Twenty-five
After leaving a quick note for Isaac that Molly would undoubtedly use as later ammunition and then dropping Wolfgang off with Stephanie for safekeeping, Quinn drove with Gwen to the local private airport, commandeered Isaac’s plane, flew through several states, and landed in the middle of Hicksville, USA. From there, they took a cab to the edge of some national forest and hoofed it with backpacks for hours, long enough for Quinn to spill her entire history with Zaire and the details she knew about Braden and the Crows. Near sunset, Gwen called their journey to a halt in a cemetery that had seen better days.
Great.
Quinn dropped her backpack on the grass and slid down with her back against the nearest tree trunk, every muscle aching. A nippy breeze shuffled through the fir trees, and she hunched in her ski jacket, grateful for her scarf, long johns, and wool socks. Alone in the boonies accompanied by a demented fairy in league with the V’alkara, surrounded by crumbling gravestones and forgotten memories with winter night closing in. She was beginning to doubt her intuition.
Gwen tossed her neon green Ewok backpack aside and flopped on the grass beside Quinn. She crossed her ankles and slipped her hands behind her head, giving the impression that she planned to stay awhile. At least she’d exchanged her red thigh-high, spiked-heel boots for hiking shoes, and traded her clashing ensemble for stealthy, all-black, weather-resistant thermals. Not all hope was lost.
“Why are we stopping here?” Not that Quinn was complaining about the rest, but the need to get to Zaire burned like live coals in her gut. She stretched out her throbbing legs and swigged from her water bottle.
“Either you trust me, or you don’t, dreamcaster.” Gwen hummed a creepy, haunting tune, perfect for the setting.
“Like I have a choice,” Quinn muttered.
Gwen jerked to a seated position, her green eyes hard as gems in the failing light. “You always have a choice.” A hiss underscored each word, as though the freedom to make those choices was something she never took for granted. “But an educated choice is even better.” She bared her pointy teeth. “Here’s the thing with your exceptionally stubborn, living on a death-wish for years, legendary worst-of-the-worst V’alkara.” She leaned uncomfortably close to Quinn’s ear. “He’s broken, and I’m not even talking about the emotional factor from being raised on pain, violence, and terror. Instead of taking nightmares like any rational V’alkara knows he needs to survive at the lowest level, he absorbed the ones he stored. It worked for hiding out, but it messed him up. Big time. And I have a feeling he didn’t care how it affected him until he found you.”
Quinn clenched her jaw, refusing the tears. “He holds on for Braden, not me.” If Gwen knew that much about Zaire, she had to know more. “Once Braden is safe, he plans to disappear, and my opinion about that goes in one ear, rattles in his head awhile, then spits out the other side.”
“Typical V’alkara, doing his worst to protect a dreamcaster. You think he’s overprotective now? After the bonding, it’s despicable how much they fuss.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “Worse than any monster mother hen. Watching men who normally change into nightmares and terrorize others coddling a person instead of killing them is so confusing.”
Bonding. Quinn gripped her water bottle tightly. So simply being Zaire’s dreamcaster match wasn’t enough. “How does this match bonding work? Whatever I have to do to keep him, I’m all over it.”
“You can’t go all cavewoman on him, creampuff.” Gwen wriggled her pale eyebrows, but her grin was approving. “It’s his choice, too. You have to show him you need him and kick his ass at the same time, and that’s only the first part to getting him back.”
“Great.” Changing his mind would take a miracle.
“It gets better,” Gwen purred. She stroked the length of Quinn’s cross with one long fingernail. The faint scritch sounded like claws scrabbling feebly beneath a headstone. “You know how you’ve killed demons in your nightmares?”
Goosebumps prickled on her arms beneath her ski jacket. How could Gwen know what she did in her nightmares? She forced her voice to remain calm. “And?”
That Cheshire cat smile grew wider. “The only way to free Zaire is to claim the entities in his head for yourself, one by one. And you already have the toe tags for all those demons the Demon Master absorbed.”
The chill traveled up her arms and shuddered down her back, not because she was afraid of fighting for Zaire, but what if she was even more damaged than he was? Her delusions would eventually show up again. If a bond hurt him…
A sense of vertigo hit her, so strong she planted her hands on the ground to stay upright. She blinked to clear her head and found Gwen leaning in her face, her pupils in those strange, vertical lines.
