Page 30 of The Nightmare Bride

T he night the rain stopped, I dreamed of my parents.

I was eight years old, surrounded by the swamp, the rustling tupelo trees. This was my first time seeing the part of Oceansgate that ran wild, and I didn’t care for it one bit.

My mother stood before me, her hands on her hips. “I want you to wait, Harlowe. Right here.”

“Wait?” I whined. My lank brown hair drifted against my elbows, stirred by a breeze that didn’t touch the heat. “But why? Where’re you going?”

“Not far.” My mother used that tone. The one that meant she couldn’t wait to be done with this. With me. “Your father and I will be right back.”

I stamped a foot. “But I hate this place.”

Her mouth tightened.

Some distant, grown-up part of me—the one that understood what was happening—cringed at my mother’s impatience.

But child me met with petulant confusion.

Last night, from the ratty cocoon of my blanket, I’d heard Ma arguing with Da, and while I couldn’t have said what about, I’d caught a few choice phrases.

Too much. A handful. Can’t do it anymore.

Now the words buzzed in my ears along with the mosquitoes. “Why can’t I come with you?”

“Because. I said so.”

“But—”

“For once in your life, Harlowe, can you just listen?” she snapped. “Do as you’re told?”

I pouted, but I obeyed. Zephyrine knew why, but I obeyed.

My mother walked away. Didn’t look back. But my father did, and even within the hazy confines of the dream, that simple act took on a life of its own. His brown eyes considered me, vast and deep and wondering.

Goddess, how I wished he hadn’t done it. I wished there hadn’t been a point at which he’d considered returning for me and decided not to.

My mother slapped at the back of his head, and he faced forward again. Blue shadows swallowed them, Da’s white shirt winking out.

I was alone.

I waited there, swatting at bugs and anticipating my parents’ return, until long after the sun set. Even though I knew, deep down, that I’d been abandoned.

The cold hoot of an owl jerked me awake. I heaved upright in bed, my chest surging like a bellows, my skin slicked with sweat. Gods, I hadn’t had that dream in ages. Now I ran my hands down my face, trying to scrub the memories from my skin.

Calm. Breathe.

Somehow, Kyven had slept through my violent awakening. He sprawled beside me like some wayward god, thoughtlessly taking up enough space for his own temple.

Seven hells, but he was beautiful, each bold brushstroke of him like someone’s answered prayer. And I couldn’t handle it right now, not with my nerve endings pruned to rawness by that dream. Not with the stain of unworthiness left behind.

No, I needed to get away from him. Go...anywhere else.

I slid from bed, pausing only long enough to grab the throw blanket from the armchair.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, I gulped cold water from the faucet. But the dream still moldered in my throat, rancid and clinging.

Air, then. I needed air.

I hurried back into the hall, pausing when Merron’s door slid from the gloom. Was he still awake? Because if so, I knew of one surefire way to calm the nausea laying siege to my innards.

I got as far as reaching for his doorknob, then froze. No. What was I doing? Last time had ended in disaster, and I refused to sink to that level of selfishness again. Besides, it wasn’t his touch I longed for. It was...

It was...

Well, who knew, but appealing to Merron wasn’t right. I could not, would not, hurt that man any more than I already had.

I snatched my hand away and hurried onward.

Upstairs, on the rooftop, cool night air brushed at my cheeks. The rain had cleared, revealing stippled stars, and I stood at the roof’s edge, my blanket wrapped tight.

Tomorrow, the heat would return with a vengeance, but for now, the swamp glowed beneath a cloudless, moon-chilled sky. Out on the lawn, fireflies danced like amethyst stars.

It was beautiful. And deadly. And a reminder that I needed to hold myself together if I wanted to help Amryssa, not fall apart at the first sign of a nightmare. A perfectly mundane one, at that.

A foot scraped against stone. “Harlowe?”

I whirled. Merron stood beneath the cupola, his arms spread, his nightshirt rippling on the breeze. He looked...terrified.

“Merron? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t,” he choked out. “Please. Just...think about this.”

I furrowed my brow, mystified. But then he shot a shiny-eyed glance at the drop behind me, and I understood.

He thought I meant to jump.

I couldn’t help it. I snorted. “Really? I only came out here because I had a bad dream. So you can go ahead and close your mouth.”

He didn’t close his mouth. Whatever he tried to say next stalled in his throat.

I sighed. “Come on. After all these nightmares, you think I’d just give up? If nothing else, you should know I wouldn’t leave Amryssa like that.”

That seemed to reach him. His mouth snicked shut. “Okay. You’re...okay? You’re sure?”

