Page 135 of Endless Terrors
How long has she been out here? I wondered, bewildered by this turn of events. Why wasn’t she in jail, or dead?
My Court formed a half-circle around the tree Ian O’Connell’s widow was secured to. She was gagged and sobbing, snot running down the stained material muffling her every sound.
Suddenly I understood why Danny wasn’t here. His love for my brother was undeniable, and he was clearly more open-minded than most humans. But at the end of the day, he was still a cop.
And my family was up to no good tonight.
They took turns addressing Bella. It was the bond magic, I thought as I watched them. They were so connected that they could anticipate when someone else was about to speak, and what they were going to say.
“You harmed our queen. As long as you’re alive, you’re a threat to her,” Ariel said.
“But she wouldn’t want us to take a life. Especially not for her sake,” Gil added. “I don’t understand it, myself.”
“Our queen does have a tender heart. She’s a fascinating creature.” This from Laurie.
Each time one of them spoke, the circle closed in around Bella a little more. It was almost like they were hunting her. Playing with her. Even the most gentle of us, Cyrus and Nym, peered at Bella with a glint in their eye. The scene made me think of the Unseelie Court.
I wanted us to be different, I tried to say to my family. We aren’t like them.
But my Court was made of faeries, a goblin, a vampire, and a werewolf. We were Fallen. We could pick ourselves back up as many times as we had to, but we would always be formed out of chaos and sin. The light … and the dark.
Everyone was standing shoulder to shoulder now. All of them except Collith and Laurie, who stood in front of Bella. Collith bent down and said something in Bella’s ear. He’d been so gentle with me lately that I’d forgotten about this side of him—the fae side. Collith had darkness in him, too. Whatever he whispered made Bella’s eyes widen.
“No,” she said. “No!”
Just as Bella started to struggle against the ropes, my connection to Finn weakened. My view of the scene went in and out of focus, and then I felt a rushing sensation.
The last sound I heard was Bella’s hoarse, terrified scream.
The rumble of thunder woke me.
I sat up, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, struggling to adapt. The walls of the cottage looked back at me. Rain lashed against the windows. It was so strange the dreamscape was reality, and reality had become my dreams. But was the scene I’d witnessed between Bella and the Shadow Court reality?
Now that I was more alert, I registered the fact I was in bed. I’d definitely fallen asleep on the couch, I remembered. Oliver must’ve carried me here. I glanced toward the living room, where the fire burned strong and bright. Most nights, I could see a single foot dangling off the armrest, or the top of a golden head. Oliver had been sleeping there at his own insistence. The couch was empty now, and judging from the look of that fire, he’d never gone to sleep.
Yellow light spilled through the doorway that led to the attic. Since it was pouring rain outside, Oliver had to be up there. I left the sweat-dampened bed and climbed the stairs, my fingers trailing along the slanted wall.
I reached the top, and faltered. A flash of memory screamed through my mind, from the night Oliver’s shadow attacked me—a hand grabbing my leg. Smoke pouring out of a stab wound. White ropes. A baseball bat. I hovered on the threshold and scanned the room, as if I was searching for any sign of the creature. But Oliver’s shadow was outside, encased in stone, unable to hurt either of us ever again. To reassure myself of this, I went over to the round window at the opposite end of the space and peered down. There it was, off in the distance, a hulking shape that still emanated menace.
A thud came from behind, and I turned. Oliver was in the corner, flipping through a stack of old paintings.
“What are you doing?” I asked, watching him.
“Just pulling out some old pieces that I won’t mind painting over. I’m having trouble making new canvases, so I’ll have to use the ones I already have.” He gave me a quick, distracted smile.
This was a new development. Chewing my lower lip, I sat on the stool that we used every time Oliver wanted to paint me. Over the years, I’d spent countless hours sitting here. No matter how much things changed between us, I was his favorite thing to paint. The curves of the stool were as familiar to me as the lines in my palm, and they had an oddly calming effect. I felt some of the tension leave my body.
Lightning flashed outside, drawing my gaze back to the window. “I think I’m dying, Ollie,” I murmured.
“You’re not dying.” His response was instant. Automatic. “Just give it time. You’ll figure it out, Fortuna.”
“I’ve been here for days. If I’d just been injured when Bella shot me, Zara would’ve healed me,” I insisted.
Oliver paused in his flipping and met my gaze. “If you were dead, I would know it.”
The way he stated this reminded me of another night, another memory. As though what he was saying truly was so simple, or just a non-negotiable fact. If you died, Fortuna, I’d follow you into whatever afterlife there is. The rest doesn’t really matter, does it?
All of a sudden, the room felt too warm. I got up from the stool to help Oliver in his search. I went to the opposite corner he was in, since it seemed unlikely he’d been over here yet. There were so many. Some were in vibrant color while others had been done with only black paint. Most had extraordinary detail, and a few had obviously been painted in fits of fury or passion. But there was one thing all the paintings had in common.
