Page 23

CHAPTER 23

CLAWDIA

T he future attack played out in front of me like a play—Fafnir stood sneering in Charlie’s entryway, flames burned the house, and we froze, helpless, while the witches battled against the task team outside.

I hadn’t realized it at the time, but when Nisha and I walked through Fafnir’s past, she did more than help my subconscious show me the secrets of his past. It gave me the experience of vision-walking and the tools to pause, rewind, and examine futures not yet realized, like a film.

Since I had been living the vision before, actively taking part in performance, so to speak, I hadn’t noticed that the task team had attempted to save us the first time. But with my confidence renewed after stopping the shadow in the supermarket, I was ready to do the same thing with this vision.

I’d already taken myself out of the vision. No longer part of the play, I was the audience watching myself and my men with calmness as I aimed to direct the scene. To change the future.

I just need to work out how to do that.

“Nisha?” I called once I’d held the moment still. The flames paused mid-flicker, and every detail was visible for interrogation. “I could use your help.”

How did I call her into my visions before? She said it was subconscious, but now that I actively tried, she, and the skill to bring her here, eluded me.

My confidence wavered as the vision’s edges blurred. Nisha and I had only explored memories—things that had already happened. This was different, more tenuous, like trying to grasp smoke.

If she can’t help me, I’ll just have to figure it out on my own.

I willed the vision to rewind, but nothing happened.

Threads. Maybe if I look for bronze threads?

Focusing the same way I used my healing and blood threads, I looked closely at the frozen image, searching for the lines. The threads making up the scene were gold to show it was the future, but as I brushed them with my fingertips, they moved like a curtain, revealing silver and bronze threads behind them.

My hands wrapped around a bronze thread, and suddenly, the scene in front of me rewound. The flames disappeared, and the house reverted to being unburned, while the expressions on everyone’s faces shifted from terror to alertness to casual conversation.

I didn’t know how I did it, but I thanked my luck or whatever instincts guided me to the correct thread. But I wasn't sure I’d be able to do it again. This could be my only chance to see a way to stop him before he arrives.

I moved to follow Fafnir out of the door to find out where he came from, but as I stepped through the frame outside, the vision threads twisted around me, a tangle of gold vines blocking my path and forcing me to return to the original scene.

That’s when I felt it—a prickle at the edge of my awareness, as if I was being watched. Something flickered in the corner of my vision—a shadow, a presence, something that didn’t belong. I pivoted sharply, trying to focus directly on what I’d glimpsed, but the attack scene materialized again, distracting me.

I didn’t stop the scene as it played out because there were subtle differences, which made me pause. This time, the witches didn’t charge in, and Fafnir was alone.

I frowned and headed to the window to look outside, but Fafnir’s family weren’t there, and neither was the task team.

What the ? —

Golden threads of potential futures shimmered in front of me again as I turned back to the scene. One tugged at me, hypnotizing me with its light, until I reached out to grab it. The thread was warm to the touch and pulsing with a different energy.

Then the scene reformed, and this time, the witches were outside fighting the task team, but when Fafnir cast a spell to set the house on fire, the flames parted around us like water flowing around stones in a stream. I watched, fascinated and confused, as the flames licked harmlessly at our feet, never touching flesh.

Awe made me gasp as I realized this was the future actively changing.

Charlie. It has to be Charlie. He was working on protection spells, defense strategies, and plans for the coming confrontation. Each decision he made, each spell he researched or alliance he forged, altered the potential futures in real time.

I’d witnessed nothing like it. Nisha had told me I could see how decisions could affect futures, but seeing it unfold was dizzying. Charlie’s plans were rewriting our fates even as I watched, making my attempts to trace Fafnir impossible with my limited knowledge of this new power.

But I wasn’t ready to give up yet. Even though the future was changing with Charlie’s plans, I still wanted to see a way that we survived, because we still ended up dead in a puddle of blood.

I looked away, nausea rising in my throat at the sight of my mates dead. It was almost worse seeing everything so clearly without the blur of tears and panic. Without it, their pained expressions, fear, sadness, tears, and blood were as clear as crystal.

It will be forever burned into my memory, but if I can prevent this, it would be worth it.

As I searched the threads for another future, I turned and walked around the scene, moving some threads out of the way to look for one shining like the other one had. They tangled around me, each one vying for my attention, but as I brushed past them, they gave me tiny flashes of slightly different versions of events. Nothing that would save us, however.

I became aware of the threads tightening around me. What had begun as gentle guidance now felt restrictive. I felt like a kitten who had knocked over a basket of yarn, only to become hopelessly entangled in the resulting chaos.

The more I struggled to make sense of what I was seeing, the more confused I became. I tried to pull away, but each movement only seemed to entangle me further, the threads wrapping around my limbs like hungry vines.

