this way before.”
“I’ve never almost been a father before.” He slides closer to me on the mattress. “Why, did something else happen last night? I mean, you’ve been having wild nightmares ever since you got knocked up. Did you see stuff in your dreams? Anything bad?”
Normally, I’d never lie to Lincoln. But this whole situation is beyond strange. My inner warrior sense says, Danger, and I always listen to that part of my soul. After all, it’s what’s kept me alive since I first stepped out onto the Arena floor at the tender age of twelve. I force my face into a carefully neutral look. “No, it’s just as you said. My mother stopped by and I went to sleep. I don’t remember anything specific that happened in my nightmares.”
“Good. If that changes, let me know.” He gives me a sweet smile. “You and the baby. That’s my world, Myla. You know that, don’t you?”
His mismatched eyes are so sincere. And that voice? It’s the deep tone I’ve come to love. “I do, Lincoln.”
“Why don’t you get cleaned up, and I’ll order us some food. Does that sound like a plan?”
“It does, thanks.” How very like Lincoln to know how much I value my meals. Maybe things will look different once I’ve showered and eaten. I slide out of bed. “I’ll start getting ready.”
“Awesome. I can’t wait to see my beautiful wife in her Scala robes.”
He seems so kind and honest that I can’t find the words to reply. Instead, I leave the room, pad down the outer hallway, and feel a heavy sense of guilt tumble in my stomach. What is happening to me? Did I really just lie to Lincoln? This supernatural pregnancy has me all kinds of whacked out. What if I’m remembering my made-up nightmares as real? What kind of person lies to her husband about something like that? I ponder that for all of twenty seconds before coming to a firm decision.
No way am I questioning myself on this one. I’ll stay true to my warrior instincts. Something is definitely wrong here. I just need to figure out what.
Fortunately, I do some of my best thinking in the shower, and this honeymoon palace has an amazing one. It’s all white tile, burnished steel fixtures, and—best of all—it holds an enchanted mini-waterfall. Most of the time when I wash up in Antrum, the servants fill a tub for me. But in this palace, the experience is just like back home in Purgatory, only better because a waterfall in a shower stall is just that cool. The moment I turn the handle, the perfect temperature of liquid cascades from the top of the stall.
Now, I like to putter around a little before getting into the water. So I check the drawers and pull out my toothpaste. Meanwhile, the bathroom quickly fills with heated vapor. Stepping over to the sink, I find the mirror covered in condensation. I wipe away the mist with my sleeve. My face looks as it always does: full lips, blue eyes, amber skin, and auburn hair.
All of a sudden, my reflection disappears. In its place, I see Lincoln. He’s bare-chested and pounding against the opposite side of the mirror with bloodied fists. Worst of all, he’s screaming with rage.
I slap my hands over my mouth. It takes all my strength not to scream as well.
The image is gone as quickly as it appeared. But the vision of Lincoln—my Lincoln—trapped and enraged still fills my mind.
For a long moment, I can only stare at my own reflection. The igni had warned me about the Mirror Man. That must have been their way of saying that this would happen to Lincoln. He somehow got trapped in another dimension or something. I shoot a wary look at the closed bathroom door.
I don’t know who’s out there, but one thing is for certain.
That’s not my husband.