Chapter 8
REVERIE
Rin fell into dreams each night—dreams that carried the truth of her Soul.
In the days since her Nova had lashed out and killed the Rogue, it felt like the walls were closing in around her.
She’d learned what happened only after Lucien came to check on her and found her and Cyrus naked in bed together.
Since then, they’d kept her under close watch, afraid that Rhyden would try to whisk her away and use her—as Lucien had snarled.
With Nessen dead, Lucien should have taken over the study of her blood and the Nova within her. Instead, he’d axed the idea, insisting she was too delicate. Rin had bitten her tongue, wondering if he was right.
Her head… it was growing worse. Each morning she awoke, staring at the ceiling, trying to recall her dreams. Sometimes, she reached for her phone and typed frantic, useless notes.
A paltry attempt to convey what she’d seen with mere words.
She didn’t think any words in the English language could be enough to describe the things she dreamed, for when she went back over her notes and could scarcely make sense of them, she’d delete them with anger burning in her chest.
She avoided the others for reasons unknown to her, slipping out of rooms and hiding behind locked doors. She spent most of her time in her room, doing crunches on the cold floor or flitting about like a little bird trapped in a cage, far from the light.
All the while, Kit was still out there. Lunar City news sure as hell hadn’t spared the gory details. Her name, spelled in body parts on the snow, haunted her thoughts. In comparison, Nessen’s death hadn’t been as shocking to her. Just sad.
She swore as she fell asleep each night that she felt a hand against her brow. But her eyelids were always so weighed down, so stuck, she could never manage to crack them open…
In her dreams, she heard the crunch of snow underfoot, an ache of hunger in her belly.
A fire warming her cheeks as roasted meat was brought to her lips by a hand that was not her own.
A tree with weeping leaves. Fronds of dew-touched grass brushing her skin.
A grief so piercing it would be better described as agony.
When she woke up, her cheeks would be wet, and she would grieve for something she’d done, something she could not quite remember fully, but like watercolor, the picture bloomed outward in wetness, soft at the edges—and growing.
The girl of her dreams was far sweeter than Rin could ever be.
The others had mentioned it in passing, how she was different in this life. Seeing herself in her dreams of the past, Rin was slowly starting to realize what they didn’t say: this life had torn her down, eroded her softness until she was left jaded and cold.
Rin felt so hard to love at times. Why couldn’t she be kinder, sweeter? Why couldn’t she agree with them easily, instead of feeling shackled by their orders?
Some nights, cold and lonely, lying on the dark bed in a city that she didn’t know, her hand traveled down the length of her stomach, disappearing beneath the sheets as she touched between her thighs and remembered how Lucien had whispered praises into her ear, telling her what to do as she’d fallen into that soft and dazed space.
The image shifted to Cyrus’s deep purple eyes, neon lights playing over his cheeks as he moved over her; or just weeks ago, when he’d come all over her in the darkness of this very room, marking her with thick, sultry possession.
Then it shifted to Auren. She had no sinful memories with him—in neither this life nor the others—only her imagination.
She wondered what he’d be like. Would he be as quiet and focused with her as he’d been when he made the vow to protect her?
When the ache in her Soul grew too much to ignore, the eyes that watched her turned red and glowing, overlaid with countless memories of the past. She heard tinkling laughter, faint music.
Velvet, red, piercing sights, and cool hands tracing every inch of her body.
Not even her fantasies were saved from Rhyden’s vow for revenge, for every time Rin thought of him, she remembered how she’d tricked him, tied him up, and then she grew wetter—even as loathing filled her.
Her breaths were fast and light as she lay there, sheets kicked to the foot of the bed, and fingers still delicately pressing against her warmth. Her head turned on the pillow, hair cascading around her like silken piles of snow as she stared at the flat, smooth wall.
In the last moments of wakefulness, with exhaustion pulling her under, she swore a hand pressed against the wall, fingertips reaching for her between planes.
A month slipped by before Rin knew it.
She pushed soggy cereal around the bowl, lifting the sugary milk with her spoon and letting it trickle back into the bowl.
Little bubbles spun like snowflakes falling against reddened palms. Or flower petals swirling in the air.
