Page 69

I have to act fast. I have to act now.

“Hold on, love,” I say to her unconscious body, veering right the second I see a cutoff.

Except when I do, the road disappears, and I send us careening off the side of a fucking cliff.

35

The Watcher

The tires screech against the wet asphalt as I slam on the brakes. The rain is nearly a drizzle now, only enough to be moderately annoying and nothing else. Where the fuck does Callum Thorne think he’s going with Lydia?

The sound demands an echo.

The damage is already done, whether he knows it or not. I hijacked his car stereo to play a frequency that would have rendered Lydia unconscious, and him, well … he’ll find out soon enough.

I’m not sure why he had to be so dramatic and drive off the damn highway, and right off of a fucking cliff. Well, cliff is a bit of an overstatement. It’s actually a small hill. But where the fuck did he think he was going when he turned?

I pull off on the side of the road and park, climbing out of the car and strolling over to the area where deep ruts indent the damp ground. I don’t need to rush to them, not after what the frequency has accomplished for me. The sound will have rendered him useless in his fight against me.

I do rather enjoy frequency manipulation. I had no idea that it was so powerful. I often wonder, especially as my mind fractures, if I’m being manipulated as well. The thought escapes my mind as quickly as it arrives, just as it does every time.

I spot Callum’s car at the bottom of the hill, turned onto its side. Picking up my pace, I watch as he stands on top of the car and drags Lydia’s unconscious body from the upright side. He cradles her in his arms and jumps onto the ground, setting her in the grass as he kneels beside her body.

Shaking her shoulders, he yells, “Wake up, Lydia. Please, fucking WAKE UP!”

When did Callum Thorne become so dramatic? I preferred the stoic version of him that was less reactive. My footsteps falter as I come to a stop, wondering to myself how I even know the Callum Thorne that existed before this one.

Something tugs at my mind, and I hunch over, placing my hands on my knees as the air seems to grow thick around my lungs. Images of Callum flash through my mind, moments in a time continuum that I can’t seem to place. Why do I feel like I’ve known him for so long?

GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

“You mother fucker!” Callum’s growl drags me from the depths of my mind as I stand to find him barreling toward me.

My gaze drops to Lydia, who’s now awake, and then back up to the man before me. He reaches me, his arms stretched forward in an attempt to strangle me to death, I’m sure. I home in on his vengeful expression as time seems to slow to a near crawl. When I open my mouth, I utter the one word that should stop him in his tracks. The one word that I watched Sabel use on Riven and Sloane all those months ago.

“Somnius,” I say, smiling beneath the mask when he comes to a screeching halt right before my eyes.

36

Lydia

My head pounds as I stare up at Callum and our masked captor, dragging myself from the ground. I tilt my head, straining to see through the steady rainfall and catch the conversation. Callum looks extremely tense. I mean, more tense than usual. He isn’t moving at all, and it sets alarm bells off inside my head.

Taking a deep breath, I steady myself and glance over at the car on its side, tracking the ruts in the grass that lead right to us. There’s a dull ache building near my left temple, and I palm the side of my head in an attempt to ease it.

“What the hell happened?” I mutter, more to myself.

The masked figure sidesteps Callum and heads toward me. Panic begins to consume me as my eyes dart to the back of Callum’s head, willing him to turn and follow. But he doesn’t move, and the masked figure grows closer. I back away a couple of steps, staggering as my balance threatens to send me plummeting to the earth below. My head is still fuzzy, and there’s a low-pitched ringing in my ears.

I can’t let him have me, not after he nearly killed me.

My futile escape proves useless, and the masked figure makes it to me in no time. He reaches out, grabbing my arm roughly with a gloved palm, and drags me against him. I gasp, and the faintest scent of cigarette smoke and mint burns my nostrils as he presses me firmly against his chest, facing him.

“Let me go,” I grunt.

I can feel his body shaking as he chuckles, the sound dark and deranged. Not much spooks me these days, but the menacing tone of his laughter sends a chill akin to a million little spiders scurrying down my spine. Why spiders? I’m unsure. I guess my mind felt it appropriate to conjure up all my darkest fears at the same time.

“Now, now,” he says, pushing my shoulders back until we’re a few inches apart. His voice is distorted, leaving no room to guess his identity after the memory was stripped from me in that warehouse. “Why on earth would I let you go when I finally have you? Your boyfriend ruined all of my plans, so I had to make new ones. Let’s call this my retribution.”