Watched them go from blue to black.
“Shoot her.” Valerie spoke the words, and I dove to the ground, just as the world exploded around me. I knew a shot had been fired, but couldn’t tell who had been shot. I was already in pain—so much pain—and I could feel all of the others’, feel it everywhere.
Someone was shot.
Was it me?
No.
I clung to consciousness, clung to Chase as he began to fade away, and the last thing I saw before everything went black was Caroline’s eyes changing back to blue—and Ali standing over Valerie’s lifeless body, holding a smoking gun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I WAS LYING ON MY BACK, MY HEAD TURNED TO THE side, my eyes closed. I knew before I opened them that Chase would be there, lying on his back, his head turned toward mine. The night sky stretched out above us, stars burning so bright it hurt to look at them.
His hand wove its way through mine.
Neither one of us spoke, but I felt his heartbeat as if it were my own, and for reasons I couldn’t pinpoint, tears began trickling down my face, slowly at first, but then faster.
This isn’t real. I tried not to think the words, but couldn’t hold them back.
I wanted it to be real. I wanted him to be okay, and barring that, I wanted the two of us to stay this way, my hand wrapped in his, his face close enough to mine that I could taste him.
Cedar and cinnamon. Chase.
He wasn’t bleeding.
I wasn’t burned.
And the ground beneath us was … not ground, I realized. It was concrete, and though the sky stretched out in all directions above us, here on earth, we were surrounded by walls.
Bars. Titanium and reinforced steel.
It took me a moment to realize where we were: Callum’s basement, the place where we’d first met, when Chase was newly turned and half wild with moonlust, and I was stupid and impulsive and unable to stay away.
This time, I was in the cage with him, and he was human.
“Caroline shot you,” I said softly, wishing I could say something else. “You got bitten by a snake.”
Chase blinked, his eyes brimming with acceptance—and something else. “Yeah.”
I reached for his cheek. He nuzzled my hand.
“That snake was going for Maddy,” I said, wondering if this was the last time I would ever touch him, feel the warmth of his skin. “You took its bite for her.”
Chase reached out, touched my cheek, and I leaned into his hand. “I told you that if it came down to the pack or you, it would always be you. But if it comes down to me and them …”
I closed my eyes, rubbed my cheek against his hand.
“I’d pick them,” he said softly. “For you.”
Callum had said that being alpha was lonely—but all I could think, lying there next to Chase, sharing this dream, was that I wasn’t alone.
“You’re going to be okay,” I told him, my lips a fraction of an inch away from his. “You’re going to be fine.”
“Bryn,” he said, his breath warm on my face, his voice wild and irrepressible and sure. “Love you.”
We’d shared dreams before, back when we were hunting the Rabid—enough for me to know that anything Chase said here was as real as words he said when we were awake.
There was no coming back from this moment, not now, not ever.
Somewhere his body was bleeding, poisoned with venom and silver.
Somewhere my body was burned.
But here, in this dream, as we lay side by side in a cage with all of heaven spread out above us, we were okay.
And I wasn’t alone.
“Love you, Bryn,” Chase said again, his voice hoarse. “Always you.”
My mouth went cotton dry, and for a moment, I was scared—terrified—that I wouldn’t be able to say it back. But somehow, I found the words, convinced my mouth to string them into a sentence—one that felt true.
“Love you, too.”
The moment I said the words, his body gave in to the poison, and he began seizing. His limbs twitched, but he didn’t Shift. He didn’t blink. He didn’t take his eyes off mine. He just faded away, bit by bit by bit, until I was lying there alone, the ghost of his touch lingering on my fingertips, my lips warm and swollen with the kiss we hadn’t shared.
Bryn. Bryn. Bryn.
I sat up in the cage and willed myself to wake up so that I could go to him, save him, but instead, the world around me morphed, until the sky was nothing but stars, nothing but brightness, and I wasn’t alone.
“You.” The word ripped its way out of my throat, but I couldn’t coax my body into moving, couldn’t rip the intruder’s jugular out, the way I should have the first time we’d met.
“Me,” Archer said. The word sounded like some kind of confession. “It’s just me this time, Bryn.”
No nicknames, no gloating. This was a side to my psychic stalker that I hadn’t seen before. I glanced at his eyes and noted the ring of lighter color around the pupil, and then I realized what he was trying to tell me.
“Just you,” I repeated. That meant that Valerie was …
“Dead,” Archer said, answering the question I hadn’t asked. He flicked his wrist with halfhearted showmanship, and images flashed into my mind, courtesy of his psychic interference. This time, there were no flames—just a series of still shots of the coven’s members, bleeding from the nose. “When Valerie died, her influence went with her. It was sudden. It hurt. But it was enough for the rest of us to realize that the monsters we were fighting weren’t.”
“Weren’t fighting?”
“Weren’t monsters.” Archer looked at me with an expression somewhere between pity and pain. “You’re just kids.”
He couldn’t have been more than five or six years my senior, but for a split second, I could almost see myself the way he did: sixteen, battered, old eyes, thin.
“I’d like to say that we didn’t know what we were doing,” Archer said, trying to sound like the words didn’t matter to him nearly as much as they did. “But we weren’t completely brainwashed. We knew. Valerie just made us feel like it didn’t matter, made us hate you enough that we didn’t want to question what that hatred was making us do. We let it happen. I let it happen.”
I shut Archer down before he could say the word sorry, because I didn’t want to hear it. “I need to wake up,” I told him. “Now.”
I didn’t have time for apologies. I didn’t need to be along for the ride as he worked his way through the question of whether he and the rest of the coven were villains or victims.
I needed to get out of here. I needed to wake up. I needed to protect what was left of my pack.
“Let me go.”
“I’m not the one keeping you here,” Archer said. “The fight’s over. It’s been over. You and some of the others—on both sides—were pretty beat up. You’ve been out for three days.”
That wasn’t possible. He had to be messing with me, playing with my mind, keeping me here when there was still something I could do to protect what was mine. I couldn’t afford to take his words at face value, couldn’t trust anything I’d seen through his mind—no matter how true it felt.
I had to make sure that the other psychics had stopped fighting when Valerie took a bullet to the head. For all I knew, while I was stuck in a dream with Archer, Caroline was out there in the real world retaliating for her mother’s death. She could be taking aim at—
Ali.
The memory of my last conscious moment came rushing back. I’d been facing off against Valerie, against Caroline, pushing my body past every limit and clinging to consciousness by a thread. Caroline had pointed her gun at me. Valerie had given the order—and Ali, my Ali, had shot the coven leader dead.
If Archer was lying, if Caroline was still out there …
I moved to grab Archer by the lapels, but my hands sank through his body, like one of us was a ghost. “Wake. Me. Up.”
Archer opened his mouth, then closed it. He took a step backward, his body solidifying once more. He held up one hand in invitation.
I didn’t have the luxury of debating whether or not to take it. This was Ali we were talking about here.