Chapter 33
Eryx
She’s been with Nightmare a long time. So long I’m beginning to think she won’t come back.
What if Nightmare keeps her? What if being inside her mind is better than being inside mine? What if she likes it there—the ancient power, the near-limitless awareness—and doesn't want to come back?
What if I lose her to the very thing that brought us together?
Nonsense, Eryx. I won’t keep her forever. I will let her return to us. At least, I think so.
That’s not helping.
I study Chelsea’s face. She’s still standing, and her face looks so blissful—eyes closed, lips slightly parted, like she’s sleeping.
They should be back by now. She should be awake. I should be coaching her how to maneuver through the dreamscape.
Maybe we’ve decided to elope.
Not funny. What if you decided to ignore us?
You’re suggesting we’re magically doing it.
I clench my jaw. Yes.
We wouldn’t go against you if you expressly told us not to.
You did it before.
You hadn’t set the ground rules yet. You hadn’t explicitly said, ‘Nightmare, don’t make your new wife orgasm before I do.’ I never saw that memo.
Would you stop joking? This is serious.
Nightmare goes quiet. We were attacked.
Using your magic.
As much as I hate to admit it, yes, that’s true.
So we have to attack.
With a brand-new wife?
I rake my fingers through my hair. She tried to kill Chelsea. For the first time since my father died, I feel weak, helpless. If I hadn’t arrived when I did—
She would be dead.
She would be. And I caused it.
Hmm…don’t you think it’s interesting Helena showed up now?
No, I don’t. I tried to kill her with that curse. She was waiting for me to be vulnerable.
You could send Chelsea away.
Send her away? Have her pack her bags? No. It won’t work. That was what Helena was trying to tell us. There is no escape. This is war, and I’ve just dragged my new wife into the middle of it.
You have to strike first.
Have you been able to sense her?
No. I’m still blind.
Then I’ll have Stave send men to look.
I cross to the chaise, and every move makes me wince. The magic in those claws still lingers, making me weak. I sit and exhale heavily.
You’re not fit enough to fight a hamster.
I could fight a hamster.
Not a radioactive one.
It has a point.
But you could fight it if… no, it’s too risky.
What is?
No, no, Nightmare replies quietly. It’s a terrible idea. You can’t do it.
Do what? I growl, growing impatient.
You won’t like it.
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. So you say.
You want me to tell you?
Yes! Nightmare pauses, and I know what it wants me to do—ask nicely. Please?
Please what?
I grit my teeth. Pretty please, with sugar on top?
I don’t know. You’ve been putting a lot of rules on me lately.
You threatened to strip away from me and claim Chelsea.
It got you to marry her, didn’t it?
The words hit me like a punch.
It manipulated me. This whole time—the obsession, the reaching out, the refusal to help hunt Helena—it was steering me toward Chelsea.
And it worked.
I should be furious. Instead all I feel is gratitude.
Because Nightmare was right.
You steered me into marriage, I say quietly.
I got you to marry the one person who could challenge you. You’re welcome. Now. Want to hear my idea?
It can’t be worse than being coerced into marriage. Yes, tell me.
It exhales, and I feel its presence expanding inside me. Don’t kill the messenger, but you could combine your power with Chelsea’s and fight her.
No. Out of the question. I won’t drag my wife into this.
But she’s already been dragged, whether you like it or not. You’re too weak to fight the sorceress alone. Let her help.
No. And don’t ever bring this up again.
Eryx—
No! Not again, Nightmare. It’s one thing to be attacked, it’s another to willingly step into a fight, and I won’t do that to Chelsea.
I think you should let her decide that.
I’m about to tell Nightmare where it can shove its idea, when Chelsea’s eyes flutter.
She’s ready!
I’m at her side in an instant. Chelsea sucks in a breath as her lids slowly open. She sees me and takes a step back, like she’s adjusting to the room, the lighting—me.
I reach for her, searching her face, her eyes, every piece of her that I can see. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She touches her head. “Yeah, I am.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Chelsea huffs out a breath and slowly smiles. “It takes some getting used to, having this other being present. But I’m okay. Nightmare showed me how to use him. Now… teach me what you do.”
