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ALIX

I t’s an incredibly strange feeling to wake up with no memory of falling asleep.

I lie on my side, eyes still closed, semi-aware of the pounding in my skull. The scent of roses fills the air. I hear a rushing sound and the rhythmic tap of rain against glass—sharp and staccato, like 180 beats on a metronome.

I crack open one eye, and all at once, several realizations hit me. I’m not at home, or my hotel, or even at Nana’s. I sit straight up in a panic, and my head swims.

Oh my God.

I’m lying on a plush, elegant bed in a room I don’t recognize. The ceilings are towering, the walls a soft tan stone cut into geometric arched windows. It is indeed raining, because I can’t see anything outside except the water and condensation on the glass. The bed beneath me is covered in a vermilion silk bedspread, miles away from the cheap red duvet at the Marriott.

Disoriented, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Cold air brushes against my legs and I look down. I’m wearing nothing but a T-shirt. No shoes. No panties. Nothing. And worse, the T-shirt isn’t even mine.

What the absolute fuck is going on?

“Easy, Peaches,” a familiar voice says. “Crossing over can be disorienting.”

I turn my head and jump. “Daemon?”

Daemon is lounging in a wooden chair in front of a heavy-looking door, his feet up on a white, spindle-legged vanity. He’s back in his jeans, now wearing his leather jacket over his bare, tattooed chest. His expression is flat, almost bored—not the look of someone who has no idea where they are.

He saunters toward me, all cocky male self-assuredness. His expression is hard to read—not angry exactly, but not as friendly as last night, either. He shoves a mug of water into my hand. “Drink this.”

Still dazed, I drink it without thinking twice. The room temperature liquid almost burns down my throat, and I cough. Somehow, that clears the remainder of my haze, and a spark of terror shoots through me.

Oh my God, am I being kidnapped right now?

“Where the fuck am I? What’s going on?”

He reaches for a pitcher of water on the white vanity table and refills my mug. This time, I don’t take it, and he sighs, putting it on the table. “Listen, I know you’re confused but you need to calm down so we can talk.”

I shove the mug away. “I need to calm down? Are you fucking insane? If anything, I’m not freaking out enough. Last thing I remember, I was on the couch in Nana’s living room, and…” I trail off, a burning heat rising to my cheeks.

Daemon winces—the first hint of emotion I’ve seen from him since waking up. “I know. I’m sorry about that, but?—”

“Sorry?” I stand. “I don’t care if you’re sorry. I’m really hoping I just passed out on the couch and this is some really vivid dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” Daemon hisses, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Would you shut up and listen to me?”

“Afraid someone might hear me?” I open my mouth and scream as loud as I can. “Fire! There’s a fire in here!”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Daemon closes in and claps one hand over my mouth. He grabs me around the waist and lifts me off my feet, before dropping me back on the bed. He looms over me, and his height and muscles no longer make my mouth water. Now, they look like weapons. Like he could smother me without a second thought.

“I couldn’t care less if anyone hears you, Peaches,” he says, his hand still covering my mouth. “I’m trying to explain what happened, and we don’t have a lot of time. Shut the fuck up and listen before I lose my patience.”

I meet his gaze from over the top of his large palm.

In the bar, he’d been so nice, but maybe that was just an act to get me to lower my guard. It just figures that the first man to give me an orgasm that rivals my vibrator would be a kidnapping serial killer.

I nod slowly, and Daemon carefully moves his hand away from my mouth. When I don’t scream, he relaxes.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway.” He drags a hand over his face. “No one in Ellender will blink an eye at a human screaming.”

I go rigid. “Did you just say ‘Ellender?’”

He nods, giving me a pointed look like I’m missing something obvious. “Of course. Don’t act so surprised.”

My heartbeat quickens, pounding in my ears. Holy Fuck.

Ellender is the kingdom from Nana’s books. It’s a magical fantasy world that every teenage girl would die to visit. Except, it’s not real . Could Daemon be some kind of crazed fan?

Oh my God, no wonder he said he likes crazy girls. The man is literally delusional.

Daemon sits in his chair in front of the door while I sift through every true crime podcast I’ve ever heard, every episode of Law he’s fucking flying . I barely have a second to process it before he lands, setting me gently on the wet grass beside the towering castle wall.

Turning to face me, he grabs my shoulders, shaking me slightly as his intense gaze bores into mine. “Are you hurt?”

I try to speak, but no words come out. I can only stare in shock at the enormous wings protruding from his back. They’re black and red and feathered—like a cross between a bird and a butterfly. They would be beautiful if they weren’t so terrifying.

“Isabelle?” Daemon asks urgently, shaking me harder. “Are you hurt? Say something.”

I barely even register him calling me by the wrong name. I yank myself out of his grip and double over, dry-heaving onto the ground.

I’m soaked, freezing, and about to throw up, which kind of rules out the possibility that this is a dream.

That means that I’m actually standing outside a castle filled with goblins. I actually almost got eaten by a wolf. And the guy I picked up at a bar can actually fly.

I’m not in fucking Kansas anymore.

My vision swims, a wave of dizziness descending over me like a dark cloak. My eyes roll up into my head, and I feel myself falling.

My last thought before I go crashing into Daemon’s waiting arms is that this isn’t just some dream.

Ellender isn’t just a fantasy.

Nana’s books are real, and somehow, I’m in one.