I wasn’t, not really, but I wasn’t not okay in the way he feared. “I’m fine.”

“All right. But...will you come here? You’re scaring me.”

I frowned. “No. I like it here.”

He eyed the scant inches separating me from a dizzying earthward plunge. “Okay. But...did I hear you downstairs? Just now? Outside my room?”

I paused. Shit. I had no feasible way to explain that.

Thankfully, the shadows rustled, saving me from an answer. Kyven wandered out of the darkness, looking tousled and decadent and utterly unsurprised at finding us here.

“Lioness.” He scrubbed at his mussed hair. “Bad dream?”

I gave Merron a See? look. “Yep. I just came to get some air.”

“Mmm.” Kyven stretched, catlike. When he raised his arms, his entire torso rippled, muscles standing out in places that seemed physiologically impossible.

It was absurd. So ridiculous that even Merron watched. But then the steward’s face closed up. “What’re you doing out here, Your Highness?”

“Trying to lure my wife back to bed.” Kyven scanned Merron with abject disinterest. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m...” Merron glanced to me for help.

I shook my head. If he expected me to admit to lingering by his door in front of my temporary-but-still-very-legal husband, then...nope.

Not going there.

“I’m trying to get her away from the edge,” Merron said uncertainly. “I don’t like her standing so close.”

Kyven snickered and strolled to a bench. “How unfortunate for you. Because last I checked, she could stand wherever she damn well pleases.”

At that, my stupid heart swelled and swelled. Kyven draped himself atop the bench, perfectly at ease. Meanwhile, Merron tensed like a matchstick curved against two thumbs.

They were both looking straight at me. But seeing two completely different people.

“Go back to bed, Merron,” I said, softening my dismissal with a step away from the brink. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

He studied me, plainly affronted, then threw his hands up and padded back down to the attic.

Once he’d gone, Kyven winked.

I expelled a sigh. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” A smirk curved his mouth. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“You didn’t have to. Your face did all the talking.”

He laughed, then extended his arms. “Come. Sit. Tell me about this dream.”

I drifted close. I’d come out here to escape him, yet here I was, unable to resist the allure of that insouciant half smile. Or the fact that he apparently considered my will to live a foregone conclusion.

But once I neared the bench, I hesitated. I had nowhere to sit except in a straddle atop him, which he seemed to expect, because he flicked beckoning fingers at me.

I scoffed. “I’m not going to use you as a seat, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He pouted. “Why not?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“Oh, come on. I had to endure all of five minutes in bed alone. The least you can do is cuddle me.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Not a chance.”

“You’d deny a poor, lonely husband the minimum of attention?”

“You’re a big boy.” I settled into our familiar sniping, the dream’s aftertaste finally receding. “You’ll live.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “We’re both wearing clothes.”

“Not enough for that .”

A shimmer moved in his eyes, one that said he knew I wouldn’t surrender, but he enjoyed putting the effort in, regardless.

“Besides,” I added. “Last I checked, I could sit anywhere I damn well please.”

He laughed and dropped his hands. “Well, I can’t argue with that. It was obviously said by someone incredibly wise.” He heaved himself upright—complete with an obscene amount of abdominal rippling—and patted the now-empty half of the bench. “There. Happy?”

I eyed the space he’d cleared. Goddess. He both eased and sharpened the ache inside me. Like an addiction. The more I got of him, the more I wanted. And the more I wanted, the harder it was to keep him at arm’s length.

This was dangerous. He was dangerous.

So dangerous, in fact, that I couldn’t stop myself from settling on the bench and drawing up my legs. I tucked my nightgown close, at least, so as not to provide any encouragement.

Not that Kyven needed such things. He stacked his forearms on the apex of my knees and rested his chin on top.

I sucked in a breath. Starlight and bayou-glow danced across his face, rendering him breathtaking. Even more so than when he slept.

“You’re staring,” he said.

I cleared my throat. “You happen to be in the direct path of my eyeballs. It has nothing to do with you.”

He laughed softly. “You’re staring .”

I huffed. “Okay, fine, well, so are you.”

“Mmm. Because I like your face. I like your hair. I like you .”

Heat throbbed in my cheeks. Looking at him did things to me, but being looked at piled a whole set of other things right atop the first. “You do know I still hate you, right?”

His smile deepened. “Oh, I’m well aware of how you feel about me.”

The air thickened. Gods, how did he do that? Say one thing and mean another entirely?

Time to change the subject, since I couldn’t win at this little game. “As delightful as your arrogance is, I actually... Can I ask you something?”