Page 126 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
I kick the snow, biting back a scream. Alone in the darkness, I force myself to focus. Where am I? The towering walls of the Ivory Palace loom nearby, recognizable trees dotting the vast grounds. East should lead me to the keep—there must be a connecting gate. My only other option is to scale the palace wall, potentially fall into the moat, still circle back to the keep’s front entrance, and then cross the moat again.
Nope.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. Damp earth, ancient stone, and the faint crackle of magic. The familiar scent helps ground me. But underneath it all, I can still smell them—Bodin, Styx, even Legion—their essence clinging to my clothes, my skin.
A wave of molten desire rolls through me, pulsing beneath my skin. When it recedes, arousal lingers—my nipples, breasts, and pussy aching for relief. These fever waves will intensify over the coming days before breaking. With a groan, I force my leaden legs forward. I need sanctuary, a place to weather this damn condition without wreaking havoc.
Homesickness lurches in my gut. If only I had my pack, other wolf shifters who understand, I wouldn’t feel like a pariah. Tears sting my eyes as I trudge onward.
Guilt gnaws at me. I left Geraldine and Max without explanation. Was Alfie right? Will Bodin face consequences forclaiming me so publicly? Or can they “Styx” their way out of this mess?
I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of lust and worry.Focus, Willow.One step at a time: Get inside. Find a room. Lock the door. Pray to every deity in the Cauldron, the Well, and everything between them that I’ll survive this cycle without shattering all we’ve built.
One step at a time.
The mantra echoes in my mind as I walk, occasionally grabbing fistfuls of snow to cool my feverish cheeks.
The full moon, shrouded by storm clouds, casts an otherworldly glow. Tracks in the pristine white catch my eye. My breath hitches. These aren’t human or beast—but tiny, repeating pinpricks.
My hand finds the sword at my hip. The whisper of bone leaving its sheath shatters the eerie silence. I force my scattered mind to focus, scanning the snow-capped trees. I’ve ventured deep into the woods now, and the palace wall is no longer visible.
A bone-chilling shriek pierces the night, far too close for comfort. A Nightmare. It has to be. My pace quickens as I mentally flip through the Codex, trying to match the sound to a known Terror. Ethershrieks produce a cacophony of voices—not this. Screamhawks circle from above, leaving victims in constant fear. Their bird-like nature could match the tracks.
Another set of prints appears, slightly different. Dread pools in my stomach as I push on, but doubt creeps in. Have I traveled far enough? Should I double back and try the opposite direction?
My traitorous body chooses this moment to unleash another wave of heat. With a groan, I crouch and touch the snow, desperate to anchor myself as I breathe through the onslaught. Need surges through me like liquid fire, setting every nerve ending ablaze—my skin prickles, hypersensitive to even the lightest touch of fabric. The world around me sharpens, colorsmore vivid, scents more potent. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
Fuck Styx for abandoning me here, so close to safety. Was I truly that difficult to touch? His self-control that fragile?
The wave passes, leaving an insistent ache of unfulfillment in its wake. If I were home, in the privacy of my room, I’d slide my hand inside my pants and satisfy this pulsing need. Instead, I press on until voices reach my ears—male. Alert, I try to pinpoint their location in the misty woods.
The palace’s inner wall comes into view again, a pale sentinel in the gloom. I spot a path winding through the trees just before shadows swallow everything. The strange tracks lead there, likely toward the palace or the keep. Keeping my breath controlled and my steps light, I move closer.
Another burst of conversation pricks my ears up. Is that Emrys’s distinctive rasp? I lift my nose, inhaling deeply. Absinthe and tobacco—yes, it’s him. But there’s something else . . . something animal, with a tang of rot. A faint scratching reaches my ears, like claws on wood. It could be horses, but something about the rhythm sets my teeth on edge. My grip tightens on my sword as I approach the path, keeping to the cover of trees.
Carefully peeking around a trunk, I see Emrys in his military uniform, facing away. He gestures at a long structure with boarded-up windows, speaking to someone just out of view. As he adjusts his stance, I glimpse Puck.
The tracks lead to the door. The scratching intensifies inside, joined by low, guttural growls that no earthly animal could produce. Every instinct screams at me to run. But why would Nightmares be there?
Emrys and Puck disappear inside the royal stables, taking their conversation with them. I stand frozen, weighing my options. Something feels very off. Emrys looked guarded,secretive. With Bodin’s memory lapse, could something have happened to Emrys too? Is this paranoia, or is the fever addling my mind?
If I return to the keep, I’m just sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I’ve powered through my heat before. It’s natural. I’m not dying. Ignore it. Think of something else to occupy my time. It’ll pass.
Something to occupy my time—this is it. My mind whirls, trying to piece together Emrys’s behavior. His hatred toward me, his preference for staying at the palace. That first moment in the Knight Inquisitor’s chambers, when he was mid-interrogation.
Legion expected Nightmares to roam free, yet they were suspiciously absent. Is this Legion’s doing? Or is Emrys working against him? The latter seems more likely, given Legion’s plans for martial law.
If I walk away now, I’ll never rest easy. Seeing is believing. I creep closer to the stables, pressing my ear against the rough wooden door. My pulse thunders as I strain to hear through the barrier, praying those inside can’t detect my presence. The sounds are more evident now—snarls, shrieks, and something that might be laughter if it weren’t so twisted. The wood vibrates against my cheek with the force of their frenzy.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply to parse the layers of smell. If only my racing heart would quiet, and the continuous screeching would cease, I might catch the conversation. I press harder, willing my shifter hearing to penetrate the thick wood.
“. . . said this was the last . . .”
A gust of icy wind snatches away the words, bringing another whiff of that rot-tinged scent. I stifle a gag, refocusing my efforts. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on the precipice of something monumental, something that could change everything.
Even as possibilities race through my mind, my body reminds me of its urgent needs—sweat beads on my foreheaddespite the cold. I fight the urge to pant like an animal and dig my nails into my palms, using the sharp pain to anchor myself.
I can do this. I can control myself long enough to uncover Emrys’s secret. I have to. Because if I can’t trust one of the Six, how can I hope to be the queen they need me to be?
