Page 32 of Night Fae (Monsters of Veridia #3)

Zev floated in a silver haze of memory and desire, reality dissolving around him until nothing remained but Rhys's face, his touch, the sound of his voice.

They sat together beneath their tree—their place, the secret clearing where they'd first dared to believe in something beyond duty and survival.

"I've missed you," Zev whispered again because it was the truest thing he knew.

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

Time meant nothing here. Had it been minutes or hours since he'd confessed to killing a werewolf from Rhys's pack? The memory should have brought pain, but instead, it faded like mist in sunlight, replaced by the warmth of Rhys's forgiveness.

"You always knew what I was," Zev said.

"I knew what they made you," Rhys corrected. His fingers traced the curve of Zev's ear, the line of his jaw. Familiar touches that Zev had thought lost forever. "And I knew what you could become."

A distant part of Zev's mind registered that something wasn't right. The silver grass beneath them glowed too brightly. The air tasted of nothing—no pine resin, no earthy scents of the forest. But he pushed the doubts away.

They were inconsequential.

"Tell me again," Zev said, "about the cabin you wanted to build."

Rhys smiled, something flickering behind his eyes. "The one by the lake?"

Zev frowned. "The one in the mountains. You said we'd... we'd build it where no one would find us."

"Yes, of course. The mountain cabin." Rhys's smile never faltered. "With a stone hearth and windows facing east to catch the sunrise."

But that wasn't right either. Rhys had wanted western windows to watch the sunset. He'd been specific about that—said the sunset reminded him of Zev's eyes glowing in the dark.

A sudden cold crept through Zev's veins.

"That's not what you said," he murmured.

Rhys's hands tightened on his arms. "Does it matter? We're together now."

"It matters." Zev pulled back slightly, studying Rhys's face. Perfect and familiar in every detail, and yet... "The cabin in the mountains. West-facing windows."

"That's what I meant."

"No, you didn't."

The air around them thickened. Behind Rhys, the tree's branches seemed to twist, reaching downward like grasping fingers.

"Why are you doing this?" Rhys asked, his voice taking on an unfamiliar edge. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I am. But you're not?—"

"Zev!"

A new voice cut through the silver haze. Zev's head snapped up, searching for its source.

"You're ignoring me now?" Rhys cupped Zev's face, turning it back toward him.

But Zev had heard that voice. Impossible as it seemed, he'd heard?—

"ZEV!"

Malik. It was Malik's voice, calling to him from somewhere beyond the clearing. Zev tried to rise, but his limbs were so heavy.

"He's not real," Rhys whispered, his breath unnaturally cold against Zev's ear. "I'm the only real thing here. Stay with me."

Was that true? Could Malik's voice be an illusion?

But what if it wasn't?

"After everything we meant to each other, you'd choose him?" Rhys's voice dropped lower, taking on a hurt tone that pierced Zev's heart. "Some human boy you barely know over what we had?"

The word "had" caught in Zev's mind. Past tense. Because Rhys was gone. Had been gone for years. And this—whatever this was—couldn't be him.

As the realization formed, the clearing darkened.

The silver light dimmed, shadows creeping in from the edges.

Zev noticed for the first time that his body felt wrong—numb in places, burning in others.

He looked down. Darkness wrapped around his legs, his torso, tendrils of it crawling up his chest toward his throat.

"What is this?" He tried to pull away from the shadow tendrils, but they only tightened their grip.

"Nothing," Rhys claimed. "Just an echo of your power. Remember when you lost control of your magic? It's like that."

But it wasn't like that at all.

The tendrils pulsed, and with each pulse, Zev felt himself growing weaker, memories draining away like water through cupped hands. Important memories—his escape from the Court, finding Knox and the others, saving Malik from his father.

Malik.

Something tore through the fabric of the clearing—not a physical thing, but a disturbance in whatever magic held this place together. Through the rift, Zev glimpsed a figure moving toward them, struggling against the silver mist.

"Ignore it," Rhys commanded, his voice no longer gentle. "Focus on me."

But Zev's eyes kept returning to the approaching figure. Malik fought through the mist, determination etched on his face.

"He's not real," Rhys insisted. "He can't be here."

"But he is," Zev countered, strength returning to his voice. "And I don't think you're real either."

The moment the words left his mouth, pain shot through him. The shadow tendrils constricted, digging into his flesh, and Rhys's face flickered, features momentarily replaced by something hollow and hungry.

"Don't say that," Rhys—or whatever wore his face—hissed. "I'm the only thing that's real here."

"No." Malik's voice was closer now. "You're feeding on him. The Fields are using his memories of Rhys to drain him."

Zev turned toward Malik's voice, fighting against the tendrils that tried to hold him in place. Through gaps in the silver mist, he saw Malik more clearly. He was pale, exhausted, but always pressing on. The sight of him sent a jolt through Zev's body, like lightning striking parched earth.

"Malik," he called. "How did you make it here?"

"I followed you," Malik answered, still pushing through the mist. "Through the shadow paths."

The shadow paths. Right. They were connected to… to the Fields of Memories. They'd gone there to find Leon. And then there'd been Andras… leading him deeper into the mist. It all came back in a disorienting rush.

By all the gods… he'd let himself be trapped here. And now Malik was here too.

"You have to get out of here," Zev yelled at him.

"So do you," Malik countered. He was close enough now that Zev could see the strain in his face, the way he moved as if every step caused pain. "Those things are feeding on you."

