Radiant Shadows (Wicked Lovely 4)

“Not unpleasant?” Rae laughed. “He has a fabulous time, Ani, but he doesn’t like admitting how much he enjoys the freedom of sensation without responsibility.”

For a moment Ani looked at them both. “Huh. Here I thought the High Court was boring. Who knew?”

The tension that Devlin had felt building evaporated at the smiles on both Rae’s and Ani’s lips.

Then Rae was standing directly in front of Devlin. Her pupils were dilated with the usual excitement she felt at blending together into one body. “So let’s see if the Dark Court is resting.”

He looked at her, the spectral mortal who animated his body, and then at the Hound whose dreams he was tied to. “I’m not sure… it’s… I can go to the mortal world quickly, Ani.”

She took his hand and then looked at Rae. “Well? Possess one of us already.”

Rae laughed. “I think I’m going to like having you around, Ani.”

Ani’s answering smile was wicked.

And for a brief, nerve-racking moment, Devlin felt more than a bit frightened. He just wasn’t sure of whom. With as mild a gesture as he could, he motioned to his bed. “Let us dream of the Dark Court then.”

It was an odd sensation, though, to feel Rae within his body—yet still feel Ani’s presence. He’d gone from solitude, to hiding them, to coexisting with them. And I’m not sure which was most difficult. All he did know was that he couldn’t imagine life without either of them.

They followed the path created by Ani’s connection to Irial. In the dream, Devlin suddenly stood with his hand outstretched to the gargoyle on the former Dark King’s door. Ani was beside him, and somehow it was also her hand the gargoyle bit.

Inside a now empty white landscape, Irial stood. “Ani, love?”

“We need to talk to you and Niall,” she told him. “Can we… entwine your dream with his?”

The look on Irial’s face was one Devlin would prefer not to see near Ani, but it wasn’t directed at Ani.

“You have someone I don’t know with you,” Irial said, looking around as if he would find Rae. “Not faery.”

“A dreamwalker,” Ani admitted. “We really are here. You get that, right?”

“I do, pup.” Irial walked away. “I’ve not dealt with emotions this long to miss the taste of the jealousy your”—he glanced at Devlin—“partner is trying to hide.”

A semifamiliar room appeared out of the white landscape. A wallpaper of raised fleurs-de-lis covered the walls; flickering candles crowded the room in freestanding candelabras and in wall sconces. It reminded Devlin of a more decadent home of the former Dark King’s, back when Niall and Irial hosted feasts of debauchery.

Ani sat down beside Irial. “Are you well?”

“Well enough,” he muttered.

She lifted the bottom of his shirt. The skin was an angry red, with black bruises all around the remaining wound. It looked like it was only a moment or two healed. For a faery as strong as Irial, the injury should be almost gone—as the other one was.

“Why is this one unhealed?” she asked. “Iri?”

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nbsp; “Stop.” He took her hand and gently set it back in her lap.

The former Dark King leaned back then, as if he were uninjured. “So… can your dreamweaver leave a path so I can slip into Niall’s dreams later too?”

Niall walked into the room. “Perhaps you should ask me what I think of that idea first?”

“Aaah, there you are.” Irial greeted his king with shadows dancing in his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you were finally asleep, Gancanagh. You’re fretting too much over things that are beyond your control.”

Niall stopped in the middle of the room and glared at Irial. “I do not accept that answer.”

Then, without another word to him, Niall approached the obsidian throne that appeared in the room, and Devlin idly wondered who was crafting the images in the dreamscape.

I am. From their various imaginings. Rae sounded fascinated.