I tried to withdraw, to pull back to the frozen moment of the attack that I understood, but I was surrounded. I couldn’t even see the scene anymore. Gold vines glimmered with scenes, and each touch offered me a glimpse, a smell, a feeling, a thought of a future. My mind spun, trying to trace back the correct thread, but they all looked identical now.

I was lost.

My breathing quickened, and the threads seemed to respond to my anxiety, constricting further, pulling me deeper into the web of possibilities. I forced myself to still, to calm the frantic energy that only seemed to strengthen the grip of the threads.

That crawling awareness of being observed happened again, adding to my panic. Again, movement teased the periphery of my sight, a darkness sliding just beyond the reach of my direct gaze.

“Who’s there?” My voice sounded thin and strained in the vastness.

Trapped and panicking, I stopped struggling against the threads and instead turned inward, focusing on getting out of this mess.

When Baelen taught us about the dreamscape, he told us that getting lost could mean being lost forever and that dying there meant dying in real life. I had a horrible feeling that the same rules applied to whatever realm I viewed visions in. If that were the case, then I could also be attacked, like Baelen was by shadows.

A shudder of fear ripped through me as the golden vines tightened, but I shut my eyes and pictured Nisha. I knew she was in Tartarus with her mates again, so I imagined the golden apple orchards and the grand palace. I visualized so thoroughly that I felt the wind in my hair and the smell of the meadow where I first met Baelen.

“Clawdia?”

Like a drowning person preaching the water, Nisha’s voice gave me the same relieved reaction. I gasped and opened my eyes, which immediately filled with tears, and as the feeling of being restrained retreated, I rushed into her arms like a child.

She stroked my hair as I sobbed and shook. “Darkness, whatever has happened?”

I clung to her like she only would keep me standing, and she rubbed my back, whispering assurances. When my tears dried and the fear bled away, I felt ready to let her go.

“I’m sorry.” I licked my lips and bowed my head with an exhausted sigh. “It’s been a hard few days.”

The story spilled from me in a rush—the attempt to trace Fafnir’s movements before he attacked us, the multiple futures tangling and trapping me, the sensation of being watched. As I spoke, Nisha’s expression remained calm, but her eyes darkened, becoming almost garnet by the time I finished.

“I remember the overwhelm of visions,” she began softly. “I spent months locked in my rooms until I felt I had more control over them and could breathe.” She gave me an apologetic smile. “You don’t have the luxury of a millennium to learn your new powers for them to benefit you here, and I can’t guide you through your future.”

“Why not?”

“I’m weaker now, but also because you can only see a future for yourself if you are in danger.” At my look of shock, she smiled. “Did you forget?”

“I won’t find a future for us where Fafnir doesn’t attack because I’m only allowed to look at the ones where I’m in danger.” I rubbed my eyes since they were sore, tired, and itchy from crying. “But I couldn’t even see when he’s coming. How can we prepare if we don’t know exactly when he’ll be there?”

“Did you see a calendar? The season outside? That can help decipher in the moment.

“Charlie’s calendar is in the office. I didn’t even think to go in there. Plus, if you’ve ever been to England, you’d know there are no seasons. Most days are gray or have ten different weather events. It’s impossible to tell without seeing flowers and trees.” I spun around as though I could march back into the vision. “Maybe I can go back and?—”

“No, child.” Nisha grasped my wrist. “Futures are always in flux, so the timing could change, just as the situation did. Charlie’s plans could bring the attack forward or back. You are doing the right thing preparing for all eventualities. The only certainty is that he will come for you.”

Of course he will.

Sighing, I asked, “Dare I ask what you think was watching me?”

“I think you’re exhausted and scared. It’s highly unlikely anyone hijacked your vision.” Her expression was sympathetic and genuine, but I was insulted. I frowned and was about to protest when she patted my arm. “Go back to your mates, and have faith that your power will guide you when you need it most, because it relies on you, too.”

I blinked and then sighed. She was right. I was exhausted, and I wanted to sink into the comfort of my men. “I will. Thank you.”

“Stay in your familiar form for a while when you get back. It might offer you some reprieve from visions.” She pulled me into another hug, and I relaxed into it. She whispered, “And Clawdia, whatever you have to do, be strong. You can defeat him. It’s your destiny. Keep yourself, your mates, and my son safe.”

My eyelids felt weighted, reluctant to open despite the urgent hands shaking my shoulders. Voices penetrated the fog—Baelen’s seductive tones edged with worry and Zaide’s deeper rumble forming my name over and over like a prayer.

I forced my eyes open, blinking until I could focus on the two faces hovering above me. Baelen’s red eyes burned with worry, and Zaide’s jaw was tight as his purple eyes searched mine.

“There you are,” Baelen said, his dark curls falling forward as he leaned closer. “I was about to invade your dreams if you were gone much longer.”

