Page 82 of Blood Oath
I listen as he quietly reveals what he found in Maven’s notebook. As hypocritical as it was for him to invade her personal space without permission when he took every measure to prevent me from doing the same, I find myself smirking when he’s finished talking.
Decimus folds his arms across his chest, shaking his head. “Damn. She really has been trying to get rid of us, huh?”
“Once again, deliciously unexpected,” I agree.
Frost is quiet, studying the marbling on the island counter. “If she really wants to get rid of us…”
The dragon shifter gives him a scalding glare. “Don’t even fucking tell me you’re fine giving her up. The gods picked her for us—we’re hers, so whatever moody shit you’re trying to justify, just let it go. Anyway, I’m relieved that not all of that was her actually hating me, but I want to know why the hell she’s been fighting our quintet so hard.”
I tip my head. “But that’s obvious. If she’s involved in the anti-legacy movement, being placed in a quintet with legacies like us would be completely antithetical to her beliefs.”
It seems to take them a moment for that to sink in, and then Crane swears. “I hate to ever agree with you, but that might be it after all.”
Decimus considers it and then shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s it.”
“But if it is, I should report her,” Frost mumbles.
“Report her, and I’ll permanently mar your oh-so-precious model face,” I warn.
The other two just glare at him, and he huffs before leaving the kitchen. Maybe he’s going to finally go withdraw his power from wreaking icy havoc outside.
Crane tips his head as he gets lost in thought. “But if Maven is so anti-legacy?—”
A nearby surge of subconscious terror pierces through Limbo and makes it into the mortal plane, making me tense. Sensing such a powerful nightmare would normally have my mouth watering, but my appetite twists when the aura saturating the terror is unmistakably Maven’s.
I’ve been desperate to taste her dreams since the moment I laid eyes on her. No dreamcatcher keeps me from sensing her like this now—an oversight Crane must have made while preparing this place. So, whatever nightmare is playing in her head, I can keep it from hurting her.
Crane starts to demand what has me on edge, but I step into Limbo, so it sounds like he’s speaking underwater. Kicking up, I quickly drift through the ceiling and walls until I stop in the guest suite, where my keeper is tangled in blankets.
That the sight of her asleep makes me breathless is something I fully expected.
But her sleeping form sending lust crashing through me? That is unexpected.
Thanks to my nature, I’ve seen countless people sleeping. Not once have I ever felt anything like this. But the desire to smooth Maven’s furrowed brow, kiss every inch of her skin, and worship her resting body just as I’ve fantasized about pleasuring her in the waking world is suddenly consuming my every thought.
But my newfound hunger quickly takes a back seat when she whimpers in her sleep, stirring as the nightmare grows in Limbo.
“My dark little darling,” I whisper, settling on the bed beside her and reaching for the nightmare to take the reins. “Show me what’s causing you such pain.”
Abruptly, I find myself standing in a dark room. The details of it are foggy, as dreams often are—but this is clearly a nightmare spawned from memory. There’s too much real-world exactness for it to be something her subconscious is spinning.
And in Maven’s memory, she’s wrapped in nothing but a sheet as she sobs at someone’s feet. The looming figure is faceless, as villains in nightmares so often are. This is a younger version of my keeper, perhaps somewhere in her teens. Her face is slightly rounder, her hips slimmer, and her cries wrench my heart.
“Please don’t,” she begs, tears dripping onto the stone floor. “Please. It was my mistake. Just punish me for it. Don’t?—”
Livid bile rises in my throat when the figure’s foot snaps out, catching Maven in the face and sending her sprawling. Her head audibly smacks against the stone floor, but it doesn’t stop her. She struggles to get up, still clutching the sheet around herself.
“Silence. You knew this would happen,” a chillingly deep voice rumbles. “It is time you learned where loyalty always lies.”
Someone else is screaming in the periphery of Maven’s nightmare, and I can sense her horror and terror mounting as someone else is dragged into the room. Whoever it is, when she turns to look at them, I happen to be standing in the way. Sometimes, I conceal myself in dreams to watch them play out, but I haven’t here, and her eyes snap up to me at once. My chest caves in when I see the blood dripping from her busted lip, the tears streaking down her dirty, stricken face.
She’s covered in bruises.
The screaming reaches a fever pitch behind us as if someone is being ripped apart, and Maven’s nightmare shakes around me. She’s trying desperately to wake up, but it has her firmly in its grip.
But she’s not begging the faceless monster anymore. She’s begging me.
“Stop it. Please make it stop,” my obsession pleads.
