Page 97 of The Eighth Isle

Twenty-Two

The smellin the air reminded me of a dream. Roses—dark red, velvety roses underneath me, all around me, and I was bathing in their water, too. That’s what it reminded me of—roses and baths and the illusion of safety.

Always such a beautiful illusion.

My ears rang when I realized that it had never been a dream, the Paradise. It had been very, very real—and I was somewhere in it again.

I sat up with a jolt, eyes wide open, enough light coming from my right that I could see every detail of the room I was in perfectly. The walls covered in floral wallpaper. The carpet. The vanity table. The white doors. The ocean and the blue sky outside the windows…

I was back in my room in Mama Si’s Paradise, and I was still alive.

The door suddenly opened, and the scream caught in my throat, my body paralyzed with all those memories, all those images of sirens and bright magic and Syra bleeding all over her face—and Grey.

Grey, who was coming through the door with a tray in his hands right now.

Grey, whose skin was clean, his hair combed back, and his beard shaved to his usual stubble. He was wearing clothes, colorful clothes: a steel blue shirt and light denim jeans.

I did a double take because no way was this reality.

Were we on the Eighth Isle? Or maybe Storm was still carrying me across the ocean?

Because Grey did not wear colors other than…well, grey.

“Good morning, my queen.”

He spoke.

I squinted my eyes at him when he put the tray full of food on the bedside table, then came to sit on the bed’s edge near me, smiling.

Looking…okay. Perfectly fine.

“Grey?” I whispered because there was a chance that Syra had gotten into my head and was making me see things.

“Yes, baby?” he said, dragging himself closer, taking my hands in his. “How are you feeling?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” How the hell was I feeling?!

His smile dropped. “Why? Does it hurt somewhere?” And he brought his hand to my forehead as if to see if I was feverish.

I did feel a bit feverish, actually.

“You’re wearing blue.” And if that wasn’t an indicator that something was wrong here, I didn’t know what was.

Grey paused. “You don’t know how you’re feeling because I’m wearing blue?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is something wrong?” I touched his hands—he seemed fine. Same as always. No wounds on him that I noticed.

Then he smiled. “She told me she has nothing else my size in this place, so I had to wear these,” he said, then chuckled. “I think you’re perfectly fine.” And he grabbed my face in his hands and kissed me.

I had no complaints whatsoever. Being kissed by Grey was one of my favorite things in the world to do, but too many thoughts were on my mind and I couldn’t even bring myself to enjoy it as much as I wanted.

“What’s going on, Grey? Are we really in the Paradise? Did Mama Si give you these clothes?” I touched his face, ran my fingers through the ends of his hair, then touched his neck and chest, too. Intact. He was perfectly intact.

“We are in the Paradise, yes,” Grey said, his eyes moving downward for a moment. “I brought us here because Mamayka might not sell us to the sirens right away like the other Isles would. She offered to help you before. I took a chance.”

“Fuck,” I whispered, shaking my head because what he just said confirmed that everything I remembered from last night was actually true.

It was all true.

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