“Two peas in a pod.” Gwen leaned back and snorted. “You have delusions, dreamcaster, because you’re supposed to cast your nightmares, not hold them in so your family and friends won’t be disturbed.”
“How did you—”
“And I’ve never heard of a dreamcaster finding someone they don’t know through the dream, let alone communicating with them. Work on that. And the dream-transporting thing, like you did with that V’alkara?” Gwen’s eyes sparkled like fireworks. “Start practicing. If you brought part of a V’alkara into the dream, you can bring a whole one.”
Quinn’s stomach twisted at the memory of the V’alkara’s missing face, and she jerked to her feet, needing to move, needing to breathe.
“Maybe you could bring humans into the dream, too,” Gwen continued, tapping her chin with a finger. “And out. Complete dream transportation could be extremely useful.” She shook her head, as if dislodging the idea. “None of that matters right now. We’ll snatch Zaire from the Crows after you deal with his demons.” She shrugged. “If you both survive.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Quinn shoved her shaking hands into her coat pockets.
“Just keeping it real, creampuff.”
Quinn leaned against an eight-foot stone angel overlooking a grave so old weather had erased any name or epitaph. She didn’t have the brainpower to process how Gwen had read her mind, wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Finding Zaire and Braden mattered more. “So, how do I take down his demons?”
“Let me guess…he stopped showing up in your dreams right after someone gave you that handy-dandy cross around your neck.” Gwen folded her arms and cocked her head.
Rewinding through her memories, Quinn’s mouth softened into a small smile. Aunt Rachael had given her the necklace the summer after her eighth birthday, along with a stuffed horse she’d dragged everywhere and tickets to see the Lion King on Broadway. It had been the perfect belated birthday…except the nightmares that night had been so horrible. She’d woken up screaming and refused to go back to sleep.
And the boy from the shadows had never come back.
Gwen’s eyes glowed like a cat’s at night. “Adder stones are a natural barrier to the V’alkara. From what I’ve heard, Zaire now can enter whatever dreams he wants, adder stone or not, a skill he unearthed during the joys of his V’alkara training.”
Quinn frowned. He’d left that tidbit out during their talks, and with everything else she’d learned, she hadn’t thought to ask him about it. She hadn’t removed her cross since his warning, yet he’d had no trouble showing up in her dreams the last few days. What Gwen said had to be true.
“But when you were both children, he couldn’t possibly have had the strength or focus to find you while enduring White’s torment.” Gwen watched her with ancient, too-knowing eyes. “Which means every time you dreamed him, darling dreamcaster, you were the one drawing him to you. The adder stone probably interfered enough to throw you both off, and you lost your connection with him.”
Shock froze the response on her tongue. All those times she’d thought Zaire had abandoned her…she’d been the one responsible for his nonappearance. While he’d waited for her to rescue him from the dark, she’d been in her room, feeling deserted and alone.
And he’d surrendered hope.
She gripped the stone hard. Not this time. “Here’s the plan. I’ll find Zaire in the dream and take his demons.” Adding a thread of her special voice, she met Gwen’s eerie stare and held it. “If I don’t make it out, promise me you’ll rescue Braden and keep him safe.”
Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Kids aren’t really my thing.” She pursed her lips and broke eye contact, turning her gaze to the darkening sky. “But playing heroine suits me, and if I get to kill some Crows, too?” She snapped her fingers. “Deal. I’ll leave the guardian part to Black.” She smirked. “He owes me.”
“That’s worst-case scenario. I plan to make it back to save Braden with you.” Quinn couldn’t bring herself to think about Braden being raised by the icy-eyed Lydon. Would that be safe for a boy? She shuddered. “Once Braden is free and clear, we’ll spring Zaire.”
Those razor-sharp teeth showed up once again. “This is going to be so much fun.”
***
Curling up beside a headstone and falling asleep in the February chill was easier than Quinn expected—physical exhaustion combined with zero sleep in almost two days was more effective than any chemical. Gwen stood guard while she snoozed, so her only worry on that end was not being eaten by the pointy-toothed fairy. Or whatever creature Gwen happened to be.
And surviving Zaire’s demons would be super.
A deep breath brought a blast of hot, sulfur-infused air into her lungs, and she coughed. She gazed up at the cavern ceiling, pools of bubbling lava forming a loose circle around her. The heat wasn’t as intense as it was when Zaire had brought her here before, to break her.