She closed her eyes—just for a second—and felt a gentle breeze.
You fell from this sky. This must still be a dream. Men do not fall from the sky…
Do not have a care for me, Vesperin Vox. I will survive.
The voice lingered in her mind, but she couldn’t place the man who spoke. His face was blurry.
Maybe this was what Lucien had mentioned—remembering felt like peering through a heavy fog.
Shadows rippled across the dining table, like a finger brushing over the surface.
The spoon fell from her hand, clinking against the bowl and breaking her from her reverie. The shadow vanished.
She was going crazy.
Rin’s meager breakfast was forgotten as her phone dinged.
She reached for it, grateful for the distraction.
She’d not received any messages from anyone at the Academy—not that she was surprised.
They all thought she was off-planet on a mission—a story Sabine and Talor had no doubt fed Director Ilsa.
Rin wondered if they’d even fabricated documents, too.
They’d likely bought her place on Alpha Team. Why not lie about the rest?
It was only an email.
Rin clicked on it.
It was an invitation to a gala hosted at the Hunter’s Guild Academy in the first week of spring, with a plus one.
Rin doubted she’d be back by then. It was about a month out. Her mood darkened as she swiped the email away.
The sound of footsteps drifted across the floor as Auren approached. His hood was shoved back, revealing his adorably messy hair.
She tried to smile up at him, and he huffed a soft laugh.
"Good morning to you, Hunter," Auren said, voice rough with sleep.
Rin never quite knew how to act around him, wondering if they should be doing more to get to know each other.
But she still felt out of her depth, too broken and too jaggedly naive in some ways.
She didn’t know how to go about initiating a kiss, let alone a conversation.
At least, with the others, they made the decisions for her.
She’d been intimate many times now with Cyrus—the incubus never missed an opportunity to feed. Things between her and Lucien still felt strange. The effects of harmony had waned, but she still felt forever changed by it. They’d not done more than kiss recently.
And Rhyden was… complicated. Most days, she couldn’t tell if he’d rather strangle her or throw her down and fuck her. Rin thought it might be both.
Kit—
She suppressed a shiver. She still had nightmares about those body parts.
"Good morning, Auren. Did you want—I was going to offer you tea or coffee, but I don’t even know which you prefer," she quietly realized, cheeks warming.
Auren surprised her as he sat in the chair right next to hers, tugging his gloves off and laying them on the table near his elbow.
"It is no fault of yours. I am rarely here for you to get to know, with how often I have been called.
" He reached for her hand, but stilled halfway there.
She crossed the distance, letting her fingertips brush his.
He released a breath and entwined their fingers. "I prefer tea."
She smiled. "I like coffee better."
With his free hand, he poured a cup of tea for himself. Cereal boxes, milk cartons, and mugs cluttered the table—a mess Rin and Cyrus had enjoyed creating in Rhyden’s ascetic base.
Strange, as on Sangreal every inch of his near palatial home had been dripping with opulence.
Auren brought his mug up to his lips with an immortal sort of grace. "Have you been feeling well, Vesperin?"
She stared at his throat as he swallowed.
"If I can be honest, not really. My dreams have been really strange again, and I don’t know if they have something to do with my past lives or not.
Because—" She forced herself to swallow the words down. For some reason, she felt she should keep the stranger with black hair and scorched skin just for herself. "And I’m feeling so cooped up here. I just wish I could run away—but even that’s dangerous.
We don’t know if Sabine and Talor are back on Earth yet. Sorry for venting, I didn’t mean to…"
Auren grew contemplative, thumb rubbing over the back of her hand. "What if I told you I knew somewhere I could take you? Somewhere safe, where no one could find us, and perhaps I could make you a cup of tea with dried cherry blossom petals."
"I’d like that," she whispered.
Auren set his mug on the table and stood. "Well, let us go, Hunter."
"Now?"
"Did you have something else you would prefer to be doing?"
"Definitely not," Rin said, letting him pull her to her feet.
He tugged her close, a bold motion for the usually reserved Soul Searcher. She liked this more open side of him.
He reached for his scythe at his back. But just before he did, the blade glowed, and the Star under his left eye burned bright.