Page 41 of Devoted

“You see my shadows the same way I see the silver in your eyes. The same way I track where you are, every minute of every day. The same way I know your heartbeats and your sorrows and your every waking fear, like they are my own.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” He smiled down at me softly. “Funny. It makes perfect sense to me.”

“Then how about this? Why does your magic look exactly like Blackwood’s guards’ magic? Were you one of them, once?” I held my breath, not expecting an answer, and as expected, I didn’t get one.

“If I told you, you would never see me the same way as you do now.” I opened my mouth to argue, and he laid a finger over my lips. “No, you would despise me, Emberline, and rightfully so. Leave me this one secret, I beg you, and I will do whatever you want. I will wake Emilia from her sleep.”

“You can really do that?”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” A little of the old Nico came through, that touch of wry humor, and I breathed easier.

“How do you know how to do all of this? The spells and the shadows and going into my dreams? That’s serious magic stuff.”

“I’m very good at serious magic stuff, I’ll have you know,” he pressed his forehead into mine. “But Emilia taught me. She’s been helping me for decades to keep my… magic under control.”

“What happens if you lose control?” When Nico went quiet, I stroked his cheek, his eyes slipping closed beneath my touch, strong body relaxing against mine.

“Nothing good,” he said quietly. “But I rarely lose control these days, and along the way, I picked up a few tricks from her that have come in handy.”

“Like dreamwalking?”

“Like dreamwalking, yes.” Something wicked ignited in his smile. “In fact, I can do other things in your dreams if you’re curious. Things that would only be possible in a dream.” He pressed his lips to my ear and whispered, “Deliciously wicked things.”

I shivered, heat tangling low in my stomach. “Now you’re just trying to change the subject. I still want to know how waking Emilia up would work.”

“I’d need time to cast the spell. And time will be the hardest thing to come by, even harder than sneaking onto that godsforsaken island. Though I might… might be able to entice a few of the priests to assist.” He slanted me a look. “They despise the sons. It has to rankle, having their queen trapped in stasis while those two stronzos strut around.”

“Could you really enter my dreams again?” I asked breathlessly. If Nico was with me, if we could somehow act together in that realm, if we could locate Emilia, what if we could convince her to wake up?

To come back.

I’d been toying with the theory ever since we’d arrived on this island, trying to work out the logistics of simply finding someone within my dreams. And while I might not have a clue what I was doing, something told me Nico would.

If we could wake Emilia without breaking through wards or enlisting the help of priests or endangering Gabriel or Dante…

“I’m offended you doubt my abilities.” He really did sound hurt, then he paused, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What’s going on in that head of yours, princess?”

“Nothing. Yet,” I hedged, even though possibilities whirled faster and faster. “Just working through a theory; I’m not sure if the idea is even feasible. Let’s assume we wake up Emilia. What then?”

“Mayhem, darling.” His grin was like the sun coming out. “Absolute and complete mayhem.”

But beneath the brightness, darkness lingered.

Like a shadowy smudge, it hadn’t disappeared, simply gone into hiding. Like whatever secrets he was keeping from us. And while I would never suspect Nico of wanting to hurt me, the simple fact remained.

Secrets were a poison that ate away at you. Until there was nothing left.

“Gods, I adore you,” I told him softly. “I want you to know that.”

“Well, I am quite adorable. So, was that a yes on the dreamwalking? Because I’ve been dying to try a few things, but I’m not quite sure they’re physically possible… here.”

He waggled his eyebrows, and I punched him in the shoulder, even as more of that delicious heat gathered between my legs. “You are incorrigible.”

“That I am,” he said, without apology. “But you love it.”

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