Deadly Dreams (Fortuna Sworn Book 3)

by K. J. Sutton

  I hovered there, feeling like an intruder. But I hadn’t come all this way only to leave now. I walked to the couch and sank down onto its stiff cushions. Like anyone in for a wait, I took my phone out. I didn’t unlock the screen, though—the answer to my earlier question had come while I was sitting there.

  I’d worn a sweater because I was a Nightmare, and I shouldn’t need more than that.

  Feeling so unbearably cold was all in my head.

  The reason wasn’t a great mystery—making this appointment had affected me more than I wanted to admit. I folded my arms, trying not to huddle, and raised the phone again. A warning appeared about the low battery. Sighing, I looked around the waiting room for a distraction. The walls were bland as butter. There was a clock on the wall, and I marked each second with a tap of my foot. Tap. Tick. Tap. Tick.

  In the stillness, my mind inexplicably shifted to Collith. There was so much I could’ve agonized over or wondered about, but instead I just thought about our recent kiss.

  Before I could inevitably remember how that particular experience had ended, the office door opened. Two people came through, a man and a woman. The man gave me a polite smile and went to the outer door. A wisp of cold air slipped inside as he opened it.

  I refocused on the woman, and she turned to me, still standing in the doorway. Consuelo Thompson was petite. Her dark hair was secured in a knot at the back of her head, and her cheeks and eyelashes were free of makeup. She wore a white blouse, a pencil skirt, and heels.

  When she saw me, I watched her experience the same reaction most people did. But my new therapist had a strong mind—within moments, her eyes cleared and her breathing returned to normal.

  “Fortuna?” she said with a subtle, lilting accent. I stood up, and she took a few steps to hold out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Consuelo.”

  I did not want to know the most intimate details of my therapist’s life. “I have a thing about germs,” I mumbled, reverting back to the excuse I used in high school.

  Consuelo was unfazed. She led me into her office and shut the door, gesturing to the elegant furniture set on one side of the room. “Please, sit anywhere you’d like.”

  There were two plush chairs facing an elegant sofa. After a moment, I perched on the latter. Consuelo went to a chair, sat down, and picked up a notebook from a side table.

  “Why are you here, Fortuna?”

  Because of someone with good intentions and no boundaries, I thought about saying. But my usual sarcasm felt out of place in this room. My hands splayed out before me. I stared down at them, and suddenly they were blurring. I blinked and willed the tears to go away. “I’m here because something happened recently. Something with a… man. I’m not handling it very well.”

  The woman looked at me intently. “What happened?”

  I didn’t answer. Consuelo Thompson was human—if I told her the truth, a story that involved a demon and someone coming back from the dead, she’d probably have me committed. How was I supposed to explain that night and omit every important detail?

  Or maybe, that cruel voice whispered, you just don’t want to talk about it. Because you’re afraid.

  Once again, Consuelo didn’t seem fazed by my silence, and she waited longer than most people would. A full minute went by before she asked about my family instead. This was an easier topic, and I felt some tension leave me when I told her about the patchwork group of people I shared a home with. Telling her about them led to questions about my parents. Time had made it possible to talk about their deaths, and as I gave Consuelo a halting account of how I’d found them, I stopped watching the clock.

  Then she shattered my false sense of security with a single question. “Have you told anyone else about the rape?” Consuelo asked gently.

  It was the first time I’d heard that word used to describe it. Unable to meet her eyes anymore, I transferred my gaze to her slicked hair. It was so perfect, as if not one of the strands dared to misbehave. “I told you. It wasn’t rape,” I said, staring at it.

  Her voice could still reach me. “Let me ask you this, then. Did you want to have sex with that man?”

  My jaw worked. “No.”

  “Did you want him to stop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he know you wanted him to stop?”

  “Yes.”

  The human paused, looking at me with obvious compassion. “If you heard these answers from another woman’s mouth, what would you tell her?”

