Page 11 of Endless Terrors
“Long enough,” the Seelie King said. His tone didn’t give anything away. I was used to his teasing, his smirks, the double meanings of everything that came out of his mouth. This strange reserve disarmed me, and I was barely aware of Collith coming up behind me.
Desperate for a distraction, I turned my attention to Laurie’s appearance. Earlier, he’d said he needed to get ready. He wore a suit of red velvet, with lapels and sleeves made of intricate black lace. Rings gleamed on his fingers. The dark shirt beneath his jacket was unbuttoned halfway down, revealing a pale, sculpted chest that I’d once kissed and run my hands down—I didn’t let myself remember the rest of that night.
As I finished my perusal of the silver-haired faerie, I could feel his eyes on me, too. I forced myself to look at him, and something about his expression made me resist the urge to raise my chin in defiance. “I’m surprised you’d deign to make another appearance. I thought you were going back to your precious Court,” I said.
My tone came out more bitterly than I meant it to, and I caught a flash of surprise in Laurie’s face before his mask settled back into place. As if he hadn’t even known that I cared. As if he’d thought his choice to retake the throne didn’t bother me. I swallowed, my gaze skittering away.
There was the briefest of pauses, like the hushed catch of a breath, and then Laurie murmured, “I make time for the things that are important to me.”
My eyes flew back to his. I waited for a joke or a grin, but Laurie did neither. It was as if Collith weren’t standing beside him, seeing everything, hearing every soft word. The Seelie King gazed at me with naked desire, and something close to tenderness, too.
My thoughts scattered. There he went again, catching me off guard, throwing me off when I most needed to be cold, and hard, and distant. I glanced from Laurie to Collith, struggling to remember why I had to drive them away. Why I’d run in the first place.
We can tell ourselves that we don’t need them, but in the end, we’d be lying.
Lucifer’s voice echoed through my memory, and suddenly Collith’s nostrils flared. Feeling like I was back on solid ground, I stepped closer to the car and put physical space between us. I boarded up the walls of my heart and faced the faeries with fresh, cold resolve. They watched me with identical expressions that I couldn’t define.
“Well, Collith can catch you up,” I replied stiffly. “We really do need to go. The longer we stay, the higher the risk.”
Laurie cocked his head. “Since when is Fortuna Sworn afraid of a little risk?”
But I didn’t rise to the bait. Not this time. I walked over to the car and grasped the handle. A rush of heat greeted me as I pulled it open. I hated leaving like this, though. I hesitated, then twisted around, holding the edge of the door. Laurie and Collith hadn’t moved. I gave them a crooked smile and said, “Try not to break too many hearts, Laurie. One of these days a witch is going to put a hex on you. Keep an eye on him, Collith, and don’t forget that you’re allowed to be happy, too.”
I didn’t give either of them a chance to respond. Quickly, as if I was worried they’d stop me, I lowered myself into the passenger seat and closed the door harder than necessary. Heat blasted through the vents, and it was the only sound. For a few seconds, I stared through the windshield and waited for Gil to say something, but he didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t ask where we were going. Neither did Finn. I knew it was because they understood. They knew me, probably better than anyone else in my life. Even Damon.
They could also feel everything through the bond. I’d gotten good at keeping them out, but right now I felt like a raw wound, ripped open and exposed.
Finn let out a whine, as if he could hear my thoughts, too. “Just go,” I said hollowly.
Gil put the car into gear and drove toward the road. As the tires rolled over cracked pavement and lumps of ice, I noticed another figure standing at the edge of the parking lot. Short, square-jawed, muscular. A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth. I recognized him—it was the man from table six. Had he come here looking for me? Or was he just visiting someone else staying at the motel?
I gave a small, imperceptible shake of my head. Whatever. It didn’t matter. He was irrelevant now, just like everything else in this town.
With that, I turned and fixed my eyes on the black horizon. I wasn’t the one driving, but I’d learned to stop looking back. Looking back only brought pain and doubt.
And yet, despite this thought, my eyes darted to the side mirror of their own volition.
Laurie and Collith still stood there, dark silhouettes against the yellow light. As they got smaller, an ache started in my chest. It would probably be months until I saw them again, if not years. I didn’t bother lying to myself, telling myself I didn’t care—good riddance. They’d gotten under my skin. They were part of me, written into my story with permanent ink, and flipping the page wouldn’t change that.
Seconds later, they were out of sight.
I let out a long, soundless breath, and rested my temple against the window. As the miles passed, each one taking me farther and farther from that parking lot, I thought about the way Collith and Laurie had been looking at me just before I walked away. My mind turned the image over and around, mulling, searching for an answer or a way to describe their expressions.
Then, in a rush of certainty, I finally put my finger on it. The abrupt change in their demeanors, the uncharacteristic solemnity.
They’d looked like they were preparing for war.
Wind whistled over the plains of the dreamscape.
For the first time in weeks, sunlight broke through the clouds. A flock of birds flitted past, their merry song filling my ears. With raised brows, I glanced behind me, then all around. Lately, Oliver had taken to meeting me beneath the tree. But tonight, there was no sign of the easel, or the painter himself. I was alone.
Trying not to let the paranoid whispers in my head become shrieks of panic—although the dreamscape had been quiet since we’d stopped hunting for memories, I hadn’t fully been able to forget the monsters that lived beyond our peaceful hills—I left the tree’s shade and walked toward the sea. It seemed more likely than the cottage. Oliver hadn’t been spending much time inside since his shadow had attacked me there.
Just as I’d hoped, I found him at the edge of the cliff.
He sat on a small stool, his easel propped in front of him. His elbow shifted in and out of sight as his hand moved, undoubtedly holding a paintbrush. Most artists would face the horizon, but Oliver was positioned so his back was partly turned to it. I could see his face as I got closer. His expressive eyebrows were furrowed. The wind stirred his hair. His skin was still sun-darkened from our journey, and the golden tones made his freckles more subtle. The button-up shirt he wore was dark blue. It contrasted starkly with the white of the easel and the vibrant twilight hovering all around us.
Oliver would’ve felt my arrival, of course, and noticed my approach from the corner of his eye. But he said nothing as I walked up the beaten path and closed the distance between us. Once I reached him, I lowered myself to the ground and put my legs over the edge. Even now, my best friend didn’t speak.
