Page 88 of Night Fae

Leon hesitated. "It might."

"Then we need to do something!" Adrian insisted.

Knox growled. "We need to get Zev out of the Fields."

"Or break the connection," Leon suggested carefully.

Malik shook his head, despite the pain it caused. "No. I won't abandon him."

"Malik—" Knox began.

"No." He forced himself to sit up, gritting his teeth against the dizziness. "Zev didn't abandon me in the Night Court. I'm not abandoning him now."

Knox and Caelen exchanged a look that Malik couldn't decipher.

"He needs rest," Caelen finally said. "Take him to his chambers. We'll discuss our options once we've all had time to recover."

Malik wanted to protest, but his body betrayed him. He could barely keep his eyes open now. The last thing he remembered was being lifted again, carried through the palace corridors as consciousness slipped away.

CHAPTER 18

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.