The Book of Dreams Forgotten: (A Broken Creatures Novel, Book 2) Read online

  “You don’t. You demand it, and if she doesn’t give it—you take it. Succubi are typically a submissive, easy-to-please caste of demon. I’m not entirely sure what’s wrong with yours, but even she is capable of falling into her nature.”

  “You’re trying to get me killed,” I whispered, imagining trying to “demand” respect from Jera, or worse, “take” it. I imagined it was similar to poking a sleeping bear.

  “You asked my advice and I gave it. It is only a matter of time before neither works.”

  Neither works? I tilted my head for a moment to think on those words, then “You mean before she dies?”

  “Precisely. And are you truly going to sit back and let that happen?”

  I didn’t really have a choice in the matter if Jera was intent on rejecting me. That, and I’d pretty much burned any bridge accessible between us after what I said in the bedroom.

  And I’d meant those words.

  “Then by all means, fail her and all others who seek your aid.”

  “Jera doesn’t represent everyone who enters my shop.”

  “No, but is she not an ultimate challenge? A means to prove you can handle any case brought to you so that what happened with that boy does not happen again?”

  I frowned. Was my history just public news nowadays?

  Regardless, in some skewered way, he had a point. What happened when I came across someone who didn’t want to be saved? Someone who rejected my help at every turn? Was it similar to medical protocol, where doctors were forced to save the life of a man who didn’t want to be saved? Was I disrespecting free will if I coaxed them into saviorship instead?

  I didn’t think the same rules applied with Jera. But I was willing to try if for no other reason than proving to myself that no matter what case walked through my shop’s doors, I would be prepared for it.

  And apparently I started by first gaining her trust. To Graves, I said, “How does one . . . demand respect?”

  But he didn’t seem to be paying attention to me just then, his eyes focused out the window onto the grassy scene, and for a moment I wondered if his vision had flickered as well to that of burned pastures and dark skies.

  But then he swore under his breath. “It would seem the medic must have a tracking chip implanted on her somewhere.”

  I tensed. “What do you—”

  He moved closer to the enormous glass panes, staring off into the night. “There’s eight of them, nine more in a van parked off-road.”

  “Eight of who?” I asked, but I think I knew all too well what he was going to say.

  “Agents.”

  And why was he so calm about this?

  He turned to me, looked me over again as though actually sizing me up this time. “You want to gain your female’s respect?”

  Already I didn’t like where this was heading. “In a civilized manner, yes.”

  “Good, follow me.”

  *****

  He led us up onto the terrace jutting out from the Sanctuary’s fifth floor. The structure overlooked the grasses and trees off in the distance. Houston’s city lights were a silver throb in the backdrop, Trinity Bay set off to the east of the estate, buoys bobbing up and down on the body of water like ghostly spirits.

  The night was colder, but nothing close to what Wamego was experiencing, I was sure.

  Graves leaned against the balustrade, still peering off into the distance, seeing things I couldn’t make out, hearing what I couldn’t discern. “They’re getting closer. Ready?”

  I scanned the dark frantically, part of me wanting to retreat back into the building and notify the others of the impending danger, but my feet stayed rooted for one reason alone: I didn’t want to further prove this man right, that I was weak.

  “Ready for what exactly?” I asked, having gone back to cradling my wing.

  “To take the first step in gaining respect.”

  “What—”

  He became a blur, his hand suddenly at my back.

  Before I could protest or talk it out reasonably—he pushed me.

  There was no time for fear or stun as I lurched forward, the force toppling me over the concrete. There wasn’t time for anything except the constant reminder that immortals were all lunatics. Anger shot into me, followed by a surge of adrenaline as I grasped blindly for something—anything—imagining just what it would be like to land on the ground from this height. Was it true that you died before impact or was that a myth? Would my bones crack and my consciousness remain? My blood boiled in my ears as the sky tipped upside down.

  I was falling.

  Feebly, one of my wings fluttered out, the wind jerking me to the left and sending me to the ground faster.

  That was when real panic set in. Desperately, I flapped my good wing, begging it to comply just this once. When there was no response, I tried to do as Lia taught me, filling my head with happy thoughts under the assumption that energy responded to that emotion best—even if the present was grim.

  Happy thoughts like ice cream or kittens looking at themselves in the mirror for the first time.

  The left wing snapped open, wind gusting into its expanse, cool air ruffling the feathers and gliding through the hot pockets of each of them. I didn’t know what shocked me more, that the wing responded or that there was some inherent part of me that found happiness in ice cream and kittens.

  The victory was short-lived as I crashed into the dirt, the world jostling out of focus, my body hurdling forward—

  I screamed murder to the sky when the broken wing slammed into the grass, a disheartening stttck telling me that whatever bones Jera had set had been undone. I tried to tuck myself into a small ball, to stave off the worst of the pain, and abruptly I came to a stumbling halt.

  It was just as torturous as the first time, if not worse. The nerve-splitting agony, fiery sears razoring through my spine.

  “Don’t dwell on your wing. Not now.”

