CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lara
I suck in a startled gasp of water, then face plant onto a hard surface. Coughs wrack me, shaking my entire body. It takes several seconds to realize I’m not actually underwater and my clothes aren’t even wet.
A deep thump comes from behind me while I’m still fighting to catch my breath. Then familiar hands clasp my shoulders, supporting me as I wheeze. “Lara! By the goddess, I was so worried!”
“I’m okay,” I choke out, patting at one of Brokk’s hands. It’s a lie, but it doesn’t cost me anything and hopefully makes him worry less.
“This is our chance.” He scoops me off the ground in a bridal carry and runs toward a bright light.
I brush tears from my eyes and blink. We’re in a room with three stone walls. The fourth is missing, and Brokk slides to a halt right at its lip.
I press backward instinctively, burrowing into him. The opening lets out onto empty air, the cliff falling away below us, water cascading down its front.
“We must be at the very top of the waterfall.” He spins back to face the room.
Elton falls from the ceiling, landing on his feet like he did an easy jump. Asshole. His goons land all around him.
“What was that pool?” I whisper to Brokk. “I went into the water, but I’m not even wet.”
“Some kind of magical doorway.”
“The Door of Dreams?”
“I don’t think so, because my heart’s desire has nothing to do with these scum.” He tips his head toward the men.
“Well, now.” Elton gives us a slow clap. “I applaud your attempt, but you didn’t really think I’d be foolish enough to let you get away so easily, now did you?”
“I don’t know,” Brokk says. “You’re the one who has to pay people to do everything for you. That tends to make a person lazy and stupid.”
Edgerton’s face twists into a sneer, and he glances at Klaus. “If the cover model speaks again, shoot him.”
Brokk’s muscles tense, and a growl rumbles through him so strongly I feel it with my whole body.
I set a hand on his cheek, make him face me, and shake my head. “He’s not worth it.”
Brokk grits his teeth but gives me a firm nod. I’ve never loved him more than now, with him willing to listen to what I have to say and take me seriously.
“Put her down. I have need of her,” Elton says. “She’s going to make this magical artifact work so I can prove elves and Faerie exist. Then dear old Dad is going to know I’ve been right this entire time.”
As soon as I’m on my feet, the goons surround us, herding me toward one of the side walls. It’s the one they took the pictures of, the one covered in the message about the Door of Dreams.
“Translate it.” Elton jabs a finger at the carvings.
“I can’t,” I lie. To keep my shit poker face from giving me away, I reach for honest emotions to show instead—anger and frustration. Yep, I sure as hell have enough of those. I fling a hand toward the wall. “How the hell do you expect me to work under these conditions? You kidnap me, shoot at me, have your goons chase me through the jungle, and now you’re holding me at gunpoint and threatening to shoot my… my…” My hand flaps in the air. “Cover model.”
I suppress a groan. God, I almost said “mate”! Who knows what Elton will think of that. I’m not sure anyone outside of romance readers even knows what fated mates are. Besides, is it a good idea to let these assholes know we’re important to each other? What if they use it against us somehow?
Brokk’s face goes carefully stoic the moment I name him nothing more than my cover model. Oh, god, did I hurt his feelings? I wish I could explain.
I wish I could tell him I love him.
“I don’t believe you,” Elton says. Then he makes an imaginary gun with his fingers and pretends to shoot Brokk.
The click of Klaus’s trigger activating rings through the room.
“Okay, okay!” I hold both hands up in surrender, patting the air with my palms. “I’ll translate it for you. Just give me a chance to work on it!”
Maybe if I stall for time, something will change. Grey will come back with a werepanther army, or one of the goons will swan dive off the side of the waterfall, and all of the others will follow like lemmings.
Hey, a girl can dream!
“I need supplies.” I pull my family journal out of my catsuit and hold it up, the ziplock bag crinkling. “Pens and paper. Somewhere to sit.”
Instead of speaking, Elton snaps his fingers and points.
God, I still hate his finger snaps.
His goons spring into action. One of the women climbs a rope ladder I didn’t notice before, her head disappearing when she reaches the ceiling, then the rest of her. After a few minutes, she jumps down again, carrying all the supplies I asked for and more.
In only a little bit, I sit cross-legged on the floor, a lap desk balanced on my thighs. I open Caroline’s journal to a random page and pretend to scrutinize the text carefully, looking back and forth between it and the wall several times before writing the first word of the carving.
“The? The ?” Elton reads over my shoulder, his tone indignant. “All of that for the measly little word ‘the’?”
“I literally just got started.” I glare up at him. “Get a grip.”
He snorts and starts pacing behind me, his hard-soled dress shoes tapping against the stone floor.
God, if I really did need to translate the carving, there’s no way I’d be able to think with him around. He throws off more impatient energy than a new father banished to the waiting room while his wife gives birth to his firstborn.
Then I have an idea. “Hey, Elton, you need to let Brokk speak so he can help me.”
“Him?” He snorts with derision. “He’s a model .”
“I already told you he’s not just a pretty face. He knows a little about the language, too. He’s studied Faerie for years. That’s why he likes pretending he’s an orc,” I lie.
