I dream of being nothing more than shadow—a dark penumbra who doesn’t hide or cower. Who takes what she wants and laughs at anyone who gets hurt along the way.
I’m nothing more than a silhouette of myself as I creep quietly out of the bedroom I’m sharing with Finn and down the hall to another room. He smiled at her. He laughed and confided, let her sit in his lap at dinner. He probably thinks she’s so beautiful, with that feminine grace and her long dark hair.
She doesn’t deserve him.
Her door’s closed. How cute. I slip right through it and walk through the darkness to Juliana’s side of the bed. Her hair is fanned out around her on the pillow. She’s so peaceful, hands folded on her stomach, chest rising and falling in the easy rhythm of sleep.
With a smile, my shadow takes a handful of her hair and uses the knife I didn’t realize I was holding to slice it off. She’ll still be beautiful. She’ll still have that smile and those sparkling eyes.
She’ll still know exactly where she fits in this world, but I will have her hair for the next time I need to bribe a goblin.
I’m grinning as I return to my own room and drop the hair and the knife on the bedside table with a thunk. When I spot my body in the bed, the dream blinks in and out of existence. In my body again, I roll over and burrow a little deeper under my blankets. In the next moment, I’m disconnected again, watching myself from the foot of my bed, where I smile into the night and stretch my arms overhead.
It feels good to be free of my own skin. Feels good to be alive and know Finn is so close.
Because he’s the one I want. In the dark of this dream, with nothing but my shadow for my body, he’s all I want.
I slink through the darkness to his makeshift bed by the window. He’s beautiful, sleeping on his back, with one hand behind his head and the other resting on his bare chest. I study the planes of his face in the darkness. It feels so natural—so good and wicked and delightful— to straddle his waist and lower myself onto him.
He feels perfect under me. Warm. Solid. Strong. He likes it too. He releases a contented groan, not opening his eyes. Hot and solid and powerful even in his sleep.
I take the hand from his chest and place it on my stomach, watching with rapt attention as his eyes flutter open.
“Abriella?” He sounds confused, as if he doesn’t expect me to be here—as if there’s anywhere else I’d want to be. Pulling his hand from behind his head, he blinks up at me, then rubs his eyes.
“What is this?”
“I . . . want, ” I say, shifting, sliding down his body until my thighs are cradling his hips. I can feel him through the sheet, hard and thick against me.
With a curse, he draws in a ragged breath. “Do you know what you’re doing right now?” he asks.
“I’m taking what I want, ” I whisper, and I rock my hips to show him exactly what I mean. “And giving what you want.”
Finn’s neck arches as he groans, his hips lifting off the floor and seeking more. Seeking me.
“Brie,” he breathes.
I graze my shadow fingers over his bare chest, over his navel, and along the soft line of hair that disappears beneath the sheet.
“Gods above and below,” he breathes. “Is this even real?”
“Does that matter?” I purr.
Suddenly he sits up, and I grin in delight at the heat of him coming so close. His gaze darts to the bed, then back to me. “What is this?”
“Don’t worry about her. ” I’m annoyed. I want his focus. His whole attention on me, not that girl in the bed.
He shoves at my shoulder, but his hands go right through me, and I chuckle. “I just want to have some fun, Finn.”
He scrambles away from me and stands, backing toward the window. He’s wearing fitted black shorts and nothing else, but there’s fear in his eyes as he shifts his gaze between me and the bed.
“What are you?”
Reluctantly, I follow his gaze, and my body jerks. Like I’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water, I jerk upright in bed and look around.
“Brie.” Finn stares at me, breathing heavily, mouth ajar. “Are you okay?”
I glance at the foot of the bed, where I was just standing, where I was just . . . there’s nothing there. But then I catch sight of the bedside table—and the locks of luscious brown hair I dreamed of cutting from Juliana’s head.
Chapter Eighteen
The confusion in Finn’s eyes mirrors my own.
“What was that?” he asks.
My heart is racing, but my body . . . my body is tingling as if I really was just straddling Finn and not sleeping in this bed, under these blankets. “I was dreaming. I was . . .”