Deadly Dreams (Fortuna Sworn Book 3)

by K. J. Sutton

  Once again, she didn’t follow, and I knew the friendship between us was over.

  For the next few minutes, my mind was occupied by the maze. One wrong turn, and I could end up in a room of redcaps or a cave that housed yet another ancient, fire-breathing beast. But I was grateful for the distraction, because I knew the alternative was to remember the expression on Collith’s face when he saw me at Viessa’s side. He had to be punished. Don’t think about him, Fortuna. Don’t waste another second on him.

  The moment I reached the surface, I broke into a sprint.

  It was later than I’d thought—stars shimmered overhead and the forest was dark all around. This didn’t slow me down, though. I was forced to stop when my shoes kept snagging the hem of my ridiculous dress. I shouted in frustration, yanked out the knife strapped to my thigh, and hacked at the long skirt, again and again, until there was a long slit in the middle. Once again I ran at full speed, even when my lungs started to burn, pushing myself as if there was a finish line somewhere.

  My chest heaved as I opened the barn door. A single lightbulb burned at the base of the stairs—Emma’s doing, no doubt. I closed and locked the door behind me, then climbed the stairs. I crossed the shadowy apartment and returned to the room I’d slept in earlier. Still hurting from my run, I removed my clothes gingerly, and something clattered to the floor. I felt numb as I bent to pick up the sapphire. It flashed and gleamed.

  My gaze fell on Damon’s birthday gift to me. The small, cheap box rested atop the dresser beside a framed picture of Matthew. Another Emma touch. I lifted the lid and dropped Collith’s necklace within, then shoved the box into the back of a drawer.

  It slammed shut with a sound of finality.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I dreamed of them. The ones I’d killed in the clearing.

  I was back in the same spot I’d been standing that night, my feet buried in snow, facing the busy market. The masters and sellers were already screaming, trapped under the influence of my power. Males and females alike, it made no difference to me—it was their hearts that mattered. And the creatures trapped in cages or tied to hitching rails like they were animals, they were proof of what lived in my victims’ hearts. Darkness. Silent, bottomless darkness.

  Just like mine.

  But this was a dream. I knew it was a dream, because something was different this time—a broad-shouldered figure appeared amidst the chaos. I noticed her straightaway because she was standing so still, while everyone around her trembled or writhed. Gwyn. Even though I knew she wasn’t real, my breath hitched in fear. She wore an antler helmet and armor made of bones, just like I’d seen in a fae history books I read. One of her hands, encased in a spiked gauntlet, rested on the hilt of her sword. The other casually clutched the heart she’d ripped out of her lover’s chest.

  “Someday you will know what it is to choose between love and power,” she called over the cacophony of pain. “Someday you will be just like me.”

  I tried to deny it, tell her she was wrong, but I couldn’t even open my mouth to say the words. Gwyn’s red lips curved into a faint smile. Damn it, the cold-hearted bitch knew. She knew she was right.

  As if she sensed my despair, the faerie started walking toward me. Despite all the shrieks and sobs, and the freed slaves that were running past us, it felt like the loudest sound in the clearing was her boots through the snow, crunching with every step. She stopped a hairsbreadth away, her chest brushing mine, just the slightest of touches. I stared up at her, fighting against a wave of both revulsion and desire. We both knew she was going to kiss me… and I was going to let her. It would change everything. It would change me. There would be no going back.

  Just as Gwyn lowered her head, I woke up.

  I opened my eyes expecting to see the familiar walls of Cyrus’s house. When beige walls looked back, my heart quickened again. I tried to find the memory of how I got here. It took another moment to comprehend that I was in the apartment I’d been meant to share with Collith. This was the barn, the home he’d spent weeks building for us. Looking around at it, I started to have second thoughts about living here.

  I sat up, feeling sick, and hugged my knees to my chest. Every part of me was slick with sweat. Shame and guilt poured down my face in the form of tears. The slavers’ screams echoed through my mind, but the rest of the world was utterly silent. The dream continued to recede. I watched shadows quiver over the floor. On the other side of the window, a blizzard raged. The ledge was already covered in a layer of snow.