The glowing eyes watching from every shadow were the same, though, malignant and avaricious. They inched closer, braver with Zaire gone. But this wasn’t her battlefield today. She had to find Zaire.
Zaire.
Shutting out the danger around her, Quinn closed her eyes and imagined him. His ebony eyes glittering with stars, the harsh lines of his beautiful face, the end of a silver scar slipping above the collar of his dragon-scale shirt. Raven hair, buzzed short. Dark weapons strapped all over his long, lean body.
She stepped carefully forward, and the grit of dust beneath her boots changed to a sure and solid surface. The air dropped double digits, not an outdoor cold, but enough to send a razor-bite chill over her exposed face and hands.
The sulfur stench vanished. She opened her eyes. Complete black replaced the cave, leaving her blind. Quinn crouched and dragged her fingers along the floor’s smooth surface. Tile.
Something scraped in the darkness.
All the hair on her neck stiffened. She wasn’t alone. Her cross ready, Quinn straightened as silently as she could.
“I know you’re there, little mouse.” The soft, velvet voice sent goosebumps surging down her arms. Male. Otherworldly. Maybe Zaire, maybe not. “Turn on the light so I can see you.”
It could be a trick. Nightmares were like that, stir her hope and then make her stumble at the truth. Then again, she didn’t have time to mess around with random demons. If it wasn’t Zaire, she’d strike and move on.
With only a focused thought, the entire ceiling rippled with white-bright fire, illuminating the entire room and the creature chained in the corner.
Prickles scampered in random directions, through and over her, and it took every ounce of the Carmichael courage she’d earned over years of fighting nightmares alone not to slowly back away and run like hell. Some deep part of her recognized it was Zaire…or what used to be him. He was chillingly magnificent. Wings of ebony feathers were tucked against his back, and even folded they gave off a sense of slumbering might. His pants and shirt were covered in the same iridescent, blue-black scales as he’d worn in her other nightmares, yet the way they molded to his body made them appear more like a second skin than clothing. Shadows coiled around his ankles, so thick and dark and crawling they hid his feet. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they were hooves.
But it was his face that made her battle not to scream. Moon pale, covered in those tiny, silver demon-bites, his skin reflected the white fire above him. His smirk was as beautiful as it was mad. Only eye sockets stared back at her, but they were far from empty. Darkness boiled there, direct windows to Hades. His smile stretched, too wide, nightmarish, but he didn’t reveal his teeth. A small favor.
Quinn palmed her cross, her fingers slick despite the cold. “Squeak.”
He cocked his head completely to the side, the move so alien, so unnatural, it sent a new shudder through her. “When I requested a snack, I expected stale bread, not…” He licked his lips with a black, forked tongue. “Dessert.”
She ignored the ice creeping into her bones, the erratic sense of preservation hammering at her rational being, and forced herself to relax against the pristine wall. Chains as thick as her wrist secured his neck, waist, and each leg, so tangible they had to be bleeding into her dream from reality. Whatever the Crows used to contain him, they knew what they were doing, and at this particular moment, she had to appreciate it.
“Ready to apologize for being mean and stubbornly reliant on whatever man-V’alkara code that drove you to jump into this mess alone and get yourself captured?” She arched an eyebrow at the Zaire-demon.
“Whatever I did, I do not regret.” If any remnant of Zaire remained, it didn’t show. His black pit eyes deepened, and the slithering shadows rose to his knees. He leaned forward, pulling the chains taut. “It lured you here, and I’ve been so lonely.” The words might have made Quinn feel better without the leer.
“Zaire, Zaire, Zaire,” she said, somehow keeping her voice light. “All you had to do was ask. Days ago, I wouldn’t have had to go to all this trouble.”
“Days ago, the one you call Zaire existed. Now, there’s only me.” His voice was gleeful. “Would you like to know my name?”
The horror in Quinn increased to a blood-numbing freeze. Zaire couldn’t be gone. This demon before her couldn’t be all that was left of him. She refused to believe she was too late. “I know your name.” She flicked her fingers in a dismissive gesture that belied her growing dread. “Zaire.”
“Come closer, little mouse, and I’ll whisper my name in your ear.” His nightmare smile grew wider. He relaxed as if confident she’d approach him of her own volition. He was, unfortunately, right. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Nah, I’m good right here for now.” She met his gaze head-on. “Zaire.”
