A Harbinger cannot be suffered to survive.
“Arken. Arken, wake up.” The voice was familiar, rough and rasping, but soothing all the same. “You’re dreaming,kenna. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
No, no, please no?—
My eyelids fluttered open in the dark, but the panic had yet to subside. Fear had me by the throat, and though I recognized I was awake, my limbs remained frozen—locked in place. I could see Kieran in my periphery, even as my wide-eyed gaze remained rooted to his ceiling.
A Harbinger cannot be suffered to survive.
Fates, I could have sworn I still felt the blade in my chest, aether in its purest form piercing me beyond flesh, bone, or marrow—the Nineteen chasing me from dream state to reality.
They knew.They knew.They’d always known. Of course they had. They’d just been watching…waiting for me to slip up.Oh my gods. Oh my fucking gods.
“Hey. You’re okay,” Kieran repeated, dabbing gently at my sweat-slicked skin with a soft towel. “It was just a dream. You were having a nightmare.”
With graceful ease, he slipped one arm beneath my back and another behind my thighs, easing me upright. I let him prop me up like a ragdoll without the assistance of my own muscles, still paralyzed as my mind struggled to return to reality.
“That’s it. Breathe for me, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’m right here, yeah?”
I opened my mouth, but words wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t form them. The best I could manage was a slight nod.
“Were you dreaming about the Wyldwoods?” he asked softly.
Yes. No. Sort of.
Panic grew, my mouth running dry—because what was I supposed to tell him? I couldn’t tell him the truth without revealing myself, so what was I supposed to say instead? My breath began to quicken alongside my still-racing heartbeat, taking in short, shallow gasps of air while my eyes went in and out of focus. My throat felt so tight that even with panting breaths, I could barely get enough air into my lungs—it felt like I was suffocating.
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t?—
Sensory distraction was a welcome relief as I heard the gentle strike of a match, followed by the scent of smoke, as Kieran swiftly lit the candles on his bedside table, illuminating the darkened room in a soft, flickering glow.
“Shhh, sweetheart,” he murmured reassuringly, brushing his knuckles against my spine. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe.”
“Fuck,” I croaked after a gulp of air finally made its way into my lungs properly, my body soothed just enough by the sweet relief of his touch. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Kier?—”
“Hush,” he interrupted, gently resting a finger against my lips. Kieran was running his hand up and down my back now with a warm, steady motion while keeping his own frame somewhat distanced, giving me space.
“We’re just going to breathe together for a bit, okay, Little Conduit? Just follow my lead.”
I released a slow and ragged breath, watching his bare chest rise and fall, clinging to his example like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality right now.
And maybe it was.
CHAPTER FIVE
KIERAN
“That’s a good girl.” I exhaled alongside Arken, my palm still maintaining its gentle, repetitive motion against the soft skin of her back. “Just a few more deep breaths, okay?”
Vaguely, I could recall that Arken had told me about her tendency to lucid dream. To have such vivid explorations of one’s subconscious mind sounded intriguing at the time; I had almost been jealous of the way she had described them. I’d never considered what it might mean when her dreams drifted somewhere darker.
Night terrors.
My poor Little Conduit. I should have known the Leshy would come back to haunt her sooner rather than later. The desperate throes of yearning demanding to be sated set aside, I should have found time to help prepare her for this.
While I didn’t knoweverythingabout Arken’s past, I had a good enough sense of the hardships she’d endured thus far in her young life. She had her own scars to bear—it was never easy growing up different in this world, and between her rarepower and an even rarer mind, Arken was, indeed, different. Peer rejection, loneliness and loss, the aching desire to be understood, a bone-deep fear of abandonment—I could relate to those wounds. But physical trauma—battles with daemons and a dance with death…Shit like that came with a very different set of scars and ghosts that would haunt her in far less subtle ways.
Once again, we would match, because all of the liquor and Light in the world could not snuff out the dark memory of carrying that girl’s broken body in my arms, fearing for the worst. Arken may have been the one the Leshy struck that night, but I did not come out of those woods unscathed. Not in the slightest.