Page 43 of Night Fae

"Lie down." Zev's voice dropped to a whisper. "Close your eyes. I'll do the rest."

Malik settled back against the pillows. He nodded once before closing his eyes. "I trust you."

Those three words landed like blows. He was brave, this mortal. Probably more so than he gave himself credit for. Stupid too, for trusting Zev.

How could anyone trust Zev when Zev had betrayed his most important promise already?

He'd done the dirty work for his family again.

He drew in a breath.

Later, he told himself. There would be time to worry about all of that later, when they were both safe.

Gathering himself, he placed his hands on either side of Malik's face and closed his own eyes. His father had needed a potion to put Malik to sleep. Zev didn't need to rely on any such tricks.

He let his consciousness sink beneath the surface of Malik's, through layers of thought and memory to where nightmares dwelled. There, he dove into the deep and pulled Malik with him.

There was so much pain in Malik's subconscious, so much terror.

Zev found the memory of the car crash easily, but it was far from the only thing that scared Malik.

There were others too—newer fears, fresher pain.

The dark emptiness of the shadow paths. The cruel silver eyes of Prince Ashelon.

Zev himself,standing over dead werewolves, knife dripping blood, face empty of remorse.

So Malik was terrified of him after all.

Maybe he wasn't as stupid as Zev had feared. Not if Zev was one of Malik's nightmares.

And still the mortal trusted him.

Before Zev could linger on that thought, he grabbed a thread of fear and pulled on it.

Malik's body arched on the bed, a gasp tearing from his throat. His nightmares flooded into Zev—rich, potent, intoxicating. Power surged through Zev's veins like liquid fire, burning away weakness, filling up every empty space inside him.

Through the connection, flashes of Malik's memories crashed over him:

The car, metal screaming as it folded around them. His mother's voice, suddenly silenced. The weight of his father's hand on his arm, trying to shield him even as he died.

A hospital room, white and sterile. "The only survivor," someone whispered, not knowing he could hear.

Late nights alone, the empty house echoing with ghosts of laughter that would never fill it again.

The crushing guilt of having been the one to get away.

The power built and built, far beyond what Zev had anticipated. He'd known Malik's dreams would be juicy, but this…

This was a feast of a kind he'd never experienced.

He could feel the power crackle across his skin as he drank in deep.

Was it because Malik's survivor's guilt mirrored his own?

Was that what made this connection so energizing?

Zev didn't know. But he couldn't stop.