“Such a tenacious little thing, my mouse,” he purred. “No wonder he fought me so hard.”
“I’m not yours.” She made her voice strong as stone and straightened from the wall. “Not unless you’re part of Zaire.” She tilted her chin at a jaunty angle, refusing to tremble. “Are you? Part of Zaire?”
The flames dancing on the ceiling flickered over his scarred face. “He,” the demon said in an echoing hiss, “was once a part of me. I have always been here, awaiting the moment he was too weak to return. I am timeless, patient, and have remained silent and hidden long enough.” His mighty wings flared, too large and wide to stretch out completely in the small room. An ebony feather drifted to the floor, a stain against the white. That mad, wicked smile returned. “It seems to me that you, my little mouse, were the key to my escape.”
The way to Zaire was through this demon, she sensed it to her very bones. She simply had to figure out how to reach him. “So, let me get this straight. You were trapped inside Zaire like the other demons and nightmare creatures he took from dreams. That doesn’t seem particularly special to me. In fact, you’re even more parasitical than the others.” She sniffed. “You probably didn’t want to disappear, to go back to nothing more than a twisted thought after Zaire used your form.”
The smile turned fierce. “Or maybe I simply allowed him to believe what I wished him to believe. Maybe it is he who is nothing more than a dark, meaningless dream.”
Quinn allowed the words to chill her, but there was a hint of something else in his voice that hadn’t been there a second ago. Something a hair too confident, too firm. She took a half step forward. Several more feet separated them, yet a few inches closer made her tremble.
“What about his vow to Braden?” She held his blackhole gaze. “An innocent child, Zaire’s only living blood relative, the one person who made him fight to live?”
That black, forked tongue flickered between his lips. “Who?”
She forced another step. “You know who. Say his name.”
The Zaire-demon dipped his chin in a seductive, come hither look, and an unexpected heat flared through her, lingering in all the right spots. Of their own accord, her feet inched forward.
“I’d rather utter my name,” he said in a velvety croon. “So you’ll know who owns you.”
She stepped closer, unable to stop herself.
“So you’ll know what to call me when I’m making you moan, my little mouse.” He held her gaze as captive as the steel held him. His body heat filtered through her clothes, sinking into her skin, and everything that was once winter cold flushed with flames, tingling, throbbing. “When I’m rooted deep and unmovable inside you.”
Only a few inches separated them, and Quinn had to crane her neck to hold his graveyard gaze. He lowered his head, and his scalding breath caressed her cheek. His tongue snaked out, searching, mere centimeters away. In a lover’s whisper, he uttered his name.
She closed her eyes at the bone-rattling otherness of a name no human tongue could hope to repeat. He used the same, alien language Zaire had used to exorcise the V’alkara in the cabin. Worse, lust exploded like a sunburst inside her.
“You see?” His bedroom voice curled through her, tempting and undeniable. “I own you, as I own him.”
Wobbling, she erased the last distance between them and pressed herself into his hot, hard, obviously male form. His huge hands slid around her waist, large enough to encircle her, and sharp pinpricks pierced her skin on each side of her spine. Claws. He rubbed his cheek against hers, each silver scar branding her.
“You’re wrong.” She could hardly speak. Even though inevitable pain awaited, the urge to peel away all her clothes simply to be closer to him was a living, burning need.
He licked her jawline in one long sweep of his black tongue, leaving a fiery, stinging trail. “I’m never wrong, little mouse.”
“Never,” she panted, “is a very long time.” She tilted her head back, offering her throat.
His lips curled in an ancient, open smile, and fangs Gwen would envy glinted in the light. “Eternity might not be as dull with you to entertain me.” He nuzzled her neck, his teeth scraping with sparks of agony. “Did you never question why you always yearned for the darkness?”
“No.” Her voice was hardly more than a groan. “I always knew why I loved it.”
His lips curved against her skin. “Because I was there.”
“Yes. You.” She grabbed his face between her hands, ignoring the icy burns of his scars on her skin, and met his endless void eyes. “You. Zaire. And you’re mine.”
Without giving him time to answer, she smashed her lips to his in an inescapable, claiming kiss. His claws at her spine punctured muscle, and the burning contact of their mouths incinerated skin. She was smoldering, disintegrating to chaff, and the pain drowned every thought except for one.
Zaire was hers, and if he went to Hell, she’d chase him there to get him back.