Page 13 of Night Fae (Monsters of Veridia #3)

Zev sat on the edge of his bed, examining his hands in the pale moonlight that filtered through the curtains. Clean, yet not clean. The pattern of his existence since returning to the Court.

The werewolves' faces haunted him. Not just today's kills—the lean one with dark hair covering his arms even in human form, the taller one who'd favored his left side—but all of them. A parade of the dead.

He imagined each of them flying off to the afterlife to tell Rhys about his sins.

What a silly thought.

He rose and paced the length of his chambers.

If he couldn't sleep, he should check on Malik.

Malik, who had kissed him, thinking he was dreaming. Had he meant it?

He'd certainly seemed embarrassed enough for real emotions.

No wonder.

He was a soft human caught in the clutches of the Night Court. Anyone would go a little crazy in his place.

Malik was too pure to be here.

Zev paused by the window, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. It was his job to protect Malik. It was the one good thing he could still do.

He returned to his bed, stretching out on his back, arms at his sides. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing.

As his body relaxed, he extended his consciousness beyond its physical boundaries. As usual, the palace around him teemed with sleeping minds. Even so, Malik's unique signature was easy to find.

But something was wrong with it.

Where Malik's dreams should pulse with emotion and imagery, Zev found... nothing. A void. Not the emptiness of dreamless sleep, but an uncomfortable absence where feeling should exist.

What had happened to him?

What had they done to him?

Was it Prince Ashelon?

Zev opened his eyes and sat up. Without another thought, he crossed to the door and flung it open.

The guards outside straightened at his sudden appearance.

"Take me to the human," Zev demanded. "Now."

The taller guard shifted uncomfortably. "Lord Darius left orders that?—"

"My grandmother guaranteed my access to the human as part of our arrangement." Zev stepped closer, glaring at the guard. "Unless you'd like to explain to Lady Morvena why you violated her word?"

The guards exchanged glances, a silent calculation passing between them. Lady Morvena's wrath against Lord Darius's displeasure. Neither prospect appealed.

"Very well," the shorter guard relented. "But we escort you the entire time."

Zev nodded once. He didn't care if guards escorted him or not. He needed to see what was wrong with the human.

No more words were exchanged between him and the guards as they walked through the dark palace.

Eventually, they stopped before an ornate door. "Here," the taller guard said. "We'll wait outside."

Zev didn't bother knocking. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, bracing himself for whatever he might find.

Moonlight bathed the chamber in silver.

Malik lay in a four-poster bed, sheets tangled around his legs as though he'd been restless. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

But it wasn't peaceful sleep.

Even from the doorway, Zev could sense the wrongness, the void where dreams should be.

He approached the bed silently, studying Malik's face in the moonlight. The human looked younger in sleep, more vulnerable.

"Malik," Zev said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Malik's eyes opened immediately—too quickly for natural sleep. They stared up at the ceiling, before Malik slowly turned to Zev. No surprise registered at finding him there, no emotion of any kind crossed his face as he sat up.

His eyes—those expressive eyes that had sparked with anger, softened with compassion, burned with determination—were flat and vacant.

What was wrong with him?

"How are you feeling?" Zev asked.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

Malik didn't respond to Zev. He just stared past him at nothing in particular.

Zev grabbed his shoulders, shaking slightly to make Malik look at him. "Tell me what happened."

"They took me to the forest this morning," Malik reported. "Your grandmother and your father."

Curse it all. Of course his family was behind this.

"There was an excavation site," Malik continued in a monotone voice. "A pit, fifteen feet deep. With a tunnel at the bottom."

Zev had the worst suspicion that he knew what came next. "What kind of tunnel?"

"A shadow path." Malik's eyes met his, empty as a sunless sky. "They forced my hand into it. The darkness... it was hungry."

The coldness in Zev's chest spread. He understood. The shadow paths fed on emotion, on memory, on self. They stripped away everything that made a person who they were.

Zev's hands clenched into fists.

Lord Darius and Lady Morvena had promised that nothing would happen to the human, and yet they'd taken this bright warm soul and offered it to the shadows.

But then, that was what they did.

What this family always did.

"I saw you," Malik whispered, though his expression didn't change. "You had two dead werewolves at your feet."

