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“These next two floors are where we make most of our money,” he says while we climb the stairs. “The bottom floor grosses a decent amount of money, but private illusions are far more lucrative.”

“Isn’t this building ten floors?” I say.

“Yes.”

“Then what are the upper six floors for?”

He opens a door into another hallway of doors. “That’s where we live. There aren’t many places zoned for Illusor housing in New York City, so all the staff have apartments in this building.”

It’s strange that I’ll be helping a group of people I know so little about. I wish Dorian hadn’t ripped me away from this place. I would be a much better skatt if I’d never had to leave.

“Are there kids living up there too?” I ask.

“A few. Most Illusor families don’t live in New York City. It’s too expensive. Even the alphas with mates live in an apartment with six or more roommates and send money back home. They usually only get to see their families once a year.”

That has to be hard.

“For how long? Do they move home at some point?”

Einar leads me into a spacious room with a big bed. “Yes. We can only stay here until our yellow light changes to gold.” He closes the door and guides me to the bed. We both sit down, side by side.

“You see, only young Illusors can release yellow light from their fingertips.” He lets go of my hand and turns his palm up. Like before, streams of yellow light emerge from his fingertips, only this time the light is thick and opaque like Astrid’s. “As we age, when we try to release yellow light, we release gold instead. Yellow is a primary color, and therefore necessary for convincing illusions. At that point, we can no longer work in the Den of Dreams.”

The yellow light from Einar’s illusion hovers above his hand. I remember when I tried to touch his light with my foot earlier. Would he allow me to do it now?

“You want to touch it, don’t you?” he teases.

“Sorry—”

“That’s what we do to bond, you know. If I were to make you mine, I’d wind you up in a cocoon of my light and penetrate you with it.” He locks eyes with me as his light dives toward my hand, hovering over my knuckles. “You can touch it, Buddy.”

It’s the first time he’s used my name, instead of calling me skatten min.

I lift my hand ever-so-slightly until I brush the bright yellow of Einar’s light. I’m a little shocked by the sensation. It’s electric, like kissing Timothy or being touched by him in an intimate way. I jerk my hand away. I’m not ready for something like that with Einar.

He tries to mask his hurt, but I can see it in his eyes. He said most Illusors only share this with their mates. I’m probably the only one who’s touched Einar’s light.

“You love him,” Einar says.

“I’m sorry—”

“No, skatten min. Don’t be sorry. I had hoped that touching my light would help you. I’m the one who should be sorry. Perhaps I should send in the next alpha? You haven’t got much time to choose a mate.”

“Okay.”

Maybe it will go better with the next guy. Or maybe it won’t, and Einar will be stuck with me. If only I could be with Timothy. Then everything would be okay.

22

H

It’s easier than I expect to leave the Den of Dreams. You have to pass guards and go through a contract to get in, but getting out is as simple as running down a staircase to a door that leads out onto the street.

The second my feet hit the sidewalk my despair becomes unbearable. I lean against the door I escaped from and let myself sob.

I’ve never allowed myself to have feelings for an omega like that before. When I was younger, all I could do was hope that an omega would choose me, but I didn’t know of any who would. And in the pits, the omegas didn’t even see me. Not really. They were too lost in their medically-induced lust.

Buddy saw me. He accepted me. He let me dream with him in his imaginary log cabin, and in that moment, it didn’t matter that our surroundings were nothing but magical light. The connection I had with him was grounding in a way I’ve never experienced.

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