  I turned my face toward the window. There was just enough light to make out the view—snow-covered hills, and a field beyond that. I could also see the steeple of a church in the far-off distance. I wondered what kind of church it was, and what kind of people went to it.

  “I’d tell her that she was raped,” I said softly.

  Consuelo was silent. I waited a few seconds, hoping she’d be the one to venture into the stillness between us, but she didn’t. When it became uncomfortable, I turned and looked at her. The moment I made eye contact she asked, “Do you journal, Fortuna?”

  Something in my chest loosened. I shook my head. “No.”

  “That will be your task until our next meeting. Buy a notebook and treat it like a release. Don’t worry about good writing or tying anything together. No one is going to see it except you.” She stood up and smiled at me, a clear indication that our time was up. “It’s just a stream of consciousness meant to let you process your trauma.”

  Trauma. The word made me frown. But I said something polite back and picked up my purse. Consuelo walked with me to the door, then into the waiting room. I gave her an awkward wave and stepped back into the night, feeling as though I was waking from a dream, somehow. I bent my head and hurried back to the van.

  During the drive home, I considered calling Cora or Maureen. But I didn’t reach for my phone. Music played from the speakers and I looked out the windshield, acknowledging the ache inside me. Even now, though, I couldn’t cry.

  My face was still dry when the van bumped and slid down Cyrus’s driveway. At the same time I turned off the engine, a cracking sound vibrated through the air. I got out of the van and looked around. Crack. Was it coming from the barn? Closing the door gently, I shoved the keys in my coat pocket and started toward those tall doors. I was about to grasp the handle when the sound came again. From the way it echoed, it had to be outside. Frowning, I walked along the side of the barn. I rounded the corner and jerked to a halt, my eyes widening.

  Collith was chopping firewood.

  Despite everything that his body had gone through, it didn’t bear the marks of his pain. Every edge was defined, every plane of skin smooth. His abdominal muscles gleamed with perspiration as he swung the axe. That stubborn lock of hair dangled in his eyes. Collith raked it back in an automatic, absent gesture, and as soon as it was gone he spotted me.

  When I saw his expression, the subtle heat in my lower stomach faded and guilt took its place. Collith wasn’t out here chopping wood because we needed it; he was doing it because he did. Breathing hard, Collith tossed the axe onto the ground and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Fortuna? Is everything all right?”

  “No,” I said without thinking.

  He appraised me as he took off his gloves. They landed on the ground, one after the other. After that, Collith reached for his shirt, which was resting on a pile of freshly-cut wood. “Would you like to talk about it?” he asked.

  An automatic response rose to my lips. No, I’m fine, it’s okay. Good night, Collith. I didn’t say any of that, though. Maybe opening up to a complete stranger had opened a door inside me, because something was different about tonight. I wanted to be the people we’d been before everything fell apart. I walked over to one of the other wood piles and sat down, then tipped my head back to look at Collith. “Do you want to talk about it? About… where you were?”

  His eyes were dark as he picked up his coat. He shrugged it on over his sweat-dampened shirt and sat on a wood pile
next to me. “You can say it. Avoiding the name only gives it more power. Hell. I was in Hell, Fortuna.”

  And I’d been the one to send him there.

  I folded my arms across my stomach and huddled, trying to hoard warmth. I couldn’t look at Collith anymore, so I fixed my gaze on the ground at his feet. The snow was flecked with wood chips. “I know there’s nothing I can say to undo it. But I am sorry, Collith. So incredibly sorry.”

  I could feel him staring at me. I clenched my jaw to stop myself from blurting out another apology. When the seconds stretched into a minute, it confirmed what I’d already known—we would never be those other people again. Collith still hadn’t responded.

  “Okay. Well… good night.” I stood up and started walking back toward the house.

  “Darkness.”

  I paused. “What?”

