“Yes,” he gripes, and he’s seriously cute when he’s all surly. “I don’t even know if it’ll work once I leave. Usually, I have to stay within a certain distance of a person for it to stick.”
“Okay.” It’s a chance, which is better than nothing. “And while you’re out helping me, save my parents, too, okay?”
“Listen.” He gets serious, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he ignored my request. “The deeper levels of someone’s mind can be a scary place. It could be worse than here.”
“But you’ll come back for me, won’t you?”
“Of course. Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll go. Always.” Shifting, his face gets close to mine as he stares at my mouth.
Is he going to kiss me? Am I ready for this? Do I want this? Yes, yes, and yes. I want a good memory to hold onto while he’s gone. Only a few inches left…
Instead, his lips land on my chin.
My eyes widen in surprise.
So, it’s a kiss. Just not in the place where I want it. I feel a stab of disappointment, but it drains away as soon as Damon breathes my name.
“Whitley. My Whitley. I’ll fix you. I swear it.”
Suddenly, I feel his influence. My eyes get heavy, my body starts to feel weightless, and darkness clouds my mind.
“How?” I yawn. “How will you fix me?”
“You let me worry about that.” His voice sounds so far away.
I don’t know why I believe him, but I do. He’ll make everything better.
“My parents—try—help them—” Can’t keep my eyes open.
Before I completely slip away, I think I hear Damon make one more promise.
“If you don’t survive this, I’ll follow you into death as well.”
Damon
“Astrid!” The sound of me pounding on the wooden door reverberates off the stone walls in the hallway. “What did I tell you about locking your—” The barrier suddenly swings open. “—door?”
“And what did I tell you about barging in here?”
“This is an emergency.” I push past her.
“I know,” the little troll says flippantly, then adds a dash of sarcasm. “Come on in, then.”
Having a resident witch definitely has its upside, but there are times when Astrid takes advantage of the royal life. Can’t blame her, though. She’s about a thousand years older than I am, and as far as I know, most of her life she’s been living in poverty. When she resided in the Shadowlands, she barely had anything. Her small cave was about as humble as a home could be.
Now she has the master suite in the castle—which used to belong to my parents. It comes with two rooms, a huge bed, her own bathroom, and three meals a day. Plus snacks.
You’d think being at my beck and call wouldn’t be so terrible with that kind of payoff, but Astrid always has demands.
Conniving little witch. I love her as if she were my own family.
As I walk into the sitting room, I smell the logs burning in the fireplace, the musty scent of her rugs, and something new… a portal. I revel in the ozone scent.
Rubbing my hands together, I grin. “You know what I need.”
Of course she does. Astrid’s always five steps ahead. Sniffing, I step toward the far wall where the smell is stronger.
A lid snaps shut.
“Ah, ah. Not so fast.” The silk of her gown rubs together as she crosses her arms. “I’ll need payment upfront.”
“I don’t have time for this,” I grumble, all amusement gone. “Whitley needs me.”
There’s no point in explaining who my mate is when, clearly, Astrid already knows.
“This portal is different,” she tells me. “I’ll need to give you specific instructions on how to use it.” Metal scrapes against metal as she picks up her shears. “I can do that while I cut your hair.”
Tipping my head back, I groan. “Fine.”
She pulls out a chair for me and I sit, knowing this was inevitable anyway. Occasionally, she’ll let me trade secrets. I usually learn gossip while I’m dream walking, and Astrid loves a juicy tale. But bigger favors—like portals—always cost me my hair. It’s her favorite form of payment because she uses it to weave her rugs.
It’s disturbing to have hair mats all over the place, but as long as she keeps them in her living quarters, I don’t care.
After the first snip, she says, “I’ve programmed the portal to open in a very specific location. We’re talking exact coordinates.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
My respect for Astrid grows. This isn’t regular magic. Portals aren’t always accurate. The user has to be familiar with the point of entry. As long as they have an idea of where they’re going, they simply think of the location and end up within twenty or thirty feet of it.
But I don’t know where Whitley is. Not to mention, I’ve only gone to the Earth realm a couple of times out of mere curiosity. I don’t know my way around. Sure, I’ve visited many human dreams, but reality is often skewed in their minds.
There’s no way I could find Whitley on my own.
“You’re the best, Astrid,” I praise. “If I need to get to a certain room at the hospital, this will do it. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet.”
The hint of apology in her voice makes a ball of dread form in my stomach. “Out with it.”
“This portal will only stay open for fifteen Earth minutes. Of course, time will stand still here until you return, but you must make it back before the window closes.”
“Fifteen minutes,” I grit out. “That’s hardly enough time to assess the situation and bring Whitley back here.”
Silence.
Snip, snip, snip.
Leaning to the left, I move far enough away that Astrid’s scissors meet air. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She sighs heavily. “This is just a visit. Nothing more.”
“A visit?” I roar, getting to my feet. “You mean to tell me I’m going to use a portal for a fifteen-minute visit?”
“Yes. It’s the best I could do for now.”
I can’t stand the thought of waiting. Whitley’s situation is dire. It was bad enough leaving her in the dream. To leave her in real life? Knowing her existence is in peril?
Unfathomable.
My temper gets the best of me, and I kick the chair. Wood splinters explode when it hits the wall on the other side of the room.
“Hey,” Astrid harrumphs. “That was my favorite place to sit.”
Reeling in my anger, I pace in front of the fireplace. I’m usually much better at keeping my temper in check, but I feel positively feral.
I just met Whitley and I’m already losing it.
I don’t know how Kirian went so long without Quinn. I remember his fits of rage while he hunkered down here during the months she was gone. At the time, I thought he was ridiculous. Weak, even. His lack of self-control should’ve been embarrassing.
But he was experiencing the mate madness that comes with being separated. He cared about nothing but the other half of his soul.