Page 53 of Of Wind and Terror

I once again glance at the others and feel my resolve harden.

I’ll kill them if that’s what it takes to keep Kassandra safe and by my side.

I just pray I won’t have to.

20

KASSANDRA

Iknow that I’m dreaming. I know that.

Yet everything seems so realistic.

I can feel the cold floorboards beneath my feet. Hear the tinkering of water as it falls onto the roof above, a repetitive tap-tap-tap that seems to be echoing my rapidly racing heart. Smell the crisp, clean air of Draven’s bedroom.

The fabric of the nightgown is soft against my skin. I can’t quite pinpoint the name of the material—cool like silk but soft as cotton. It conforms to my breasts and hips while billowing loosely around my thighs.

Like before, I still have gloves on—one an enticing shade of silver and the other midnight black—and shackles around both of my wrists.

My breathing puffs out of me in embarrassing spurts as I take stock of the room.

Once again, there’s no Draven. No Mikage.

No mysterious prisoner.

Memories of my last dream threaten to barrel me over. I can’t help but envision the strange, disheveled fae locked away—so similar to Draven in appearance, yet so, so different. They may look like they could be brothers, but there was a sort of...sadness and melancholy in the other fae’s face I don’t think Draven possesses.

Who was that strange fae? Is he still in the dungeons?

The incessant tugging from before propels me to my feet and towards the door. My hands are clammy, even as a fine layer of sweat forms on my forehead. I take a single step forward, my fingers inching towards the doorknob…

When the door is wrenched open, and a familiar male steps into the room.

My breath catches, but this time for an entirely different reason. It always seems to feel like Draven siphons all of the oxygen out of the room with his imperious, domineering presence.

I take a moment to study him while he does the same to me.

Dark, tousled hair, slightly longer than I remember seeing it before.

Black scruff on his jawline that looks mere ticks away from becoming a beard.

Molten silver eyes with the pupils outlined in electric blue.

And of course the wicked scar that bisects his cheek, the skin white and slightly raised.

“Baby bird.” Draven’s smile is borderline predatory as he shuts the door to the room and crosses to me. “You came to me.”

“Came to you?” I sign, continuing to study him.

I can’t help but think he’s a stunning contradiction of beauty and danger, like a rose skewed by a blood-coated knife. My stomach spins as a cold, seeping chill winds its way down my spine.

He takes another step closer and lifts a hand, hovering it slightly away from my face. I can feel the heat of his fingers even though he doesn’t yet touch me.

“I tried to get to you, baby bird.” Anger briefly flashes in his eyes, but for some reason, I know that ire isn’t aimed at me. “You escaped before I could grab you.”

The chill from before turns into a winter storm. Ice bites at my skin and nips my fingertips. A shiver works its way through me.

“At the temple.” I drop my hands, considering my next words, and then resume signing. “You were the one at the temple?”

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