Page 38

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LARK

I slip into Zin's dreams like a shadow through silk. Her mind materializes around me—the familiar chambers of the Forgotten Tower where she once held me captive. How fitting that here, in sleep's domain, our roles reverse.

Her little bird has returned to trap her in a cage.

"You aren't where you belong." Zin's voice ripples through the dream, soft as silk and sharp as daggers.

I pause, uncertain. Does she sense my intrusion into her sleeping mind? The dreamscape wavers, stone walls bleeding into mist.

"But I am." I trace a finger along her jaw. "Your aellurium curse works both ways. Your mind is mine now."

She tries to back away but hits the stone wall. Dream-walls, dream-stones, all bent to my will. The tower chamber shrinks, pressing closer, trapping her here.

With a succubus invading her mind, she won't be able to wake.

"Get out of my head!" She claws at me without hurting me.

I circle her, drinking in her mounting panic. "You bound us together, remember? Your little aellurium trick?" I hold up my arm where golden lines spider across my silver skin. "Did you think I wouldn't learn to use it?"

Her dark eyes dart wildly as the tower walls press closer. Sweat beads on her forehead. Even in dreams, the human mind can only take so much strain.

"Where is my brother?" I lean close enough to kiss. "And don't bother lying. I will know."

"The Forgotten Tower, I told you?—"

My cruel laugh echoes off the walls. "Wrong answer." The stones groan inward another inch. "Try again."

"You can't?—"

"I can do anything here." I lean closer, drinking in her fear.

Zin snaps her fingers, her magic sputtering out before it ignites. Sparks scatter and fade like dying embers. Her power means nothing here—this is my domain now.

I touch the golden threads at my neck, marked even in this dream. "Why did you do this to me?" My voice escapes me as a hiss, my throat throttled by the pain of emotion.

"Because I want you back," Zin replies, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "You shouldn't be an outlaw from the crown. You should join me as a royal sorceress again."

I bare my fangs at her. "Never."

I press closer, stoking her fear, her desire, her pain. Each emotion floods through our cursed bond, echoing between us like ripples in a pool tainted by poison.

"You think binding us together will make me want you?" My fingers trace her neck, still bruised by my brother's fingers. "After everything you did to me in that tower?"

"I always made sure you survived."

"Stop." I grip her throat, wanting to squeeze until the words die. But even this violence sends sparks of twisted pleasure through our connection. She feels this choke hold as if it were a caress. "You don't get to justify what you did."

"Then why are you here in my dreams?"

Because part of me still craves her touch. Because memories of our nights together in the tower still haunt me. Because her feelings seep through our connection like poison, threatening to corrupt my hatred into something else.

I jerk away from her, disgusted. "Tell me where Rook is. Now."

"Or what?" A smile plays at her lips. "You will hurt me? We both know you will feel it, too."

She's right. This curse binds us together—her pain becomes mine, her pleasure echoes in my bones. I hate her for doing this to me. I hate myself more for the way my body responds to her nearness.

"I don't need to hurt you." I lean close, letting my breath ghost across her lips. "I can do so much worse."

She shudders beneath my touch. "Lark."

"Surrender to me." I brush my lips against her ear. "Tell me where Rook is, and this ends."

"I can't—the queen will?—"

"The queen isn't here. It's just you and your little bird ." I whisper the last words, my broken horn scraping her cheek. "And I can keep you caged in this nightmare forever."

Trapped . Like she did to me.

Trapped in the dungeon, trapped by cursed aellurium.

I hate her . Hate that she wants me.

My fingers tighten around her throat, watching her dark eyes widen and her breathing quicken. "Last chance before I make this nightmare permanent."

"You wouldn't." But uncertainty creeps into her voice.

I press harder, feeling the echo of pressure around my own neck through our cursed bond. I can feel exactly how I strangle her, starve her of air. "Try me."

"The dungeons," she gasps. "He's in the dungeons beneath Netherhaven Castle."

"Which dungeons?" The castle has dozens of cells.

She tries to look away, but I force her gaze back to mine. "The oldest ones. Deep beneath the castle foundations. Built from the ruins of the Demongate."

Ice spreads through my veins. "The Demongate?"

"Yes." Her pulse races beneath my fingers. "The queen keeps her most dangerous prisoners there. Where the ancient stones still hold traces of demon magic."

I release her throat, stumbling back. Our shared pain eases, replaced by a hollow ache in my chest. Those dungeons were built from the shattered remains of the Demongate itself—a portal to the Underworld, my ancestors' homeland.

I have what I need from Zin. I know where to find Rook.

But still, I do not release my hold on her dream.

"Why did you never try to set me free?" My voice cracks. "Why did you let me rot in the Forgotten Tower for seven weeks?"

Pain flashes across her face, mixed with something deeper—regret? Fear? Her dark eyes swim with emotions I can't untangle.

"I couldn't," she whispers.

"But you could!" I grab her shoulders, claws digging into her skin. "You came to my cell every night. Fed my hunger. Held me while I cried. You could have?—"

"Lark—"

"Don't!" I shove her away. "Don't say my name like that. Like you cared. If you cared, you would have helped me escape. Instead, you let them hurt me. And still you came each night, pretending to want me while keeping me caged."

A tear slides down her cheek. In this dream, I can't tell if it's real or manipulation. Everything about Zin is smoke and mirrors, truth wrapped in lies.

"I couldn't," she repeats, and I see that same complex emotion swimming in her eyes—the one I could never name during those long nights in the Forgotten Tower. Is it shame? Devotion? Both?

"Why?" I demand.

"I care about you too much," she says.

Her words hit me like a slap to the face. Worse—I feel the truth of them burning through our bond, scorching my silver skin with golden lines of connection. Her emotion writhes inside me like a parasite, trying to take root.

"Care?" I laugh, cruelly, the sound as brittle as breaking glass. "Was that what you felt when you watched the guards beat me? When you starved me until I begged?"

"Yes," she whispers.

"I don't believe you," I reply, and I release my hold on her dream.

Letting her dreams—and mine—dissolve like ashes in the wind.