  I had to escape this feeling. I couldn’t endure it for another second.

  Without allowing myself a moment to calm or suppress the emotions surging through me, I tossed the covers aside. After I yanked on some sweatpants to cover my bare legs, I rushed from the room as though it were filled with monsters. I was so frantic that I didn’t see the enormous werewolf stretched across the threshold until it was too late—Finn must’ve sensed my agitation when I’d gotten back earlier tonight—and I slammed into the opposite wall so hard that it sent pain through both my wrists. I righted myself with a wince, then hurried toward the stairs.

  Finn followed close at my heels, and though he didn’t whine, tension practically vibrated off him. I didn’t offer any explanation or reassurance, because I reached the door a moment later and I was yanking it open without a thought. The wind howled before I even stepped outside. Pain registered, and I looked down at my feet, realizing belatedly that I hadn’t put on shoes. Finn waited on the porch as I hurried to find a pair of boots, then a coat as an afterthought. I pulled them on and returned to wind and open sky. The cold latched onto me like a thousand claws as the door slammed shut. Hopefully the sound hadn’t woken anyone, I thought distantly.

  I stopped in the yard and turned to face Cyrus’s house—I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just stood there, hair blowing across my face, and stared at those darkened windows without truly seeing them. More snow came down, tangling in my eyelashes and slipping inside my unbuttoned coat. With Finn a silent presence nearby, I thought about the past month. I thought about how that throne, far beneath my feet, had affected me. I thought about the choices I’d made and the consequences of those choices. I thought about my parents. I thought about Gwyn and Dracula. I thought about tomorrow.

  That was the most terrifying thought of all.

  What had I said to the huntress, that morning? It’s not like I go on killing sprees.

  Suddenly I was laughing. There was a frantic edge to it, a hysterical note that reminded me of Kindreth, but this thought only made me laugh harder. I bent over and clutched my stomach. I couldn’t stop. The sound didn’t echo—instead, it seemed to be swallowed by the sky. If anyone looked out their window, I probably made a strange picture. Standing in the snowy darkness, chortling like I had just heard the funniest joke. In a way, that’s exactly what was happening. All this time, I’d been kidding myself, insisting that faeries were the enemy. They were the problem. They were my greatest fear.

  But faeries hadn’t murdered the Unseelie King. Faeries hadn’t stabbed Ayduin in cold blood. Faeries hadn’t walked away from a clearing of dead bodies two days ago.

  Suddenly my mirth shriveled, and I forgot why I’d been laughing in the first place. There was nothing funny about this. Nothing. I blinked rapidly, shaking snowflakes loose from my eyelashes. Feeling like I’d just awakened from another dream, I looked over at Finn. His gaze met mine, and I could see a question in those golden depths. What are you doing?

  Normally, Finn didn’t ask questions. That alone told me that tonight was different. Tonight there would be more change. “The world of magick is dark, and no one goes into it willingly,” I murmured. Only the wind answered, but it sounded like one of those dying slavers’ screams.

  In that moment, I made a decision.

  I refocused on the house, this time with purpose. Once, angels had been messengers. Heralds. Harbingers. I’d never tried to summon someone before—it seemed o
utside the realm of possibility, and just another way to violate an unprotected mind—but I hadn’t had this much power before. I’d already crossed so many other lines. What was one more?

  Picturing the one I wanted to summon, I filled my lungs with air and released the longest, loudest scream I ever had in my life. The storm snatched the sound away, removing the danger of waking anyone. I had no way of knowing if it worked. There was nothing else to do except wait. As I prepared to do exactly that, Finn ran into the woods. I watched him go, faintly surprised that he’d actually left my side. I faced the house again, frowning.

  The front door opened within minutes.

  Cyrus came out. His eyes were downcast, his shoulders hunched. The faux fur lining the hood of his coat moved in the wind, and his hands were shoved in the pockets. He approached me at a steady pace. His copper head gleamed dully in the light shining from the porch. He came to a complete stop and waited. Wind whistled between us while I gathered the courage to speak.

  “Do you know what you are, Cyrus?” I asked. My voice was soft.