“Fine. Whatever.” Elton points at the wall. “Since you’ve got help, I’ll give you a half hour to finish the translation, or it’s bye-bye for pretty boy.” He makes a finger gun and pretends to shoot Brokk again.
My stomach twists into a knot. I have no doubt he’ll do it.
Brokk settles onto the floor beside me, and my body sways toward him for a second, seeking comfort. I jerk myself upright before we can touch, fighting to remember I’m supposed to be playing it cool.
On a blank piece of paper, I write in High Fae: I don’t know what to do. Do I tell him what the carving says?
Not until you have to , he writes back, his expression grim. He has no reason to keep us alive once we give him what he wants.
So what do we do?
We solve the riddle for ourselves , Brokk writes. If we can find the Door of Dreams, we can use it to escape.
“Oh, that’s interesting,” I say out loud. “I think you’re right! That word is door.” I fill in the next word of the translation, making Elton give a pleased grunt.
But if we go through the door, he can repeat what we do and use it for himself. I don’t like the idea of him getting access to anything with power. I also hate the idea of giving Elton what he wants. The asshole so doesn’t deserve it after putting us through all of this.
Ah, but the tools of Faerie are not easily wielded, especially by greedy humans, Brokk writes. The Door of Dreams will not bend to his will. It will impose its own on him instead.
Relief rushes through me. I imagine he’s right. All the stories of humans and Faerie tend to end with the humans tricked. Hell, look at Caroline. I bet she never imagined her fae lover would take her wish for one night so literally.
So where’s the Door? I ask. I don’t see it anywhere in the room. Do you?
No, and I made sure to take a good look before I sat down.
You were standing beside me. How did you see everything? The end of the room farthest from the opening is too dark for me to make out.
Fae eyesight is much keener than a human’s.
“Of course it is,” I murmur with a grin, adding another word to the translation.
That doesn’t solve our problem , I write. We can’t escape through the door if we can’t find it.
If the cat sith hadn’t abandoned us, maybe he could see something we can’t.
An invisible mass shoves in between us, and fur brushes over the back of my right hand. I suck in a shocked breath and immediately try to turn it into a cough. God, it sounds fake as hell—my acting’s as shit as my poker face.
Brokk’s hand twitches before he starts to write, but he gives no other outward sign he felt Grey. You’re still here. Good. Can you see the Door of Dreams? Tap my arm once for yes or two for no.
I bite my lip and pretend to check something in the family journal while a flicker of hope sparks in my chest, only to be snuffed out when Brokk writes, He says no.
Then a thought strikes. I write quickly, Grey, can you get us out using the shadow roads?
A paw taps my arm once, then twice.
Dammit. I thought for sure that would work. He says no.
“I’m not seeing much progress here,” Elton says, his voice prissy and uptight. He reads over my shoulder. “‘The door of…’ The door of what?”
“We were just working on that,” I lie and tap at a page of the journal with the end of my pen. “It’s something like ‘wants’ or ‘desires.’” I don’t know why I’m hiding the real word from him—except for the fact that he’s the megalomaniacal asshole who kidnapped me, that is—but it feels really important that he doesn’t get the actual name of the door. If he’s studied Faerie as much as he says he has, knowing the real name might make him remember something that will allow him to solve the puzzle before we do.
I want to give him as little information as possible, I write.
“Wants,” Brokk echoes, shooting me a meaningful glance and nodding. “Yes, I think it’s that. The door of wants.”
I write it down, then move over to the paper we’re using to pass notes. I don’t know how much he knows. If we lie too much, he might be able to tell.
Then we test it , Brokk writes in High Fae. Mistranslate a few minor words.
Magic shivers through the air. I can’t see it, but Grey must have shifted, because an invisible furry hand wraps over mine, moving my pen. This is Grey. Stop worrying about the translation and focus on what’s important. We need to get out of here.
The translation is important. It’s what’s keeping us alive , Brokk writes back. If you don’t have a way out, shut up and leave us alone.
I twitch my hand to get Grey to let go, then write, If you’re on the shadow roads right now, why can’t we use them to escape?
Grey grips my hand again, moving the pen. The shadow roads here stop at the walls of the room.
Is that normal? Brokk asks.
I’ve never seen it before. It’s powerful magic.
We sit for several seconds, each lost in thought. Then Elton makes a frustrated tsk.
Grey takes control of my hand. I’ll obtain one of their weapons. Be ready, orc . Then his grip slides away, the feeling of his presence disappearing.
We need to find the door , Brokk writes.
Maybe if we work on the inscription together? I jot down the words of the carving, translating it from the ancient version of High Fae into the newer one Brokk knows.
The Door of Dreams will transport you to where your heart most desires.
Yet heed my warning, eager traveler. Do not assume to know where you will land. For the Door of Dreams follows the dictates of your heart, even if they are hidden from you.
You cannot fool the Door of Dreams.
You cannot cajole it.
And most especially, you cannot walk back through it.
This trip is in only one direction. Make certain you can live with the consequences.
He stares at the paper for several long moments, his eyes burning with intensity. Then he meets my gaze and gives the tiniest shake of his head.
Dammit!
Where the hell is this door?