“How long?” My voice emerged as a croak, my throat dry and uncomfortable.

“It’s the next day. Afternoon,” Zaide answered, his hand moving to cup my cheek. His touch was warm, grounding, and I leaned into it. “You were completely unresponsive. We couldn’t wake you.”

Zaide shifted, gathering me against his chest with effortless strength, and I melted into his embrace, letting his steady heartbeat replace the memory of his horrific death and threads tightening around me.

His chin rested atop my head, and I felt rather than heard his sigh of relief. “How are you feeling, Little Cat?”

“You know,” is all I replied.

He placed the end of his braid in my hand, and I looked at him questioningly. “I promised you could hold my hair when you were feeling scared.”

“I was scared, but I think you need it more than me right now.” I huffed a laugh as I played with the hair, twisting it into patterns and knots, but I could feel his heart racing at my back, his stress and concern echoing through our bond.

“You were so still,” he murmured against my hair. “Too still, even for meditation.”

Baelen sat next to us and picked up my hand to stroke my knuckles. “We were worried about you. Even Daithi said his visions had never lasted so long.”

Charlie walked in holding a bowl of something steaming and smiled at me despite having the same fear in his eyes that I felt in my bonds with the other men.

“I suggested throwing water on you, but Mr. Protective here wouldn’t let me near you with a bucket.” He remarked, nudging Zaide as he handed the bowl to Baelen. “Probably for the best. You might have clawed my eyes out even in your human form, and these eyes are my second-best feature.”

Despite everything, I felt a smile tug at my lips. “Only your second-best?”

“You’re intimately familiar with my best.” He winked, and we all laughed. His lighthearted banter helped ease the lingering tension in the room, and the remaining chill of fear dispersed from my body.

“You must be talking about your heart,” I replied with a soft smile, grateful for him, loving him, and since though our bond wasn’t working properly, I tried to show him with my eyes.

He paused, always surprised by genuine affection, and then bent to press a kiss to my lips. “You can’t be sweet after scaring us half to death. We won’t survive the whiplash.”

Zaide squeezed me. “Little Cat is always sweet.”

Baelen gave me a crooked grin and a raised brow as he said, “I agree.”

Charlie swatted him, and I laughed. “Down, boy. Feed the girl before you feed on her.”

Baelen lifted the spoon to my lips, and my stomach rumbled at the smell of a beef stew. I opened my mouth and allowed him to feed me, enjoying having them so close and caring for me.

After eating enough to satisfy Baelen and my stomach, he asked, “What did you see?”

I explained everything that happened, not holding on to any secrets while their warmth and the warmth of the food in my stomach lulled me into a doze.

Charlie, excited to hear that his plans were working, wanted to get back to the task team and let them know what I’d seen, so he kissed my forehead and headed to Winnie’s. I was so tired I couldn’t work up any jealousy knowing he was going to be working with his ex-girlfriend.

Baelen and Zaide relaxed into the sofa, and I stretched across them, my mind going fuzzy, when a thought hit me.

If I fall asleep, will I have another vision?

I felt sick at the thought. I wanted a break, a real rest, and if visions could hunt me in human form, I would simply stop being human for a while.

I shifted, my body shrinking with practiced ease, and then stretched luxuriously across Zaide’s lap, both paws splayed and claws gripping the sofa cushion as the last tingles of the transformation faded.

“Little Cat?” Zaide stirred, and when his purple eyes landed on me, he asked, “Why are you a cat?”

“Nisha suggested it would help me stop seeing visions for a while. I just want a break. I’m exhausted.”

“I know, Little Cat.” His large hand ran over my fluffy body, and a purr built in my throat. “Rest.”

Eventually, I was too warm underneath his burning palm and left my men on the sofa while I headed toward the sunlight-soaked spot on the loveseat. I circled the cushion three times, then curled into a tight ball, my nose tucked beneath my tail.

Sleep came quickly, blessedly empty of visions or dreams.

Some indeterminate time later, a change in the room’s energy pulled me reluctantly toward wakefulness. The sun had moved, no longer warming my cushion, and I opened one eye, annoyed at having my nap disturbed.

Then both eyes widened at the sight before me.

Zaide’s hand cupped the back of Baelen’s neck, fingers tangled in dark hair, while Baelen’s palm rested on Zaide’s thigh. Their lips met with a gentle pressure that quickly deepened, Baelen’s usual composure melting into something hungrier. Zaide made a soft sound in the back of his throat—not quite a growl, but something primal.

Zaide’s hand slipped beneath the hem of Baelen’s shirt, revealing a strip of taut abdomen. Baelen’s breath caught audibly, his red eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again, darker than before.

The air seemed to thicken and felt charged with an electricity I could taste.