Page 112 of Dark Fate

"Wait…You're telling me you can actually eavesdrop on my thoughts, like…right this second?" My voice is a cocktail of shock and outrage, shaken and stirred.

"Yeah, it seems like when you're freaked out, stressed, or asleep," He winks, "your thoughts go into overdrive stereo mode," Lucian says casually, like reading minds is no big deal. "It's like your emotions turn up the volume knob in that head of yours."

Rhyland exhales deeply, clearly mustering all his willpower to keep his cool. It's crystal clear he's very familiar with Lucian's supernatural eavesdropping, but it seems he's not too thrilled about how I'm practically broadcasting my thoughts like a morning radio show.

"So, what's the genius plan, oh Enlightened One?" I ask, tilting my head, all ears for his next slice of wisdom—or whatever you call it when Lucian's wheels are turning.

"I've got a couple of nifty tricks up my sleeve... you know, to fortify that whimsical brain castle of yours. But only if Captain Brood-a-lot gives his royal nod of permission." Lucian offers with a smirk.

"Okay, I'm genuinely curious," I say, curiosity gnawing at me like a mouse in a cheese factory. "What's the full scoop on your mind tricks? Seeing my—ahem—dream is one thing, but what else have you got stashed in your mental magic hat?" Lucian chuckled at my mention of that; "Rhyland only gave me the teaser trailer for your brainy superpowers."

"Consider me a cerebral hustler. If I fancy, I can shimmy into people's noodles, see their thoughts—dreams," he says with a smirk, and I can't help but roll my eyes. “and even make them dance to my tune. But that specific little trick is a mortals-only club. It seems like the supernatural crowd's immune to my charms—they must be slathering on some mental bug spray."

"Over the millennia, the Fae have cultivated a resistance to vampire charm," Axilya supplies. "We consider this a strategic evolution—our means of fostering an innate immunity."

"Is that right?" Rhyland's voice is a low purr as we shift on the saddle, Storm walking steadily. "It's sort of like you are evolving to be top dogs over other creatures, huh?"

"One might say so," Axilya consents. "View it rather as an apparatus of survival. Our progenitors instituted this measure eons past to shield our kind from extinction."

The endless enmity between the fae and vampires is a saga of conflict older than the stars.

"This is precisely why your mention of Amara employing 'compulsion' strikes me as odd, given our immunity," Axilya adds.

Rhyland's shrug rolls off behind me, his tone nonchalant. "Beats me. This is news about you guys being immune—that mind fuckery isn't my thing. Whatever the hell Amara's pulling, it's not the same shit your forebears were guardin' against."

I can't resist tossing the question to Lucian, "Ever pulled that mind-whammy on me? The compulsion number?" I feel Rhyland tense up behind me; ears perked with interest.

"Yup," Lucian quickly answers with no remorse. Rhyland rumbles in that gravel-pit voice of his, but Lucian cuts in before he can unleash the thunder. "And, for the record, it's a big ol' dud on you—might be that halo in your family tree buffering you up—not that I've nailed down the why. And before Mr. Scowl-In-Boots over there goes full-on beast mode, let the record show I only gave it the old college try that day you came sniffing at my club about Max—worked on Emily. But—surprise, surprise—it ricocheted right off you. That's when yours truly clocked you as something special."

The memory of that day and Emily floods my mind—missing her most. "Huh, interesting. But you've still got access to my mental diary?" I quip back. "And hold up a second! You went all mind-magic on Emily?"

Lucian rolls his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Look, Princess, your mental barriers are flimsier than Grandma's Metamucil farts. I can show you how to build up those defenses, especially if we're about to tango with the Whispering Anus Brigade. Just a little brain armor 101, no biggie." He adds, "And let's be real, it was just to get her to stop busting my balls—nothing to write home about."

I flash a quick grin just thinking about that time with Emily and her epic meltdowns, serving Lucian a grade-A ball-busting he's not likely to ever wipe from his memory.

Whipping my head around to Rhyland, I catch his ocean-blue stare, all heavy with that wordless determination. He tosses me a nod, no need for a pep talk, and that's my cue—the learning marathon is officially on.

With the Whispering Woods a couple of hours out, we've got a chunk of time perfect for a brain-boosting binge. "Okay, Luci, teach me."

"Picture your mind like a fortress," he instructs his tone a mix of authority and reassurance. "Your thoughts are the priceless treasures kept within those walls. To reinforce your defenses, you've gotta make those walls thicker and the ramparts higher. Mentally build an impassable barrier, solid and unbreakable, to guard your inner world."

"So, I've got to build a fortress in my head, right?" I ask, seeking that clarity I crave in and out of the lab.

He nods, and I close my eyes, trying to conjure up the strongest, most daunting walls I can imagine encircling my mind. I conjure up my lab's familiar, comforting confines in my mind's eye. The door is locked—firm and final—a barrier to the outside world. The blinds are drawn, casting the room in soft, secure shadows. The scent of antiseptic, sterile and sharp, drifts to my senses. There's an intimacy to the quiet, an echo of my focused, solitary work with beakers and petri dishes.

It's just me and the quiet hum of my thoughts, a symphony of hypotheses and discoveries. With this peaceful, private image as my foundation, I take Lucian's guidance and start to build my mental fortress. Each detail of my lab—from the cool metal surfaces to the rows of meticulously labeled specimens—becomes a brick in my shield. This haven, where my science thrives, is now the stronghold safeguarding my thoughts. With Lucian's words as mortar, I fortify the walls, confident and cocooned in the safety of my inner sanctum.

Lucian's voice breaks through again, coaching and steadying. "Visualize a shield holding firm, Dani. That's your space, your sanctuary. Trust it."

I stay fixed on that mental image, reinforcing the vision of my lab. Each detail bolsters the walls a bit more. Oddly, I find a soothing solace in this picture I've painted in my head; it roots me. A sense of readiness settles in as I solidify the last brick in my mind's fortress.

"Okay, I’ve got it," I announce, surprisingly firm. "Do your worst."

"Swing and a miss, Sugar. Your walls wouldn't even stop a horny chihuahua, let alone a mind reader." Lucian sasses with his signature sharp wit. "Gonna take more than some lacy lingerie layering your pretty head. Try harder, Princess."

I exhale in a puff of frustration, feeling the sheen of sweat as a testament to this intense cerebral gymnastics session. But surrender? That's not in my vocabulary. I grit my teeth, determined to push through. Mind over matter, just like in the lab. I will get this.

Rhyland's arms encircle me from behind, his presence a silent pillar of strength as I labor through the mental workout. Words are unnecessary; he knows the level of concentration this demands. His occasional squeeze is a wordless communication, a reminder of his unwavering support right here with me.

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