5. Willow
Chapter 5
Willow
“ W ake up, sleepy wolf.”
The familiar voice tugs me closer to the realm of awakening. I shimmy backward, deeper into Fox’s embrace. His arms feel so safe, like when he held me in the bath, a warm cocoon I never want to leave.
“Little wolf.”
“Not yet,” I whine.
His grip tightens around my stomach, and his hard body presses along the length of my spine. The insistent ridge of his erection digs into my bottom, seeking. Hot lips drop to the sensitive spot beneath my ear and give a low alpha growl that has my entire body heating. But I’m a stubborn bitch. I like to play with Fox as much as he baits me. So, I pretend to be asleep.
“Ooh,” he purrs into my mind. “Is that a challenge?”
Unable to repress my smile, I press my face to the pillow and shake my head. “Maybe I actually want to sleep.”
“Pet, I accept.”
His hand glides down my stomach. It doesn’t have to go far to find the edge of his bunched shirt and slip beneath. The warm graze of his palm leaves fire in its wake as it glides up toward my naked breast. He pinches my nipple and rolls it between his finger and thumb, tweaking and teasing until a pleasure-filled groan escapes me. Damn it.
“We can’t,” I pant.
“Why not?”
“I’ve already slept in. I’m sure Bodin said something about training at dinner last night.”
“He doesn’t look too upset.”
Bodin stands beside the bed, looming over us. When did he arrive?
I should feel embarrassed at being watched like this, but that’s not the feeling tingling in my body. Bodin’s heated gaze tracks Fox’s roaming hand to my breast and squeezes. His eyes darken when I moan.
“Ask him to join in, pet.”
A wave of need barrels through me.
“Bodin?” I breathe. “When did you get here?”
His eyes clash with mine and widen. For a hot, arousing moment, I think he’ll slip into bed with us. Eyes filled with curious longing linger on my body, but then he clears his throat and steps back. It’s then I realize the shape of his body isn’t entirely in focus. Shadows blur around his broad shoulders as though they’re trying to pull him away. The darkness tries to consume him. Panic flutters in my chest.
Suddenly, the scene shifts. The warm, comforting bed dissolves, replaced by cold stone beneath my feet. The air grows thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of fear. I’m no longer in the safety of Fox’s arms or under Bodin’s watchful gaze. Instead, I stand in a dimly lit chamber, my hands sticky with crimson.
Nero’s voice, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade, cuts through the silence. “Again. Show me what you’ve learned.”
I look down, my stomach churning as I see the lifeless body at my feet. A stranger, their unseeing eyes accusing me even in death. But the worst part? The thrill that courses through my veins, the intoxicating rush of power that comes with taking a life.
“Good,” Nero purrs, his approval both revolting and addictive. “You’re learning. Soon, you’ll be the perfect weapon.”
I want to scream, to run, to wash the blood from my hands and the guilt from my soul. But a part of me—a dark, twisted part I desperately try to ignore—preens under the praise. Revels in the strength coursing through my body.
“No one can ever know,” I whisper, horror and shame warring within me. “They’d never understand.”
The corpse at my feet begins to shift, its features morphing between those of Geraldine and Max. Once filled with trust and friendship, their eyes now reflect only betrayal and disgust.
“Don’t go,” I beg, reaching out for them, for anyone who might pull me from this nightmare. But my bloodstained hands only seem to drive them further away.
“You’re dreaming, Willow.” Bodin’s baritone voice cuts through the haze of guilt and fear, feeling cold and wrong in this twisted version of reality.
I struggle against the memory, against the shame threatening to consume me. “Where are you?” I cry out into the darkness, mentally groping for him. “Fox? Varen?”
Anyone?
The nightmarish chamber begins to dissolve, replaced by encroaching shadows. From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a horrific, disjointed figure—the Cornertwister. No eyes. Gaping mouth. It wants to feed on my fear, and I can’t—I can’t—I gasp for air.
“My turn,” it hisses in my ears, and then I feel its hands picking up from where Fox left off. Cold, dead fingers touch my intimate flesh, and I scream.
“Wake up!”
I jolt awake into Varen’s bright room, in his bed, him sleeping behind me. Overcast light filters through the gaps in the curtains.
There is no mistaking Bodin’s tall, powerfully built frame as he storms toward me, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a mixture of fury, concern, and something else—something raw and vulnerable that vanishes as quickly as it appears. Dressed in his usual work shirt and leather breeches, every taut muscle screams of restrained power. I’m reminded I missed an early morning training session, but his reaction seems disproportionate to a simple missed appointment.
My heart still pounds from my nightmare as I rub my sleepy eyes. “Sorry. I forgot about training,” I mumble. “I had this weird dream.”
“I know,” he grunts, his voice rougher than usual. “I was there.”
Shit.
Now that I see him in the warm, living flesh, last night’s events return to me. Fox. Styx. Me, slipping into Varen’s bed from loneliness. And then the nightmare, the blood on my hands, the disgust in my friends’ eyes. Bodin saw it all.
Grief hits me hard. I close my eyes against the onslaught of emotion but don’t get time to process them. Movement beneath my shirt snaps my eyes open. Varen’s hand is trapped beneath Fox’s borrowed shirt, toying with my breast. He tweaks my nipple, and my body responds with heat, sending liquid desire straight south.
Bodin’s nostrils flare, his eyes darkening as they track the movement beneath my shirt. I glimpse the same heated look from my dream before a scowl quickly masks it. His fists clench at his sides as if physically restraining himself.
I glance up at the wall behind Varen’s bedhead. No dream-catching web sits there like in Fox’s room.
Bodin grumbles, “He doesn’t need a web. His dreams are fractured nonsense.” His voice has an edge, a hint of something that sounds almost like longing.
Heat flushes my cheeks as I tug the shirt down to cover my nakedness—not that Bodin seems to mind. His gaze lingers every place I try to hide, a war of desire and frustration playing across his features.
“I didn’t mean for this to—shit, Varen, stop.”
Except Varen must hear the word “continue” because he renews his fondling with vigor.
I give a nervous laugh and pull at Varen’s hand. “I think we overslept.”
Bodin folds his arms, his biceps bulging.
“You shouldn’t sleep here at all.” The words come out gruff, but an undercurrent of hurt tightens his voice. His eyes flick between Varen and me, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
My pulse beats harder than a dragon’s wings in a storm. I roll and face Varen, acutely aware of Bodin’s burning gaze on my back. Varen’s eyes are closed, but he growls sleepily at my disturbance and mumbles something unintelligible.
“Honey,” I whisper and gently cup his face.
Sleep has artfully arranged his dark blueish-black hair into a sexy, messy style that begs me to run my fingers through it. Warm, lust-drenched eyes flutter open and lock with mine. Instead of slowing his amorous intentions, the sight of me arouses them. He growls low and deep from his chest in a husky, masculine way that makes me breathless. He pins my waist, flexing his hips, digging his erection into me suggestively, hungrily.
My mind blanks. Scrambles. I am struck by how normal he is. How male, sexy, and . . . sane. I almost don’t want to stop him, but he probably doesn’t know what he’s doing. Bodin is right. I shouldn’t be here in his bed. Not only is there no privacy protection for my dreams, but it’s not fair to Varen. We can’t be intimate in the same way I am with Fox. He’s too vulnerable in this state, too innocent.
I gently pry his fingers from my hips, kiss his knuckles, and hold his hand as his consciousness fully returns . . . along with his heartbreaking madness.