I check her again, search her face, making sure she’s really okay.
She’s fine, Nightmare murmurs.
She is. I take her hand and gently guide her toward the wall.
I wave my palm over the bricks, and my magic washes across it, creating an inky black cloud. Images slowly surface—nightmares, creatures, dark hallways—everything you could imagine, but more.
Chelsea stiffens. “This is it?”
“This is it. I skim these images and tame the worst ones. Only the worst.”
“How do you tame them?”
“I take them into me.”
Her eyelids flare as if she sees me for the first time. “So you really do eat their nightmares.”
It’s not a question. It’s a firm realization. “You can still say no,” I remind her.
“I won’t.” Her hands curl into fists. “I said I would help you and I will. Show me.”
I study her again, just to give her one more out. She taps her foot impatiently.
Point taken. “We’ll do this one together. I’ll coax you, show you how to use Nightmare’s power to pull it all back into you. You’ll forget the images. They won’t haunt you. But…”
She frowns. “But what?”
I close my eyes and sigh. “But once you do this, there’s no turning back.”
She scoffs. “I’ve already gone over this with Nightmare. Just do it, for God’s sake.”
A laugh slips from me and her face brightens. My God, what I would do to keep that look on her face—always.
I could name some things.
Shut up, Nightmare.
“I’m going to release my Nightmare and it’ll find your Nightmare. You’ll be doing most of the work. I’m just here to guide you.”
She nods firmly.
Then I let go. Nightmare roars as it’s released, finding Chelsea’s magic and latching on. When her magic explodes from her, her Nightmare is gold.
Of course it is.
My power pulls hers into the inky cloud, and it searches, looking, finding what needs to be reined in. Beside me, Chelsea stares at the images, her eyes flicking right and left like she’s processing faster than I ever could.
And when she finds a nightmare—
“Wait, that one’s too big!”
She reaches into a long stretch of dark hallway where a creature writhes—all teeth and claws and primal terror.
The kind of nightmare that took me weeks to learn to handle.
Before I can stop her, her golden magic wraps around it like chains. The nightmare screams. Thrashes. Fights.
Chelsea doesn't even flinch. She pulls it into herself, and it dissolves into light. Gone. Consumed.
Holy shit.
I stare at her, open-mouthed, wide-eyed. But she doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even register that she just did the unfuckingbelievable—taking a whole nightmare and swallowing it, first try.
And she keeps going. Like that’s only the beginning. She devours them, and all I can do is watch her golden light destroy, cut down and sever nightmare after nightmare.
When she’s finally done more than I ever did on my first try, I squeeze her hand.
“Pull back.”
“No,” she insists.
What the fuck have we created, Eryx?
A beautiful fucking monster, Nightmare.
Chelsea takes the terrors in, over and over, only stopping what must be an hour later, when she’s finally sated.
Slowly, quietly, the thrum of her magic drops to a simmer as she pulls her Nightmare magic to her.
The air still buzzes, electric. The walls hum and I’m surprised Stave hasn’t stopped in to make sure we’re all right.
And Chelsea?
She glows.
She fucking glows.
Not metaphorically. Actually glows. Gold light radiates from her skin like she's swallowed the sun. Her hair seems lighter, her eyes brighter. She looks like something divine—an angel who just ate nightmares for breakfast.
Our magic did this. Our bond. Nightmare inside her, feeding on darkness, converting it to light.
She's magnificent.
I stare at her, and an embarrassed smile graces her lips. “Did I do okay?”
“Okay?” The word gets strangled in my mouth. “You did more than okay. But you were reckless and careless and I told you to stop and then you didn’t, and what is wrong with you?”
Chelsea blinks. Then she licks her lips.
That’s my breaking point.
In one fluid motion I take her in my arms and kiss the hell out of her.
Last time I kissed her, I was bleeding out. Desperate. Claiming her because I thought I might die.
This time I'm kissing her because she's alive. Powerful. Mine.
And I'm never letting her go.