The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(120)

I drag my hands down my face. “Oh, I don’t know, Blake. You're obnoxious, and devious, and manipulative. You have intentionally provoked me time and time again. You bit me. You plotted against me. You keep secrets and hide things and I don’t trust you in the slightest. You are the most irritating person I have ever met in my life. And yet. . .” I sigh heavily. I feel exposed, naked, in front of him.

“And yet?”

I admit something that makes me feel more vulnerable than I have ever felt in my life. “You are my friend.” My voice sounds small.

I expect him to mock me, taunt me. I await the sly curve of his lips and the antagonistic glint in his eyes. Instead, his expression is more serious than I have ever seen it. When he smiles, it’s sad. I wonder if he has ever had a real friend before, or at least one that was not forged in the depths of a prison cell.

The truth is, though, that I have never had a real friend, either—no matter how much I have longed for one.

Overwhelming remorse floods me, before he pulls it back.

“Likewise, little rabbit.”

The air feels awkward again. Suddenly, I’m exhausted. I shiver and rub my arms. I stand. “I’m going to go back inside. I’m tired.”

He nods and pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

Together, we walk back into the Grey Keep.

***

Darkness.

It washes over me, so thick I can taste it.

I breathe in sharply. I’m in a long, dark corridor and shadows whisper across the ground as if they have a mind of their own. They coil around my bare ankles. My pulse quickens when the scent of something old and ancient hits my nostrils. I creep forward, past locked doors. Something hisses behind one—the sound raspy and familiar.

I swallow the lump that forms in my throat and hurry past. I need to get out of here.

I walk through an archway into a hexagonal room. Something about the shape seems familiar, and I recall the drawing of the labyrinth I found in Blake’s bedchambers.

“It’s of no consequence to me.” Blake’s silky smooth voice comes from one of the archways to my left, where Night’s mark is carved into the stone. “If you want an army, I can build you one.”

My blood turns to ice. I follow his voice and I halt. I’m behind a large, obsidian throne. A male sits upon it, and fear grips me so tightly I can’t move. He radiates a cold, ancient power that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. I can’t see his face, but I catch a glimpse of short hair as white as moonlight, and a tall jagged crown encrusted with diamonds. He drums his long fingers on the arm of his throne, and my soul knows who he is, even if I have never seen him depicted before.

“I do not trust you.” The male speaks, his voice cold.

Blake kneels before the throne, his head bowed in deference. When he raises it, the corner of his lip lifts. “Is that not part of my appeal, Master?”

His face is younger, and his hair slightly longer and messier. Shock slams through me. This is a memory, like the others I infiltrated. A dream. Blake’s dream. And we are in Night’s prison.

Night laughs, a cold dark sound that makes me shiver. “You are one of my favorite toys. Hm. Very well. Take the Kingdom of Wolves in preparation for my return. It will pain Ghealach when I break her creatures. And find the key. Bring me the Heart of the Moon and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest imaginings. But fail me. . . fail me and your punishment will be severe.”

“I will not fail you.”

My heartbeat thunders. It’s a cacophony in my ears. I inch back, and Blake’s eyes lock onto mine. They widen slightly. A brief flicker of panic crosses his face before he schools it into nonchalance once more and brings his gaze back to his master.

“Is there something wrong?” The crowned male begins to turn, and clucks his tongue. “Is one of my souls misbehaving? Bring them to me.”

I don’t wait for the God of Night to see me. I don’t wait for Blake to catch me. This may be a memory, but I have the terrible feeling there will be dire consequences if I’m caught. I run. I run faster than I have run in my life. My muscles scream; my feet slice on the tiles. My lungs feel as if they will burst as I crash back into the hexagonal room. Footsteps pursue me. Blake pursues me.

One of the archways glimmers with light. I turn to it, and pray it’s the exit. I ram my entire being against the door within it. I catch the scent of pine and shadow.

It crashes open. Darkness engulfs me and I’m falling.

Bright blinding light.





Chapter Sixty-Four





My eyes jolt open.

I’m in the small room in the Grey Keep, and the embers in the hearth glow orange. Blake sleeps on the chair, with his head dipped onto his chest. I’m breathing too quickly, and I try to calm myself, terrified I will wake him.

A thousand emotions rattle around in my chest, but the one that slices through is a cold, icy fear. At some point in his lifetime, Blake called Night his master.

I need to get out of here.

Blake’s eyes open. I’m restricted by the bedsheets. My pulse thrums beneath my skin. It’s loud. So loud. I know he can hear it. I turn my body to stone, as if I can block out the sound, but it beats faster, faster. Faster.

His midnight hair is disheveled, and strands of it curl over his forehead. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar. He looks relaxed, with the fire in the hearth flickering low behind him as he sits in the chair. He seems unthreatening. Vulnerable. I wonder how carefully he practiced his act. Or perhaps lying just comes naturally to him.