The false Rhys stood, placing himself between Zev and Malik. "He chose to stay," it said, its voice a perfect imitation of Rhys's warmth. "Leave us."

"He didn't choose anything," Malik responded. "You tricked him."

The tendrils tightened around Zev's throat. He couldn't speak, couldn't call out. The pain intensified as the thing wearing Rhys's face grew angry.

"He's mine," it growled. "He's always been mine."

"No," Malik said calmly. "He belongs to himself."

The false Rhys moved toward Malik with unnatural speed. Zev tried to shout a warning, but the tendrils choked the words before they could form. Helpless, he watched as Rhys—no, not Rhys, the thing that had stolen Rhys's face—lunged.

But instead of attacking, it passed through Malik like smoke.

"You're not really here," the false Rhys snarled, whirling to face Malik again. "You're a projection, a dream-walker."

"I'm more real than you," Malik replied. His gaze locked with Zev's. "And I came to bring him home."

Home.

The word echoed in Zev's mind. When was the last time he'd thought of anywhere as home?

The false Rhys's form began to shift, the familiar features melting away to reveal something much darker underneath—a creature made of shadow and hunger, shaped by Zev's grief and longing.

"He'll never love you as he loved me," it said, voice no longer Rhys's but an eerie imitation. "You're nothing but a temporary distraction, a pale shadow of what we had."

Pain flashed across Malik's face, so brief Zev might have missed it if he hadn't been watching so intently. But then Malik straightened, meeting the creature's gaze without flinching.

"I know," he said softly. "And that doesn't matter."

The simple honesty in those words struck Zev with unexpected force. The tendrils around his throat loosened slightly, allowing him to draw a ragged breath.

"Then why are you here?" the creature demanded.

"Because he deserves to be free," Malik answered. "Because no one deserves to be trapped in their grief forever." He took another step toward Zev. "Even if he never feels for me what he felt for Rhys."

The creature howled, its form distorting further. It lunged toward Malik again, claws of shadow extending from what had once been hands.

This time, Malik didn't remain intangible. The shadow claws raked across his chest, tearing through his shirt, drawing blood. He stumbled backward, one hand pressed to the wound.

"Malik!" Zev shouted, finding his voice at last. He strained against the tendrils, fighting their hold with renewed strength. "Leave him alone!"

The creature turned back to Zev, its features constantly shifting between Rhys's face and something monstrous. "Choose," it demanded. "Him or me." Rhys's face solidified once more, perfect and beloved. "Stay with me," it pleaded, using Rhys's voice again. "I can be everything you want me to be."

Zev didn't have to think about it. "You're not Rhys," he said, his voice gaining strength with each word. "Rhys was never what I wanted him to be. He was himself—stubborn, principled, infuriating."

The tendrils constricted painfully, but Zev continued. "Rhys would never have used my love as a chain."

The clearing darkened further, the silver grass withering beneath them.

"And Rhys," Zev finished, meeting the creature's gaze, "would have liked Malik."

The words struck the creature like a spell. The image of Rhys wavered, revealing more of the terrible shadow beneath.

"You would abandon me again?" it asked.

"I never abandoned Rhys," Zev said quietly. "He was taken from me. And whatever you are, you're not him."

The creature snarled, lunging toward Zev, but Malik moved faster. He threw himself between them, one hand outstretched toward the nearest shadow tendril wrapped around Zev's arm. To Zev's astonishment, Malik's fingers closed around the tendril as if it were solid.

Power surged through the clearing, a shock wave that rippled outward from the point where Malik touched the shadow. The tendril writhed, trying to escape his grasp, but Malik held firm, his face contorted with effort.

"Let. Him. Go." Malik ground out each word, and with each one, the tendril grew thinner, weaker.

The creature shrieked, its form dissolving at the edges. The other tendrils loosened their grip on Zev, retreating like startled serpents.

Malik pulled harder on the tendril he held, and to Zev's amazement, it began to unravel, energy flowing back from it into Malik's hand, then from Malik to Zev through their connection.

Strength returned to Zev's limbs in a rush. He tore free from the remaining tendrils, staggering to his feet. The clearing around them was disintegrating, the silver grass fading to gray, the ancient tree crumbling into dirt.

The creature made one last attempt, reforming Rhys's face, reaching for Zev with familiar hands. "Please," it begged. "Don't leave me alone again."

The words cut through Zev's heart, but he turned away, forcing himself to focus on Malik instead.

"How do we get out of here?" he asked, gripping Malik's shoulder.

"The shadow paths," Malik gasped, clearly exhausted. "I can... I can guide us back."

The creature howled, the sound of it tearing through the fabric of the clearing. The ground beneath them began to split open, darkness welling up from the cracks.

"Now would be good," Zev said, supporting Malik as the human swayed on his feet.

Malik nodded, closing his eyes. He reached out blindly, hand passing through the air until it connected with something Zev couldn't see—something that made Malik's fingers curl as if grasping a rope.

"Hold onto me," Malik ordered. "Don't let go, no matter what."

Zev wrapped his arms around Malik's waist, pulling him close as the clearing collapsed around them. The creature that had worn Rhys's face dissolved into the encroaching darkness, its howl fading to a whisper and then to nothing.

Cold enveloped them as they fell into the shadow paths. Zev tightened his grip on Malik, feeling the human's heartbeat against his chest—too fast, too weak, but alive.

"I've got you," Zev promised as darkness swallowed them completely.