  Gasping, face smeared into the grass, I coughed.

  Graves stood above me, features almost blending into the night if not for the bronze tint of his skin drinking in the half moon’s light.

  “You. Pushed. Me,” I grated.

  “Irrelevant details in light of what you are to do now. Stand.”

  When I tried but collapsed when my wing protested, I felt his hand on my shoulder, jerking me to my feet. He gave my chest what was probably meant to be a punch of motivation, but felt more like an attempt to break more bones.

  Oblivious, he pointed out into the night, were the grass went on and on until it met the outskirt of trees. “They’re closing in, but Inoli warded and cloaked the Sanctuary so they cannot see it. My guess is they’re following a tracker to the medic’s location. You’re going to put an end to it.”

  Still shirtless and now muddy and crippled, I could barely walk, let alone handle the men and their guns. Before, my wings had shielded me from the bullets, and when that failed, teleportation had. Neither of which were working just then.

  “I think we need to tell Jera and the elf. You know, experienced hands.”

  You’d think I stabbed him in the back by the look he gave me, which was the first real expression he’d worn since our unfortunate meeting.

  “Will you always call that female to your aid in times of trouble? Do you believe that’s how respect is earned?”

  “Do you believe this is the 1800s? Since when does fighting determine whether or not you deserve respect?” Wasn’t being a decent human being enough?

  “And I suppose you think being a decent human being should be enough?” he sneered sarcastically.

  I was swaying, the night veering in and out of focus, my attention zoning in on the blades needling into my wings. “I’m in no condition to fight—”

  A red dot appeared on Graves’ chest. Only then did I see the shadows stalking through the night. They were still a great distance away. We still had time to notify everyone else. Assuming we could find them in that labyrinth.

 
“Tell me something,” he said then, crossing his arms, indifferent to the target on his chest. “Do you believe you can protect someone with just good intentions?”

  “Of course not! I train every morning to control my ability.”

  “Where has it gotten you?”

  True, the progress had been slow, but there was progress nonetheless. Just not the progress I’d been hoping for. I’d wanted to tap into my full potential, obtain every possible advantage my body could. But my sessions with Jera had become singularly focused on honing my ability to control dark energy, particularly after we’d taken a break on the whole teleportation act.

  “It’s as I said before,” he said darkly and I didn’t like the look he gave me. “How can you protect others when you can’t protect yourself?”

  It was the first time I’d ever wanted to punch a man. To feel his bones break beneath the force of my own. Voice shaking, I said lowly, “I can protect myself just fine.”

  “Hmm,” he chuckled. “Show me, human.”

  Again, there was a force that knocked me forward hard enough that I skipped like a stone across water, the blaring agony in my wing beginning to go numb on the revolving contact with the ground.

  When I finally came to a stop, I could see the Sanctuary clearly, yards away from me. And behind me, I heard voices.

  “C4I spotted. Engaging.”

  There was a useless splattering of bullets as the HB agents closed in on me, forming one tight circle. My one working wing curled around me, allowing a tiny slit for me to see through.

  Thoughts running a thousand miles per minute, I tried to formulate an angle, some leverage, but these were humans. They didn’t have any dark energy for me to control or drain, only light energy, which was a whole different language to me.

  I took a deep breath, willing my heart to slow its rapid barrage against my chest.

  Think, Peter. How did you teleport before?

  It’d been a split second, a grenade planted at my feet. It’d been the closest I’d ever come to being one with the power inside of me. But that power was all scrambled now due to the broken wing.

  My hands fisted in the grass as I felt them close in tighter.

  Think.

  I heard them take out the chains.

  Think, think!

  Cold steel wrapped around the spiralled arch of my broken wing, then pulled.

  I buried my face in my arm as an explosive cry ripped from my throat.

  “It’s injured,” one of the men reported, and all at once their focus shifted to that wing, where their combined effort snapped it open, the tendons conjoining it to my spine beginning to shred apart.

  My head was exposed.

  Another chain was cast, the chilling link winding around my throat.

  I locked eyes with the sadistic holder of the chains. A black mask shrouded his profile, but the revulsion in his gaze as he looked down at me, the triumphant crease of his brows. This was what these agents did daily. Gathered up humans infected with dark energy and immortals alike. Wrangled them together to slaughter them in the night.

  I was but diseased cattle to them. Something to put down to ensure the rest of the flock thrived.

  But I understood something in that moment.

  I wasn’t the cattle. I was the shepherd, and these men with their guns and radical ideologies, they were the wolves preying on the weak. Which was me.

  Those who entered into my shop, what were they but a handful of a whole herd looking to me?

  If I was so intent on protecting those who entered my shop, those who too were cattle in their own right, then what sort of shepherd was I if I allowed the majority of them to be slaughtered by dark energy?

  What sort of protector was I if I protected the few knowing what was happening to the many?

  “I get it!” I roared out into the night, thinking of the role I wanted to play and how I needed to get there. “You were right!”