  The fry cook’s expression didn’t change. He was either skilled at hiding his emotions or he’d been expecting this. “Yes,” Cyrus said simply.

  My heart pounded harder. “Do you know what I am?”

  “Yes.”

  It felt like there were bombs going off in my chest. I knew the request I was about to make was the most selfish thing I’d ever do. Once, I never would’ve thought myself capable of it, or any of the things I had done since meeting the Unseelie King. I released a ragged breath and made myself say it. “Help me, then. Make me mortal.”

  Cyrus was trembling before the words had fully left my mouth. “I can’t.”

  “Because you’re afraid to hurt me?” I demanded. He didn’t answer. The wind got stronger, more vicious. “How much can one person endure, Cyrus? How far can they venture into the darkness until there’s no turning back? Ridding myself of these powers will give me a chance at redemption. A chance at survival.”

  But Cyrus only shook his head again, his eyes wide and frightened. He began to retreat, as though the distance would help him escape my words. They were in the air now, traveling between us, slipping inside him. He would never escape or forget, just as I couldn’t. Make me mortal.

  He still walked away. His pace was less steady this time, quickening and slowing in bursts, as if he were trying not to run. The door opened and closed, but the wind snatched the sound away. Light from the entryway flared, then faded.

  I stood there long after he was gone, clenching and unclenching my fists. I couldn’t bring myself to go inside, despite the cold. As a Nightmare, it shouldn’t have bothered me, but right now it was all I could do not to shiver. I knew I couldn’t stay out here.

  I swung toward the van. The keys were in my pocket.

  “Fortuna.” The sound of Finn’s voice made me freeze with one foot in the van. I turned slowly, reluctant to meet his gaze. But I did, because it was Finn. He stood in only a pair of sweatpants, and there were still bits of torn skin clinging to his torso. There was nothing stoic or removed about his expression this time—he looked back with undisguised fear. “Don’t leave me again.”

  Somehow, I knew he was talking about when I’d gone to the crossroads, in the way that Finn and I always seemed to understand each other. Part of me had never returned that night, and we both knew I might not survive losing another piece.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my stomach clenching with guilt. Pain glimmered in the werewolf’s eyes, but he didn’t try to stop me. He watched as I got into the van and drove away.

  I didn’t look at the clock until I was halfway to town. When I saw the numbers, I swore—it was barely past four a.m.. The bar wasn’t open and my therapist wouldn’t be answering her phone for hours yet. But I didn’t want to go back and burden my family any more than I already had.

  So I went to the same place I’d gone all those nights ago, when I’d known everything was about to change. When I’d felt like I was standing at the edge of the abyss, deciding whether to jump, and only someone who knew that choice intimately would be able to understand.

  Fifteen minutes later I parked my van in front of Adam’s shop, relieved to see light glowing through the windows. While vampires generally preferred to be nocturnal, Adam’s occupation required that he be conscious during the day. Maybe I’d just gotten lucky, for once, and tomorrow was his day off.

  When I opened the door and stepped inside, I spotted Adam instantly, his muscular frame filling the doorway to his bedroom. He must’ve heard the van.

  “Must be nice,” I said by way of greeting. I was barely aware of the words leaving my mouth, but I heard how hollow my voice was. “You’ll always know when your enemies are trying to sneak up on you. What can you do, though, if the enemy is inside you?”

  Something flickered in the vampire’s dark eyes. Not pity, exactly. He wore his customary jeans and white T-shirt, although it hadn’t been white in a long time. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he searched my expression. Was the unflappable Adam Horstman actually worried about me?

  I scanned the rest of the space, searching for signs of his sire, but Dracula seemed to be truly gone.

  “I have something for you,” Adam said in his monotone way. “It was going to be a gift, for when your training is finished, but I think you better have it now.”

  He vanished before I could respond. He was back two seconds later, balancing something on his palms. We met in the middle of the room and Adam held the sword out to me. He didn’t make any pretty speeches or offer encouragement, but then, that wasn’t his way. It was part of the reason why we hadn’t worked as a couple. Ironic that now I actually appreciated it.

