Hands cupped around slitted eyes, I search for Damien, but there’s only a rock at the center of this room. He’s not here. Wait, is that even possible? I must be inside someone’s dream.
The ticking of the grandfather clock has me turning back toward the anchor, wondering what went wrong. Whose head am I in? I crack my neck, already sweating, and walk toward the boulder while I figure out what to do next.
The ground is packed earth, parched and cracked without even a weed to break its monotony. I reach the ashen boulder at the center of the silo and lean against it. Odd—the texture is almost rubbery, and the sides are peppered with shallow holes like the rock has taken a few bullets. I run my hand along the bumpy ridge along the top, then over the sides. I retract my fingers with a gasp when they touch something that feels like ribs.
I shift back onto my feet. “Oh my God.”
I want to be wrong, but when I walk around the stone and see horns and a tuft of hair on one end, I almost gag. This is Damien! He’s in his monster form, curled in on himself, shading as much of his flesh with his wings as he can. All of his exposed skin, usually the deep black of a shadow, is now chalky and the color of concrete.
Frantically, I pull the oversized tunic I’m wearing off and hold it over his head. With some repositioning, I’m able to shade about a quarter of him. Not enough. Fuck, is he even alive? He must be. The ache in my chest I’ve come to associate with the bond is still there. Besides, I couldn’t be in this nightmare if he wasn’t.
“Damien? Damien.”
He moves ever so slowly, unwinding his wings from around his body as if every inch of movement hurts like hell. How could it not when flakes of his flesh fall away like ash with every fraction gained? When he’s finally able to turn his face to look at me, I can’t suppress a gasp. He’s wrecked. More dead than alive. His once-beautiful mane of hair is thin and greasy. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, and his face— God, his features look like he was carved from pale marble.
“Eloise,” he rasps.
“Is this where she’s keeping you? Are you dreaming about where you really are?” His eyes roll toward my throat. I need to feed him, but first I have to get him out of here, at least temporarily. “Can you picture the garden again? Picture somewhere safe?”
He raises a hand to my cheek and slowly, as if each grain of thought costs him something, the silo fades and I’m huddled over his sitting form in a dark forest. I help him lean back against a tree, tossing my sweater aside. I’m in a sports bra and leggings. It will be easier for him to get to my throat like this. He stares up at the moon and stars, breathing deeply.
“You need my blood.” I kneel in front of him. “Maeve says it’s my magic you’re taking, but it should be able to keep you alive.”
But he doesn’t move toward me, just shakes his head.
“Let me die,” he whispers. I can hardly hear him. He’s not even looking at me. He stares up at the stars as if he’d rather be somewhere else. Maybe something else.
“What’s that?” I must have misheard him.
Now his eyes drift to mine, and my stomach clenches at how empty they are. He’s looking directly at me as he says loud and clear, “You need to let me die.”
For a second I wait for what he said to make sense. It doesn’t.
“No!” My eyes pool with gathering tears.
His head rolls forward, and he stares at the ground.
“What has she done to you?” When he doesn’t answer, I say, “I’m not letting you give up. You’ll take my blood and tell me where to find Cassius and where Valeska is holding you. We’ll come for you. My blood will see you through.” When he doesn’t look at me, I grab his chin and turn his head until he does.
Finally he focuses on my face, but when I hold my wrist to his lips, he pushes it away.
“I haven’t eaten anything since the last time we were together. I’ll drain you dry. Can’t you see that I’m close to death? A few more days and I’ll be gone. You’ll be free of our bond. Find another mate. Live your life.” His large, dark eyes droop. His mane is stringy, and even his horns seem duller than the last time I saw him in this form. God, the sun has burned holes in his wings. He must be in so much pain.
Something clamps around my heart and squeezes. If Damien is talking about me moving on, he is truly suicidal. No shade gives up his mate so easily. “No,” I say firmly. Loudly. “You’re not giving up. You’re my mate. Fight for me.”
He groans and closes his eyes. It takes effort, but I lean him forward enough for me to step behind his back. He’s big in his monster form, and I find myself standing with my back against the tree and his back against my hips and torso. He’s sitting, slumping, but his horns reach past my shoulders. I wrap my arm around his head and bring my wrist to his mouth. He places a kiss on my pulse with cracked, dry lips but doesn’t strike.
I whimper at the sight of him, beaten down and suffering. I will kill Valeska for this. The sound of the ticking clock grows stronger in my ears. “I will never give up on you, Damien. I will find a way to get you out of there. You are my mate. I will not move on. There is no one else for me. If you go, I will go too.”
He growls. “Don’t say such things, little bird. Your eventual happiness is my only light. I can no longer endure. I will die tonight.”
“No. You won’t. You won’t because you’re going to drink my blood.”
“No.” He turns his head away.
“I’m coming to Night Haven,” I say through my teeth. “I’m finding a way and I’m getting you out of there.”
Now he moves. With one twist and sweep of his arm, he has me on my back at the base of the tree, his taloned hand wrapped around my throat. “What did I tell you, little bird? You are not to come near Night Haven.”
