Trials of Dusk and Dreams (Fae Devils #2)

1. Willow

Chapter 1

Willow

F ox stands frozen in stone behind me, having taken the place of Styx—a Sluagh shrouded in mystery. Styx’s monstrous form has vanished; no horns curve back from his forehead, no tail lashes behind him. Once bristling with spikes, his olive skin now stretches smooth and unmarred. He towers over me, a naked sculpture of rippling muscle and barely contained power. Like his brothers, his hauntingly beautiful face invites rapturous gazes. But subtle hints of disorder—scarred knuckles, a defiant set to his jaw—suggest he’s no stranger to rule-breaking.

Didn’t Fox say he was punished for brawling?

Styx’s gaze roves over Fox’s discarded clothes, his lip curling in disdain. He picks up Fox’s embroidered jacket and tosses it carelessly. My heart clenches at the disregard for something so precious to me.

Dazed and confused, I find my attention darting around the temple, desperately seeking something—anything—to make sense of this nightmare. A collection of opalescent butterflies, seemingly alive but frozen in eternal flight, flutters imperceptibly. A small, innocuous-looking acorn pulses with an eerie light in a crystal box. My gaze lands on a crystal orb swirling with miniature stars and nebulae, reminding me of Fox’s galaxy eyes when his Sluagh side takes over.

Reality crashes back like a tidal wave. My heart aches to release the grief over losing Tinger and Fox in one night. I feel the phantom imprint of Tinger’s vial in my wounded palm, a stinging reminder of my desperation. Yet something in Styx’s posture awakens a wolfish intuition, warning of an apex predator in my midst, keeping me alert. When his piercing blue gaze finally settles on me, curiosity and suspicion war in his eyes.

“Who are you?” he asks.

I blink, taken aback. “Wh-what?”

“You heard me.”

“Yes, I know I heard you. I just—” I shake my head, confusion clouding my thoughts. “You don’t recognize me?”

My wounded fist throbs in time with my broken heart. Blood drips to the dirty temple floor. His gaze sweeps down to my sternum, and I swear hunger flares in those dark blue depths before he returns to inspecting the items Fox left behind.

The Nightmare Codex’s warning echoes in my mind: Sluagh are attracted to forlorn and aching souls, so be warned to guard your heart around them. They love to increase the suffering of those already in pain.

Fear pulses through my veins. Is he eyeing my heart as his next meal? He must know who I am. Fox told them stories about me daily, and for a moment, our Well-blessed bond triggered before he became stone. I touch my marked neck and frown. That sense of connection with the Six lasted only a few seconds, but it was long enough to feel their chaotic magic roar into my veins. Long enough for the mating bond to be confirmed. I’ve never tasted so much power in my life—not even when I borrowed from the stars to wake an army of undead . . . and Titania and everyone here in Avorlorna.

But all that magic is gone now. With the last of Tinger’s wisp faded, my body is hollow, a vessel drained of its essence.

“Are you deaf or dumb? I asked you a question.” He is all hard, naked flesh and sculpted muscle as he invades my personal space. His body heat colludes with the stifling temple air, making breathing difficult. I gasp as he presses forward, and my back hits something solid. I reach behind and feel the cold stone of Fox’s statue.

Styx snarls in my face and wraps his black-taloned fingers around my throat. “Who the fuck are you, and why is he stone instead of me?”

“I’m Willow,” I rasp, struggling to form words under his grip. “He took your place so you’d be free.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It was supposed to be me.”

Styx’s fingers tremble on my neck as though he struggles to contain his violence. “Am I to believe,” he sneers, “that my brother would forfeit his freedom for you—a mere mortal, a filthy dreg of the Cauldron?”

“Trust me, I’m as thrilled about it as you are.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.” His eyes rake over me, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

My eyes widen. Yeah—he definitely doesn’t remember me. He fists my unbound hair and yanks it to his nose, pulling sharply at my scalp. I swallow my whimper, not wanting to give him any more reason to believe I am his prey. He inhales deeply and surprises me with a shuddering exhaled groan.

“Why do you smell so good?” he mutters. “Did you enchant him?”

Did you enchant me? I almost feel him say.

“I’m your mate,” I answer, my voice surprisingly steady. “Your Well-blessed mate.”

A pause. “What is that?”

He has a Well-blessed mark beneath his left eye. But if he has no memory of me, then it’s logical to think he has no memory of Elphyne or our vocabulary. I must follow the narrative Titania has placed for them here in Avorlorna.

“It’s been a long night, Styx,” I sigh, fatigue seeping into my bones. “And while I’m happy to meet you finally, it hasn’t been without a cost. There’s so much to tell you. Goodfellow could be here any minute to carry out Fox’s sentencing. He doesn’t know Fox tricked him, so it’s better we’re not here when he turns up.”

He drops my hair, but before he lets go of my neck, his thumb grazes over the bite mark Fox left and narrows his eyes thoughtfully. I hold my breath, hoping he can’t sense my fear. In the wild, the scent of fear is everything. It’s a signal to attack, to dominate, to feed. Before he steps away, he lifts my upper lip to reveal my teeth. I’m so startled that I jerk back from him and scowl.

“Why did you do that?”

“You have tiny fangs.” He flicks my hair away from my ears. “Ears like the Folk. And if I’m not mistaken, your scent and eyes tell me you have a little wolf in you. But you’re mortal. I sense it—” He taps my sternum. “Here.”

“That’s another long story.” I shove him away. “Like I said before, we need to leave. Then I can explain everything. Goodfellow?—”

“Goodfellow.” A growl rips from his throat, aggression hardening his body again. “Who the fuck is that?”

“You don’t remember him either?”

My mind races. Something isn’t adding up. Fox mentioned Styx was trapped in stone for longer than the others remembered, but how can he not remember Robin Goodfellow?

“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked,” he grinds out, frustration evident in every line of his body.

Styx’s distrust comes from a place of fear, I think. I see it glimmering in the depths of his blue eyes. He knows something is amiss, too, yet he’s powerless to understand what.

We assumed he would have his memories because the seal binding his powers had been scratched and dented. But maybe the seals aren’t what made them forget. Maybe that’s another in Titania’s long string of curses.

“When we found you in here,” I venture slowly, “your Sluagh form was on display. Do you still have access to your full abilities?”

His skull illuminates beneath his skin. Air caresses my face as his wraith inspects me with an invisible touch, and his eyes turn wholly black. When I don’t react, he bares a mouth full of spiky, monstrous fangs and snaps in my face.

“Are you trying to scare me?” I raise my brows, surprised by my own boldness.

“Maybe.”

Despite myself, I smile. That’s kind of cute.

“I am not cute,” he snarls, his features contorting with indignation.

I roll my eyes. “Fox keeps saying I shout my thoughts. When will I learn?”

His skull flickers again as his wraith returns to his body, and he looks away. I almost believe I offended him.

“I mean, if it helps, I was kind of scared for a moment there,” I offer. “Truly.”

I collect the broken seal from beneath the table where it sits with the others. The smooth stone disc is cracked across the faerie runes.

When I face him again, his otherness is completely gone, replaced by the visage of brooding, chaotic beauty carved from living stone.

Still gloriously naked.