Bound to the Bears (Born of Blood) Page 6

  I sigh at my lack of resolve and fit my face against her neck. I turn my head into her hair, breathing her in, trying to remember how I invaded her mind the first time. She was awake then, thinking of me, lulled to sleep by my own force.

  This time? No idea. She could be dreaming of dandelions for all I know.

  Is that how dreamwalking works? I have to guess what she’s thinking and insert myself into it?

  I rest my face in her neck and inhale deep, surrounding myself in her sweet scent, searching for the sterile smells of her mind. It’s a different scent this time, a faint waft of petrol, overwhelming heat, suffocating smoke.

  I peek up at her. She’s sleeping peacefully, no sense of fear or pain anywhere in her form.

  No, that can’t be right. She’s not dreaming of fire.

  What could she be thinking of… perhaps her prison walls, those bland gray slates, endless hallways that lead to nothing but more hallways, more dead ends.

  And the crack in the wall, where once there was nothing. It’s bigger now, and when I push up on my toes, something is there. Nature, green lush grass and a rushing waterfall, that crashes down to a wintery wonderland below. The water is frozen like crystals, clear all the way to the very floor of the lakes, hammocks hanging between trees and blankets thrown haphazardly about the area.

  Her arm tightens around my waist, squeezing the air from my lungs. “What’re you doing?”

  I startle out of the dream, scrambling to grab on to her. She smiles groggily as her eyes open, hugging me even closer.

  “You’re alright,” she whispers, cradling my head close and kissing my ear. “Feels like falling, hm?”

  I swallow, nod my agreement. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “You’re very loud,” she snickers, combing her fingers through my hair, her smile curling into a smirk when I shiver. “How’d you get in?”

  “In what?”

  “That dream,” she says. “You only sort-of explained that. While you were touching me, I might add.”

  I duck my head against her chest, grateful she’s taken the opportunity to tempt me, and make take my avoidance of her eyes as my being flustered. Deception as a faery can be complicated. Partial truths and crafted tales. It comes easily to me, typically, but Orsa is a different breed.

  “You gave it to me with your name,” I remind her. “We… Fae can do a lot of things, with that information. I chose to become one with your magic—with you.”

  “As opposed to?” she prompts.

  “Stealing it.” I did not just admit that. Mother of pearl, how does she have me wrapped around her finger so completely? I sigh. “Leaving you dead, or a skeleton of what you once were.”

  She doesn’t tense, as one would expect. She hardly reacts at all, save for a hum acknowledging she heard me. “What do you need it for?”

  “Who said I needed it?”

  She snorts. “People are always trying to get in good with us… Warlocks, angels… slimy, low brow magic wielders like that. They all think they know how it works, how they can take it from us.”

  “Can’t they?” I ask. It was easy to put myself in her hands, in her mind. I assumed she could allow anyone in with her.

  But she shakes her head like it’s comical to even think. “No. Bears are blessed by the moon with our dreamwalking abilities—we have a deeper relationship with the night than even the werewolves could imagine. It’s not something anyone can steal, especially not a simple creature. Only we can give our power.”

  “So kidnapping you and trying to force you to give yourself up might not have worked out too well for me, then?” I ask, positioning it like hyperbole.

  “No,” she cackles. “I’d have destroyed you.”

  Cute. My pet thinks she could win in a fight. She’s far too fragile to fight with the fae—let alone win. But still. Good to know… long game works better, always. Caliphe should understand that.

  “I presume you don’t mean how you destroyed me last night,” I say. “That would have been quite a tragedy.”

  She snorts, shaking her head as her fingers rake through my hair. “I take it you’re not going to answer me.”

  “I’d rather not,” I say, mentally preparing myself for a barrage of reasons why I owe her an explanation. How dare you want my powers without a reason, she’ll wail, I just know it. And who could blame her for such a thing, truly?

  “Personal,” she says.

  “You could say that,” I say. “I’ve been looking for…something. For quite some time. A time long forgotten to the subconscious. I don’t know if dreamwalking is even viable to the end goal. But, if you’ll allow me, I have to try.”

  “And if I don’t?” she asks. “Allow you, that is.”

  I can’t answer her that. There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t be an outright lie. So I shrug, keeping my eyes down.

  That’s not an option.

  I can only hope she doesn’t test me on it.

  About the Author

  Helena Novak (she/her) has been making things up and bending people to her will from a very young age. She loves animals, tattoos, music, laughing, and reading, and you can usually find her entertaining one of those muses. She spends an obscene amount of time finding pretty new words and thinking up awful ways to torment her characters, and has the attention span of a gnat.

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