  The blade itself was bare. No markings, no decorations, and no engravings. It had a barbed, twisted cross-guard, which ensured the blade was both balanced and capable of protecting the owner’s hands against any sliding sword. I wrapped my fingers around the hilt. When I lifted the sword for the first time, it was lighter than I expected. Almost as though it had been made for me.

  I met Adam’s gaze. “Does this mean we’re going steady?”

  “Asshole.”

  “Takes one to know one.” My arm started to ache. I lowered the blade and tilted my head at him. “Why do you think I need this now?”

  Adam ran an oil-stained hand over his head, showing a glimpse of the tattoo on his bicep. Usually he sported a buzz cut, but lately, he’d been letting it grow out. The greasy strands glinted beneath the florescent lights. “Because you have that look again. Same one you had on when you went to find that demon,” he said.

  I almost lost my grip on the new sword. My stomach roiled as I stared at him. “How did you—”

  “I’ve been around a long time, Sworn. Can’t get much past me.” He paused. “Want to do some training, so you can actually use that thing someday? Maybe even give it a name?”

  I tightened my grip on the hilt again. Holding it made me feel strong for the first time in weeks. This time, when I looked in Adam’s eyes, I didn’t flinch. “Hell, yeah.”

  Cyrus was sitting on the front porch when I pulled into the driveway. It had stopped snowing, so his silhouette stood out starkly against the light behind him.

  As the sound of my engine faded, I heard Stanley whining. I got out and pushed the door shut. The dog was already there, his nose nudging my legs. He trailed after me down the sidewalk and continued to investigate the smells on my jeans. Halfway to the steps, I spotted Finn through the living room window. He stood in front of the glass, arms crossed, his eyes like a rumbling storm. When our gazes met, he retreated, and then the window was empty again.

  Without a word, I settled on the step next to Cyrus. The air was so quiet, so still, that I knew no one else was awake yet. Finn had probably gone back to bed, considering he’d shifted too quickly tonight. It was just me, Cyrus, and Stanley.

  Several minutes went by. My mind started to wander, and it ventured towa
rd the brand-new shower in the loft—I was still sweaty from training with Adam. Then Cyrus lifted his copper head, squinted at the horizon, and finally spoke. All thoughts about the shower vanished.

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  Honestly, I hadn’t expected that. I swallowed, fighting off an onslaught of fear and guilt. I clasped my hands together so tightly that they turned white. “What made you change your mind?”

  “You’re my family now.” Cyrus said this with the same tone he used for everyday statements. Bea was looking for you. It’s cold out today. But his agitation showed how he ran his hand over Stanley’s head, again and again.

  I looked down at it, trying to think of another way. Maybe I should just do the Rites of Thogon and leave Cyrus out of it. The biggest problem with that, however, was the low survival rate. I also didn’t want to repeat Arcaena’s outcome, in which I was reduced to a shell of my former self. Feeling my life and my sanity break off in pieces, day by day.

  “That may be true. It doesn’t mean you don’t have a choice,” I said faintly.

  Cyrus’s hand faltered. After a moment, he turned his head. He wasn’t quite looking at me, but it still felt like he was. “I’ve never had a family before. Not like other people,” he said. “Until high school, I did have my dad. But he was an angry person—he couldn’t keep a job because of it. He always said that anger was our curse. Our cross to bear.”

  “Because of what you are?” I asked, my voice hesitant. Cyrus nodded and returned his attention to Stanley, stroking the dog’s head again. I watched him for a moment, silently marveling at how much he was talking. It was probably because he was so scared; fear had a way of changing people. I remembered that moment at the bar, when flames had reached up from the stove and sent Cyrus into a state of panic. “Did… did your dad ever hurt you, Cy?”

  My friend shook his head, and there was nothing in his expression that hinted at a lie. “He just broke or burned things,” Cyrus answered. “Then, one night, he lost his temper in the barn. He’d been spending more time out there, because he was between jobs, so he was fixing a friend’s car. It happened so fast. Flames shot out of him, bigger than any he’d ever made before. The whole place went up like a tinder box. Dad could’ve gotten out—there was plenty of time—but he stood there and let himself burn. I think he’d been wanting to die for a long time, and he saw his chance.”