Page 46 of A Land So Wide

T he dream began the way it always did.

Night.

Spring.

Barrenman’s Hill.

And the jagged, jittery shapes that were not the night, were not the sky, but were somehow just as big and ancient as both.

Greer felt the stirring of shadows behind her, felt his approach, just at the shapes swooped down from on high, descending over the town, like locusts, hungry to feed.

“Finn.” This part of the dream was new, knowing his name.

“My sovereign.”

The screams began, ragged and raw and piercing through her heart.

“How do I stop them? How do I stop this?”

She felt him step closer to watch with her, his chest brushing the line of her shoulder blades. From the periphery of her vision, Greer saw the tips of his wings curling overhead, as tall and forbidding as a sentinel.

“Why would you want to?” His breath stirred the air across her neck, his whisper hot in her ear.

“They’re going to destroy everything.”

“They already have,” he countered, and she suddenly realized they were not talking about the same thing. “Do you know how many trees have been cut for that mill?” Finn went on. “How many ragged wounds have been gouged into the earth for ore? Do you hear how she cries?”

Greer watched a winged figure fall out of the night and rend Michael Morag apart. The wind shifted, bringing the tang of blood. She thought she shook her head but wasn’t sure. Everything felt hazy to her, lit in a dreamy filter that let her catch every moment of Mistaken’s end.

“It’s better like this,” Finn said. He traced a finger along her, starting at the nape of her neck, letting it fall down her spine.

In the dream, she didn’t think of Ellis. In the dream, there was no Ellis, just Finn and the way his simple touch made her breath catch.

The end began with the turning of the winds and the whispered slice of wings unseen.

She blinked, wondering where such a thought had come from.

“What will happen to it? To Mistaken?” she asked, nodding toward the village. A flicker of orange licked through the windows of Gil Catasch’s stables. A Bright-Eyed had plummeted into it, knocking over a lantern before knocking over Gil himself.

“Does it matter?”

Finn was so close his lips caressed the curve of her ear, and though Greer knew that behind those lips were rows of serrated teeth, fangs monstrous in their size and shape, she leaned in to him, wanting to feel more.

“Will they turn them?”

“Only as you command. The Gathered will not offer their blessing without yours.”

Greer imagined what it would be like to rule over the people of Mistaken.

She pictured her father, face full of fury as he realized his place in this new order.

She thought of Mary Beaufort, cursed with an eternity of confusion and fear; of Louise, who’d never believed in the Bright-Eyeds anyway.

What would she think if she became one herself?

It would be terrible, but would it be worse than if they were gone entirely? She ran her tongue over the edges of her teeth, choosing their fate.

“None should change,” she decided, shocking herself.

She glanced back. Finn, now in his human form, nodded with a courtier’s deference.

Curiously, Greer reached out and cupped his cheek, feeling the stubble across his face and the unnatural heat which radiated off him.

When his eyes flashed toward her, his eye-shine was feverishly bright.

He nuzzled against her palm, luxuriating in her touch, before pressing a kiss to its center.

She wanted to be surprised but found she could not.

His lips were dry and warm. He moved them lower, flirting with the soft skin of her inner wrist. His teeth grazed over the blue veins pulsing beneath, and she wondered, should he sink them in, what would her blood—human but not, human only mostly—taste like?

Greer turned, fully facing him. He ran his hands through her hair, threading fingers around the loose locks, gently tugging the ends, and tipping her face to meet his kiss easily.

“How I’ve waited for you,” he murmured across her mouth, opening her lips with his. His tongue swept through, dancing over hers, running along the ridges of her teeth. “Waited for this.”

“For me?” she asked.

He nipped at the corner of her lips, smiling as she matched his movement.

“You,” he affirmed, and pulled her to him, fitted her frame against the length of his.

Finn’s hands swept down her back, fingers spread wide so as not to miss a single inch of her, as their mouths ravished each other’s.

Her spine arched and his mouth wandered lower, ripping open the buttons of her bodice to press hot, wet kisses down the column of her throat, tasting the hollow between her clavicles, before finally, finally, reaching her breasts.

Greer closed her eyes, wanting to savor each sensation, delight in every thrill he drew from her.

His hands felt as if they were everywhere, all at once, holding and grasping and kneading, pressing and prodding and claiming her as his.

He was rough yet reverent, possessive and resolute, and absolutely confident that every gesture he made brought her pleasure.

And because this was a dream, and because there was no Ellis, Greer allowed herself to be pulled down, laying herself bare before Finn, before the sky, before all of Mistaken, burning in the distance.

She woke with a gasp and wrenched herself up.

The flames burned lower now; the logs were broken apart into a bank of red embers.

Finn had returned while she’d slept and was lying on the other side of the fire, eyes closed.