  As if I’d snapped my fingers, Graves appeared behind the agent who held my chains. In his gloved hand, he held something he hadn’t had before: a long blade. He swung it once without blinking.

  And then the rest of the carnage ensued as he killed them all before I could finish exhaling in relief. They’d been standing one moment, cut down the next.

  These were the monsters roaming our world.

  These were the creatures who lived in the Shatters.

  Blood smattered the male’s face when he was finished. As he stood above me, glowering down at me with barbed disgust that was almost similar to the HB agent’s, I could see his disappointment, his anger at having been called on this mission when it was clear he handled things alone.

  “Do you see it now?” he said.

  I swallowed a groan of pain, holding his gaze. Slowly, I tried to stand.

  With the hilt of his blade, he pressed it into my shoulder hard enough for me to fall back down.

  “This is the extent of you. That female does not show you respect because there is nothing here to respect but a pathetic pretender. You say you want to protect them, but how can you from down there?”

  I tried to push up, but the leather hilt carved deeper into my muscles.

  He kneeled before me and grabbed my hair, lifting my head just enough so that his mouth was near my ear.

  “So yes, run away, Peter,” he whispered vehemently. “Run back to your little shop and pretend all is well. After all, it’s what humans do best in a time of crisis.”

  He released me, but not without first shoving my face into the mud.

  But it wasn’t the dirt I tasted.

  It was hot, boiling determination.

  Ch. 14

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  I stood in the study, the dark elf seated at her desk after Harold called her here for me. Her brows rose, her fingers steepling for a moment. Then, “What changed your mind?”

  “Pain.”

  There was that grin again, lips closed, subtle. “Yes, in pain there lies clarity.”

  After what happened outside on the field, Graves had disappeared back into the Sanctuary, but I’d stayed there for hours, staring at the dead bodies around me, telling myself it was something I would have to get used to. That if I wanted to see this through, there would come a time where I might have to behave no different from Graves.

  Because if I didn’t, the bodies would pile up higher and higher.

  I’d once convinced myself one soul was worth that of the world, but what was one soul if there was no world?

  I was going to have to kill the pixie.

  Arms crossed over my bare chest, I rest my weight on my right side to keep pressure off the jutting, snapped wing. I guess I was going to have to set it on my own.

  “There’s something you want to ask me?” Inoli hinted.

  There was no sense in hiding the fact. “My abilities . . . I know there are plenty of immortals out there who would love to control dark energy, but it’s useless in combat.”

  For instance, the HB agents.

  Inoli shook her head. “It’s useless with humans.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She stood and came around her desk, stopping toe to toe with me. “In the Shatters, you will be much stronger. The Maker received his title due to his ability to make or break those which abided beneath the laws of dark energy.”

  I still didn’t understand.

  Noticing this, Inoli held her hand out to me. “Take some of my energy.”

  I hesitated to take her hand, but when I did, I was slightly awed by how flawlessly smooth the skin was, soft and reminding me of porcelain. When she closed her fingers around mine, I felt the first pulse of yellow ribbons, her dark energy stream buzzing inside of her like an endless reservoir.

  My stomach rumbled, my core opening up. Under her nod of encouragement, I allowed the vines of my dark energy to snake upward, latching onto her yellow ribbons until I felt the warm glade start to transfer from her to me.

  Just two sips of i
t—and the ribbons vanished.

  My mouth dropped. “How did you . . .”

  “There are many creatures who prey on others’ dark energy. I learned long ago how to shut my own down.”

  That was impressive in its own right seeing as I didn’t think Jera or Lia could do that.

  “The problem you face with your ability’s limit is your ignorance to the workings of it, and truly neither you nor your succubi twins are to blame.” She took a step away from me and revealed, “The Maker had a depthless access to dark energy, whereas for you, when you drain another of their energy, it is your sole source of fuel. You cannot perform any magnificent feats unless you’re fueled.”

  Was that why the teleportation had been failing lately?

  Before, when I’d first teleported, it was because Lia had literally shocked me into full throttle. But since then, I’d been unable to do so again.

  “And the little chunks of dark energy you’ve tasted in the past, you burned right through by not sleeping.”

  I nodded, understanding this much. “Lia said my body runs on regular nutrients and dark energy.”

  “And she’s correct. But the reason you’ve been unable to use the Maker’s gift to the fullest is because you lack the energy. Now that you have some of mine, why don’t you try to make a dagger for your own protection.”

  I paused, unsure I’d heard her right. “Make a dagger? With what—dark energy?”

  “Exactly. Use the energy you absorbed from me and convert it into something solid. A dagger.”

  Where did I even begin to try something like that?

  Maybe with my countdown and breathing method. I closed my eyes and focused on the warm hum of energy that I’d consumed. It swarmed in a loose-conforming ball, directionless. What was I supposed to do with it?

  It could have been a matter of simply thinking about it and it was done, like in one of those wizardly movies I used to watch growing up. Except, when I thought of a sleek silver dagger with a black leather hilt, nothing happened.

  “To make something, you have to know its components,” Inoli guided. “What do you know about daggers?”