  “That was Hell,” Collith said. I turned around and looked at him. He was still sitting on the wood pile, his foot propped on a log. He didn’t lift his gaze. “An eternity in cold darkness. I couldn’t see anything, but there were sounds. Those never ended, either. People screaming, the kind of screaming that makes you want to vomit. Like you’re listening to them being torn apart. Then I’d hear one of the demons walking past my cell, dragging a body along behind them. Or what was left of it. Time moves differently in their dimension. It’s difficult to explain… it moves slower there, but faster than ours. Once, while a demon was torturing me, he mentioned that I’d been with them for ninety-four years. Ninety-four years of being fucked, skinned, and eaten alive.”

  Our breath drifted through the air. I could feel a spot of ice on my cheek—no, a teardrop. I couldn’t speak past the pain and guilt.

  Then, startling me, Collith met my gaze and added, “It also gave me ninety-four years to think about my life. The choices I’d made. I don’t blame you for how it ended, Fortuna—I knew the risks when I stepped in front of that witch. But if it helps to hear, I forgive you.”

  I could tell from his voice that he meant it. Forgiveness didn’t remove the pain from his eyes, though. There was still an ache inside me, too. I retraced my steps and, with only a moment’s pause, knelt down to put my arms around him. Collith was still for a beat, as if I’d shocked him, and then he tried to pull away. I didn’t let him.

  Until now, we’d both endured our pain quietly. We’d only taken it out when it wasn’t an inconvenience to anyone else. But tonight, I didn’t go back to my room or retreat into a chair. I pressed my temple against Collith’s, inhaling the annoyingly intoxicating scent of his sweat.

  “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” I whispered, holding him tight.

  There was another beat of stillness, and I waited for Collith to detangle himself from me. Instead, his arms slowly encircled my waist. When I didn’t move, Collith buried his face in the curve between my neck and shoulder. Neither of us spoke—there were some kinds of grief that no word or sound could express.

  But at least we were no longer alone in it.

  The pattern my life had become continued.

  Another early training session with Adam, during which Dracula never made an appearance. Another shift at Bea’s. Another meeting at the Unseelie Court to discuss a faerie that had been caught on video, drunkenly displaying his ability to affect the weather.

  I wore a black pantsuit, but there was nothing modest about it—I hadn’t worn a shirt underneath, so a generous portion of skin was exposed down to my sternum. As always, I wore Collith’s sapphire around my neck and the crown he’d given me on my head. I’d topped the look off with a deadly pair of heels.

  Laurie had taught me well.

  Tonight we were in chambers that belonged to the Tralee line. The location was different every time, for the protection of everyone at the table. Unlike most of the other rooms I had seen, the floors and walls weren’t dirt, but smooth stone. The furnishings were unapologetically extravagant. Persian rugs, gold-framed paintings, and tables made of solid wood filled the space. There must’ve been a candle or an air freshener somewhere, because a woodsy scent kept slipping past me in pleasant bursts.

  There were eight faeries sitting in the other chairs. By now, I knew all of them. There was representation for every bloodline, and luckily for me, neither Arcaena or Sorcha had been chosen for theirs. Chandrelle was here, of course.

  Finn sat somewhere behind me, and though he was neither Guardian or a speaker for one of the bloodlines, no one dared question his presence. The Tongue was an exception to this rule, as well. While he wasn’t actually sitting with us—I couldn’t decide if this fact bothered me or not—he stood in the corner closest to my chair. Lyari and Nuvian guarded the doorway, both staring straight ahead, and I almost bought that they weren’t following the conversation.

  It would be impossible not to, though. There were differing opinions on what to do with the faerie who’d almost exposed our kind, and some of the council members weren’t quiet about voicing theirs. Eamon, a gray-eyed male with more doctorate degrees to his name than the number of weapons hidden in my room, which was considerable, wanted to make an example of him in the throne room. A heavyset female named Yarrow argued the faerie’s fate should be the same as any other lawbreaker, and he was to be placed in the dungeons for a century or so. I listened to every suggestion without showing my distaste—despite my questionable history with the Sarwraeks, Cralynns, and Tralees, the faeries speaking for them had been civil. And if they could be civil, so could I.