She studied his sleeping form with the nightmare—had it been a nightmare?—still fresh in her mind. His face was relaxed, his brow unfurrowed, unworried. She had the terrible urge to run her thumb along the line of his cheek to see if he was as warm as in the dream, but pushed the thought away.

It would be foolish to deny that he was handsome.

Of course he’s handsome, Greer thought irritably. He can choose to look like anything he wants. Why wouldn’t he try to draw me in, to entice?

Entice…

She remembered the way his mouth had roamed her skin, how he’d licked her throat and nipped at her flesh, softly, with the edges of his teeth, then softer still, following with kisses and murmured appreciation.

Against her better judgment, she allowed herself to slip into memories of the dream, basking in the heat of his stare, his possessive hold.

Desire gripped her, curling through her middle, snaking to her mind.

Her breath quickened as she remembered the husky warmth of his voice whispering, “My sovereign,” as he’d plunged into her.

It was a cold slap, ripping the haze away. Greer had no desire to rule over anything, but something in the way he’d said those two words tempted her, making her feel powerful and alluring and—

Greer shoved the thought away.

No.

She loved Ellis. She loved their life and the dreams they’d planned with all her heart.

She was not a queen.

These thoughts, these desires, were nothing more than passing fancies, bits of an overheated imagination. They were an uncontrollable wisp of wondering, a chance for her mind to sort through all the things it couldn’t in the harsh light of day.

She was not the Greer from that dream. The one who’d impassively watched the Bright-Eyeds destroy her town, her family, her friends. If that was happening here and now, she’d do anything in her power to stop it, to stop them.

Wouldn’t I?

She felt her stomach squirm uncomfortably, painfully aware of how many seconds it took to answer herself.

Of course I would .

So it did not matter that she still felt the sensation of Finn running his hand down her side, grasping the curve of her hip as he filled her. It did not matter that the memory of his eyes smoldering into hers aroused her even now. That was a dream. Not real life.

Finn was not Ellis.

Finn was not hers.

Finn did not matter.

The only thing that did was getting to Ellis.

Greer would do whatever it took—push through untold miles of wilderness, climb a mountain, face Elowen and a court of her creatures—to save him.

She would even travel with Noah Finn, ignoring the way his presence churned up everything she thought she knew and understood about her life.

She needed his help, needed his knowledge. She needed his—

A cry echoed in her mind, a heady rush of insistent needs being fulfilled. She remembered, too, how he’d cried out, giving in to his desires, seizing hold of hers. She shook her head, casting away the unwanted remnant.

“You’re awake.”

Finn’s words startled her. Greer hadn’t realized he was up, staring at her through the haze of heat waves.

“Good morning,” she began, uncertain of where they stood after his abrupt departure, after his potent admission.

He made a sound of reciprocation and stretched. Greer was determined not to notice the way the hem of his flannel shirt rose, revealing a stretch of taut, tanned skin. She glanced away, to make sure of it.

“How are you feeling?”

She felt along her scalp. There was no bump, no bleeding. It didn’t even feel tender. “Better.”

“You look it,” he observed. “Slept well? Pleasant dreams and all?”

Their eyes met, and Greer was overcome by the uncanny knowledge that Noah Finn knew exactly what she’d dreamed.

“I…” She blinked. “I don’t remember.”

“Pity.” He shoved himself from the ground with a groan that so perfectly echoed the sound of his release that she flushed. “You sure you’re feeling better? You look…piqued.”

In a skittering instant, he was beside her, his wrist on her forehead, the back of his hand testing the heat of her cheeks.

He was close, too close, close enough that she was overcome by his scent, that wild blend of green growing things and musky warmth.

It was all Greer could do to stop herself from grabbing his shoulders and pressing her mouth to his.

How quickly she could pull him atop her.

How quickly she could let him sink within.

What are you thinking? she wondered, wholly bewildered, horrified beyond measure.

What set her thoughts to such passion? Why was her blood so quick to race?

Blood, she realized, and wanted to laugh. It wasn’t her blood but his. His blood, inside her, turning her wild and wanton. He’d done this. Beguiled and bewitched her. All with that damned blood.

Her fingers clenched, and she had the terrible urge to scratch at her skin, slice it open, cut across veins, and let his blood pour free of her. She could feel its otherness pulsing through her, seizing hold of her impulses, tempting her to ruin.

“Sunrise is coming,” she said instead, nodding toward the faint lightening of the sky. “We should get going.”

He froze, every muscle in him going still. “We?” he finally asked. “We are going? Together?”

Greer wanted to say no. She wanted to say no and cast him and every trace of her wild wantings to the horizon.

But she nodded. “You’ve been following me for days. It seems silly to stop now.”

Finn’s mouth curved, his grin as every bit as wicked as it had been in the dream. “Oh, Greer Mackenzie, I’ve followed you for so much longer than that.”