Page 29 of Night Fae (Monsters of Veridia #3)

Malik drifted in darkness. His body was weightless, disconnected from everything except the pain in his chest—that persistent tug that had been growing stronger since Zev disappeared into the Fields.

The pain sharpened, becoming an insistent pull that dragged him deeper into unconsciousness. Not toward sleep, but toward something else—something vast and hungry that whispered at the edges of his awareness.

The shadow paths.

The realization came with a chill that spread through him.

He'd never wanted to go near the paths again, and yet…

The darkness twisted around him, coalescing into shapes, colors bleeding into existence. Malik found himself standing in a forest clearing, silver grass beneath his feet. He spotted a massive gnarled tree, and beneath it, Zev.

Zev as Malik had never seen him.

Not the cold, controlled warrior he'd first met, nor the desperate, fierce protector who had pulled him through the shadow paths. This Zev looked younger somehow, his features softer, his posture lacking its usual rigid vigilance.

Malik stepped forward instinctively, but his feet made no sound on the forest floor.

"Zev!" he tried to call, but no sound emerged from his throat.

He was here but not here—an observer, nothing more.

And Zev wasn't alone. A broad-shouldered man was with him, regarding Zev with a smile that transformed his rugged face into something beautiful.

The man wore simple clothing—a loose white shirt and worn leather pants—but carried himself with the easy confidence of someone comfortable in his own skin.

Rhys.

Of course it was Rhys.

"You always overthink everything," Rhys said, his voice deep and warm. He reached out, catching Zev's wrist and pulling him closer. "Some things just are."

"Nothing just is," Zev countered. "Everything has a price."

"Not this." Rhys brushed his fingers along Zev's jaw. "Not us."

"Especially us," Zev argued, but he didn't resist the touch.

Something twisted in Malik's chest, sharp and painful.

Was that jealousy?

He didn't want to be jealous, but he couldn't help it. He'd never seen Zev like this. Guard down, eyes soft, leaning into someone's touch without hesitation.

Rhys pulled Zev into an embrace, and Zev's arms wrapped around him naturally, as if they'd done this a thousand times before.

"I've missed you," Zev whispered.

"I know." Rhys pressed his forehead against Zev's. "I've been waiting."

Malik wanted to look away. This raw, private moment wasn't meant for his eyes. But he couldn't turn from the naked emotion on Zev's face, the grief and longing and relief all mingled together.

"I failed you," Zev said, his voice breaking.

"No." Rhys cupped Zev's face in his hands. "Never think that. I chose my path, just as you chose yours."

"But if I had been there?—"

"You would have died too." Rhys's voice turned firm. "And that was never what I wanted."

Malik's jealousy dissolved, replaced by an ache that wasn't entirely his own. The pain in his chest resonated with Zev's grief, making it difficult to breathe. This was the weight Zev carried. The ghost of a love cut short, of promises unfulfilled.

Malik might have been happy for Zev, for this moment of absolution, but something was wrong.

Once Malik noticed the shadow tendrils, they were everywhere.

They were so fine they were nearly invisible, but they curled around Zev's ankles, his wrists, his throat.

Leon was right. The Fields were feeding on him.

No!

Panic seized Malik. "Zev!" he tried again to call out again, but his voice wouldn't carry in the dreamscape.

Zev didn't notice him at all. He just kept talking to Rhys.

"I killed a werewolf," he confessed. "To protect someone else. They made me choose."

Rhys's expression softened with understanding. "The Court has always excelled at impossible choices."

"He was from your pack."

"Of course."

"How can you not hate me for that?"

"Because I know you." Rhys traced the curve of Zev's ear, the line of his jaw. "Because I've seen inside you, the parts you hide from everyone else. You carry enough hatred for yourself—I won't add mine to that burden."

The shadow tendrils thickened, winding more tightly around Zev, who seemed completely unaware of their presence. Of course he was. He was trapped in an illusion that told him everything he'd ever wanted to hear.

Malik needed to do something. To break Zev out of this.

But there wasn't anything he could do.

And the shadows had nearly engulfed Zev now, winding around his chest, his throat, seeping into his skin like ink in water. His outline flickered.

Malik stared in panic.

"Let him go!" he screamed, even though he knew he wouldn't be heard.

One of the shadow tendrils twitched.

Malik froze. Had he done that?

He took a second, just a second, to study the tendrils. They seemed to flow from the silver grass, connecting to a larger darkness beneath. The shadow paths.

Hadn't Leon said something about the paths reacting violently to them?

If Malik was somehow linked to the paths because of his heritage...

Malik concentrated on the nearest tendril, imagining himself reaching for it, grasping it. To his shock, the shadow rippled, as if disturbed by an unseen hand.

He tried again, focusing harder. This time, the tendril twitched, momentarily loosening its grip on Zev's arm.

Rhys—or whatever wore Rhys's face—frowned, looking around. "Someone's here." His expression darkened. "Something interferes."

Zev seemed barely conscious now, leaning heavily against Rhys. The shadow tendrils had nearly covered him completely, only his face still visible.

Desperation lending him strength, Malik focused on the largest tendril wrapped around Zev's chest. He imagined grasping it, tearing it away, freeing Zev from its grip.

The shadow shuddered violently, loosening for a moment. Zev gasped, a flash of awareness returning to his eyes.

"What—?" He looked down, finally noticing the darkness consuming him.

"Ignore it," Rhys urged, turning Zev's face back toward his own. "Look at me. Only at me."

"No!" Malik shouted, but still, his voice was not getting through. "Zev! It's feeding on you. The Fields—they're draining you through your memories. It's?—"

His voice cut off as pressure closed around his throat. The dreamscape itself was fighting him now, the Fields rejecting his intrusion.

But Malik wasn't about to give up so easily.

He fought against the pressure constricting his form. The shadow paths had responded to his commands, however weakly. If he could just reach Zev?—

He stretched out his hand toward one of the shadow tendrils, not trying to break it this time, but to grasp it, to use it.

His fingers closed around the tendril. It felt cold and alive, pulsing with stolen energy. Zev's energy. Instead of pushing it away, Malik pulled on it, drawing the energy back through the connection between them.

The effect was immediate and shocking. Power surged through Malik, raw and electric, filling him with a strength he'd never known.

But it was too late.

The clearing blurred around him, colors fading.

No! No, no no.

Malik woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in his bed in the Shadow Palace, heart pounding, the knowledge of what he had to do burning in his mind with perfect clarity.

He had to fight through the paths and bring Zev home.