  “And what of King Collith? Does he have an opinion?” someone asked in a crisp, familiar British accent. Recognizing it instantly, I turned toward the speaker and hoped he hadn’t seen my grimace. Micah of the bloodline Shadi. He’d been a pain in my ass from the very first meeting. I much preferred Shadi himself, a watery-eyed faerie who hadn’t said a word during his time at the table. But apparently he’d been convinced to relinquish his seat to this sharp-tongued descendent.

  Like all of his kind, Micah was easy on the eyes. Six feet of black curls, olive skin, and five o’clock shadow along a defined jawline. Doubtless his beauty had aided in his quest for power. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t swayed by it—more often than not, the beautiful ones were also the most dangerous.

  “The king trusts me to handle all matters until his return,” I said evenly. It had become my go-to answer every time Collith came up during these meetings.

  The faerie’s nostrils flared, and when I saw that I knew he wasn’t going to let it go this time. “You are not above our laws, Nightmare,” he said through his perfect teeth. “One month ago, we all felt something within the bond between king and Court. I would bet my bloodline’s entire fortune that it was his death. You killed him and you’re lying about it. There are many sins the Unseelie Queen can commit without repercussion, but murdering our king isn’t one of them.”

  Finn growled, and the Guardians shifted. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lyari’s hand rest on the hilt of her sword. Keeping my focus on Micah, I put my own hand out in a wordless order, knowing everyone in the room would see it. “Actually, I am above your laws,” I said with a brilliant smile. “That’s the beauty of holding your life in my hands. You’re lucky I’m even bothering with these meetings.”

  “Queen Fortuna—” the Tongue started.

  I silenced him with a raise of my brows. Everyone could smell the power rolling off me now. However loathe I was to use my abilities, letting this accusation stand could be fatal. I refocused on the pretty male still bristling with righteous indignation. “May I remind you, Lord Micah, that I no longer need physical contact to learn what you’re afraid of? Whatever the state of your bond with King Collith, the bond between you and me is very much intact.”

  His eyes flickered. It was so quick that I almost missed it. “Do you intend to hold us all hostage with your power, then?” he challenged.

  “Why not? It’s exactly what you’re doing to Gwyn, and look how well that’s worked out for you,” I countered. At my mention of the huntress’s
name, a ripple of surprise went through the room. Shit. I hadn’t wanted to advertise the fact she was here to hunt me. I kept my gaze on Micah and smiled again, hoping to distract everyone. “I saw the results when you had a fair and kind ruler. Innocents suffered and faeries like Jassin got away with breathing. I thought I’d try it my way for a while. Do you have any more questions, Lord Micah?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?” I asked, my tone still cordial. But everyone felt a shift in the room. I hadn’t been lying—Micah was a younger faerie, by their standards, and his mental guards were nothing compared to Collith and Laurie’s. It was child’s play to get past them, and suddenly the hesitation that had been plaguing me lately was no longer.

  Micah could still see the room, the table, the other faeries around him… but now he was also seeing a bear. It was massive, a perfect replica of the one Micah met as a child when he’d managed to slip away from his nursemaid. As Micah stared at it, the animal rose on its hind legs and fixed its black eyes on him. Firelight moved over its brown fur and shone on its sharp, yellowed teeth.

  Everyone at the table watched a bead of sweat slide down the faerie’s temple. “No, Your Majesty,” Micah said finally.

  To get my point across, I let the bear linger, and the predator in me wanted to continue feeding on Micah’s fear all night. This was different from the rushed, desperate encounter with Oliver’s shadow. The flavors of Micah’s terror were so pleasant and it had been so long—I felt slightly buzzed from using it after all this time.

  The memory of Collith’s death chose that moment to return.

  I blinked and saw his pale, shocked expression, that line of blood coming out of his nose. After another beat, I left Micah’s head and took my essence with me.