Page 32 of Summer’s Seduction (Sinful Seasons #2)
MORPHEUS
“ N o, please! I didn’t mean to—” Larkspur’s voice cut through peaceful sleep. The scent of her fear and panic dousing the air caused my pulse to race as I cast my wings around us in a cocoon of black, shielding us while I listened for any sign of our enemy. But none came.
“Don’t leave me here,” she pleaded, snapping my attention back toward her. A small, sad whimper fell from her trembling lips, and tears coated her cheeks despite her eyes remaining closed.
This was a nightmare.
Keeping my wings wrapped around us, just in case, I leaned down, brushing strands of hair away from her damp brow and giving her a soft shake. “It’s only a dream.”
She thrashed under my touch, terror spiking as she kicked and lashed out at me, batting me away.
“Larkspur, you need to wake up.” Tapping into my magic, I injected all the power I could into the command.
My eyes widened as the humming of my magic quieted. Larkspur was still trapped in the horrors of her mind, caged in whatever power this was. I’d never seen something strong enough to keep a soul in a nightmare when I commanded them to wake.
Dread coiled in the pit of my stomach as I watched her writhe, helplessness chilling my bones as her pulse continued to climb. She was spiraling further and further away from me, drowning in an ocean of churning waters with no chance of surfacing. I needed to reach her. And reach her quickly.
“Hold on, little monster,” I breathed. Drawing her into my arms, I lifted her wrist to my lips, fangs extending, and bit.
M ist filled the forest, so thick I could only make out the shape of my hand despite the full moon overhead. Pine and damp earth swirled in the night air, familiar and not at the same time. My eyes narrowed as I searched for any sign of Larkspur, knowing she was the anchor for this world.
There was nothing but the eerie stillness of a cursed forest, the pine too strong, and the snow beneath my boots too stiff. But our minds were linked now. The only way I knew of escaping this hell was by finding Larkspur and helping her realize this—whatever this was—only existed in The Nightmare Realm.
“Please, don’t leave me here.” The cry came from a child, the small plea devoid of hope even as she asked.
Some of the mist cleared, revealing a tall woman with the same coloring as Larkspur, racing through the trees with a child who was no more than eight, trailing behind her.
“Father will be so angry?—”
“Hush, Larkspur,” the woman scolded, whipping around to shoot her a venomous glare. “If you keep your mouth shut, your father will be none the wiser.”
My nostrils flared as the woman, it must have been Larkspur’s mother, pushed her toward a clearing.
“Wait here until I return.”
Young Larkspur nodded, but I recognized the hard glint in her eyes, which spoke of a plan churning in her mind. Her mother didn’t notice, turning toward the waiting forest without glancing back.
I stepped forward, aware that the quicker we left this place, the better. “Larkspur, you’re in a dream. You need to wake up.”
She looked right through me, unable to see or hear anything I was saying. But I was here, our minds woven together. Whatever magic had started this should be gone. This—whatever force was keeping her—wasn’t a physical restrain but an emotional one. Larkspur wasn’t ready to leave. I’d have to walk through this memory with her and hope I’d find an opening to shatter the illusion.
I stalked behind young Larkspur like a shadow as she followed her mother’s trail. The mist still clung to the ground, but the broken branches and disturbed snow patches were easy to see. Larkspur crouched as she spied, allowing me to look ahead to what she saw.
It wasn’t long before we slowed, her mother’s voice carrying through the trees. “I’ve brought her.”
“Where?” A deep voice rumbled through the branches, the mist growing thicker as I tried to focus on his features.
Large, leathery wings shone behind his towering frame, the red tint to them so deep they were nearly black. Dark, close-cropped hair and silver eyes with obsidian rings stared down at Larkspur’s mother. Olive skin shone between swirling shadows—no, not shadows, but tendrils of the blackest night. Faces flashed in the darkness that whirled around him, contorting and writhing in pain—souls trapped.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Epialos.” Larkspur’s mother lifted her nose in a poor attempt to hide the scent of her fear, which was so potent I was sure young Larkspur could smell it from here. “I may not be as powerful as you, but we both know I'm unrivaled when it comes to binding spells and wards.”
“Is that so, Dahlia?” Epialos growled, the menace in his voice unmistakable as he took a step forward. The name sent a chill down my spine, tugging through memories I’d long since suppressed. “Then the whispers of her powers of persuasion slipping through even your spells are false? Her eighth name day is next month, and still, she feeds half as often as one of your dark ones.”
Dahlia stepped back, pulse jumping and hands flexing as she fought for composure. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll bind her powers again if I need to. Better yet, I’ll curse you to never know her. Maybe then your influence will ebb.”
A snarl tore through him as he seethed. The faces distorted in his darkness, eddying in their silent torment. “She’s my daughter. You won’t keep her from me.”
A wave of night rose behind him as Dahlia turned, racing towards the trees, only for Larkspur to run forward, shielding her mother. Her small fists were clenched, eyes set in a fierce glare, but it was shock and awe radiating from Epialos’s eyes.
Night froze and flakes of snow halted as they fell from above. Time seemed to pause as Epialos reached out a shaking hand, brows furrowing, as his gaze turned glossy.
“My daughter?—”
A bright burst of light shot over Larkspur’s shoulder, hitting Epialos in the chest. His body exploded into shadows, tendrils of night swirling as they fought to merge.
A weight settled in the pit of my stomach as the chaotic web of Larkspur’s past mingled with resurfacing memories of my own. I finally understood why terror was gripping my body.
Queen Dahlia was the last true queen of The Kingdom of Nightmares, meaning Larkspur, my little monster, was the lost princess.
Dahlia gripped Larkspur’s wrist, jerking her toward the trees. Larkspur’s brows furrowed as she glanced from her mother to where the cluster of black was forming. I could see questions flitting through her gaze—and for the first time, she seemed to sense something wasn’t right.
“Larkspur,” I called, keeping pace as they ran. “This is a dream.”
For a moment, she saw me, her eyes going wide, and in the next, we were falling.