Slowly, the rage in Zev's chest grew hot. Yes, he'd killed. He'd had to, because the Night Court wanted to make him just as unfeeling as Malik was now. They'd both end up as hollow shells of their former selves.

But Zev was done standing still and letting people walk over him.

He wasn't empty, he was angry .

He seized a crystal decanter from a nearby table, and hurled it against the wall where it shattered beautifully, fragments glittering like stars as they rained to the floor.

Malik stared at the broken glass, gaze empty still.

So that wasn't enough to rattle him, was it?

No matter.

Zev overturned the writing desk that stood in the corner. It went down with a satisfying crashing noise as some of the expensive wood splintered from the force of the impact.

"You wanted this." Zev turned to Malik, who'd jumped the slightest bit at the sound.

"Remember?" Zev demanded. "You told me to rage, to break things instead of myself.

" He swept his arm across a shelf, sending ornaments and trinkets flying.

A small clock struck the floor, its mechanism giving one final, pathetic chime before falling silent.

"You said I could scream, that I could rage—" Zev's voice broke as he tore down the heavy curtains, ripping the fabric from its rods. "That I didn't have to shut down."

He drove his fist into a painting—some pastoral scene of the Night Court in its glory days. His knuckles split, blood smearing across the canvas as it ripped.

"So why are you shutting down?"

Something flickered in Malik's eyes. A spark of awareness where before there had been nothing.

"Zev," he said, and his voice held the faintest tremor.

The sound of his name, spoken with the barest ghost of emotion, made Zev want to destroy the rest of the room. Except there was nothing left to destroy, save for the bed that Malik sat on.

Zev made himself sit on the edge of it.

What was the point of all this?

"What have they done to you?" he whispered, more to himself than to Malik.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, blood from his knuckles dripping onto the carpet. The destruction around him mirrored the chaos inside him.

Those Gods damned shadow paths.

If only it weren't for them…

A memory surfaced: Rhys and him, near those paths. Rhys's people had deified those cursed things.

"The Court thinks they own these paths," Rhys had told him. "But the paths answer to no one. They're ancient. Older than the Courts, older than most of Veridia."

Rhys had traced patterns in the earth around them, strange symbols that seemed to calm the hungry darkness.

"My people learned the secrets of the paths centuries ago," he'd explained. "We know how to travel them safely, how to feed them just enough without losing ourselves."

Zev hadn't understood then. "Why show me this?"

Rhys had smiled, eyes reflecting moonlight. "Because someday you might decide to leave this life behind, and through here is the fastest way to do it."

Zev had learned the marks to make, the words to whisper, the way to move through darkness without losing too much of himself. Not out of intellectual curiosity, but because Rhys had asked him to.

Now Zev's gaze snapped to Malik. "The excavation tunnel," he murmured. "It may be the answer."

Malik tilted his head.

Zev wanted to explain his new plan, but not where anyone might be listening.

If Zev could put into action all that Rhys had taught him, the paths could take them anywhere in Veridia. It wasn't without risk, but if they stayed here…

Zev didn't even want to consider what would become of them.

But there was one more problem standing in their way. To get Malik out of the palace, to navigate the shadow paths, to protect them both from the hungry darkness… He would need power. More power than he currently possessed.

Malik's dreams could offer such power.

Zev had tasted so much magic there, tempting him. Its potency was almost overwhelming.

Zev hadn't wanted to feed on Malik's dreams to protect his own mental state, but what was there left to protect now?

What would be left to protect a week from now?

Zev studied Malik's empty face. It wasn't just a heartbreaking sight, it was a flaw in his plan. Without emotion, there was nothing for him to feed on—no fear to harvest, no nightmares to consume.

He moved closer to Malik. "Listen to me. The shadow paths numbed your emotions, but maybe…" he hesitated, "maybe a strong enough shock can reverse the process." He touched his hand to Malik's face. "If this doesn't make you feel anything," he said, "I don't know what will."

Malik didn't respond, didn't move away, didn't lean in. He simply watched with a blank look as Zev closed the distance between them.

Their lips met, and Zev intended to keep the kiss controlled, impersonal. Just a touch to rattle Malik. For some reason Zev couldn't understand Malik had decided he liked Zev, and if that could bring him back…