I feel awake now.
I push to my feet, waiting for a wave of nausea, but my body feels strangely muted. I inhale slowly and exhale just as slowly. For the first time in a week, I actually feel like myself. Nothing hurts. I’m not exhausted. It’s enough to make me want to cry. I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten until I was allowed this reprieve. I swallow thickly. “What am I going to do?”
No use focusing on the problem the pregnancy represents now, though. I have to figure out what’s going on. Is this another trap? My father’s powers lie in compulsion and glamour; I’ve never heard him talk about dreams before. This isn’t a bloodline vampire power at all as far as I can remember. There are only seven of them, each following one family. My father’s glamour. Malachi’s fire. Rylan’s shapeshifting. Wolf’s blood. And then air, earth, and water. None of those should be able to influence dreams.
So what is this?
My chest gives a familiar thrum and I don’t think. I simply follow it. It’s the bond inside me, recognizing—I’m afraid to hope it’s recognizing what I think it’s recognizing. Distance and time have no meaning here. One step seems to launch me forward miles. Or maybe the mist is what causes everything to feel strange. I’m not sure.
In the distance, the mist rolls away and the familiar form of a man stands there. I recognize his pale skin, short white mohawk, and lean frame. The bond inside me thrums happily and nearly jerks me off my feet. “Wolf!
He turns slowly, recognition alighting his light blue eyes. “Mina.”
One step brings me to him. I reach out a trembling hand and press it to his chest. Real? Not real? I can’t be sure. He looks even paler than normal, deep circles carved into the space below his eyes. “How are you doing this? How did you bring me here?”
“It’s not me, love.” He looks around, a frown pulling his dark brows together. “This doesn’t feel like vampire magic. Means it’s most likely you.”
Me or someone else planted us both here. I look around, but there’s still nothing but mist. I can’t sense danger, but I can’t sense anything at all. I didn’t feel Wolf before I saw him, and even now, with my palm against his sternum, it’s like neither of us are really here. “The bond?”
“That would be my best bet.”
That’s comforting, though I would feel better if someone had a full explanation. “Is this a dream?”
“It must be. I’m not hungry.”
A pang goes through me. It’s already started. Of course it has. My father wouldn’t hesitate to put them into painful and agonizing situations to ensure he gets what he wants. I swallow hard. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“It never is when things go wrong.” He shrugs, but his eyes go sharp. “You’re close. The bond hasn’t bitten us once.”
“I’m trying. I knew where he was taking you, so I made sure to follow as closely as I dared.” The bond is another problem to the huge stack of them. I found out relatively recently I’m half seraph by accidentally bonding with Wolf, Malachi, and Rylan when my powers unleashed. One of the lovely little side effects of that bond—in addition to these new powers I can’t control—is that there’s a limit on the distance we can travel from each other before we experience pain. It’s worse for the men than it is for me. Distance isn’t the only issue, either. Even if I stay within range, eventually the bond will force us closer. There’s a physical component that I recently had to navigate with Rylan, and I don’t relish the idea of having to do it with all three of them.
I hate it, but so far the only option we’ve found to eliminate the seraph bond is…
Azazel.
I straighten. “Wolf, I need to know how to summon Azazel.”
“No, love. Straights are dire, but not so dire as that.” He runs a hand over his short mohawk. “He demands payment up front, and I don’t know what will happen to the bond and us if you jaunt off to the demon realm. Even if time passes differently there than it does here, that’s quite a bit out of the established distance limits.”
He’s right. I know he’s right.
But so is Grace.
I lift my chin. “I promise I won’t bargain away my time like that. I’ll think of something else.”
“He’s a one trick pony, is Azazel. It’s seven years’ payment. That’s the only currency he works in.” Wolf shakes his head. “It’s not worth the risk.”
I grab the front of Wolf’s shirt and shake him. Or try to. It’s like shaking a brick wall. Frustration blooms, hot and sick, in my stomach. “I have exactly two people to breach the compound. We can’t win. Even with the pregnancy, we can’t win.”