I don’t know where he went. Don’t know why he’s back, or why he’s trying to talk to me again right after I dreamed of the golden fae.
I sure as hell don’t like it, though.
Squinting in the gloom, I meet his unblinking gaze. Besides being stunned by his radiant beauty, I’m so scared by what his sudden appearance could mean. I’m angry, too. I’m not panicking yet, but that’s probably because I’m actually kind of shocked that he’s visiting me for the first time in years, plus I have this urge to throw myself into his arms.
No. No touching.
I slide my gloved hands under my ass. If I’m sitting on them, he can’t touch me—and I can’t reach for him.
Then, swallowing back the ball of emotions that are lodged in my throat, I snap, “What are you staring at?”
Because he is staring. And, okay, there are probably a hundred other things I could have said to acknowledge him—something like, “Who the hell are you, stranger in my bedroom,” since I’m not about to admit I remember him—but his stare is bothering me.
“It’s been a long time,” he says in answer. Long time? No shit. “You look different.”
I do? Well, so does he.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about me.”
Nine’s voice is soft, lyrical, alluring. Just like the golden fae. But it’s harsh too, like it used to be. It always made me think he was mad at me. Whenever it softened, I felt like I won a prize.
The harsh edge grates against the last of my nerves. “How can I forget you?” I demand. “There’s no you to forget. Anyway, I made you up when I was a kid. You shouldn’t be here!”
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. For years, I believed in him—trusted him, loved him—and then he was gone. For years, I’ve been lectured, coached, medicated, and convinced that he never existed. And, yet, here he is. My imaginary friend, almost exactly as he was back then, standing a few feet away from me.
I wonder, if I yell loud enough, will the sound carry through the wall? Probably not. I could bang on the door, hope that one of the overnight nurses is passing by. Would they help me? Or only sedate me again?
I don’t scream. Just in case. I don’t scream.
But I whisper. “No. No. You… know what? You’re not real. You’re not. You’re a hallucination, that’s all. You shouldn’t be here. I took my pills.”
“I assure you, I’m as real as you are.” He hesitates before extending his arm. His skin is so pale, it seems to glow in the moonlight. “Touch me and prove it to yourself.”
A hysterical laugh bubbles up and out of my throat. “Ha! If you really were Nine, you’d tell me not to touch you at all.”
He smiles. The simple quirk of his lush lips has my stomach tied up in knots. Nine’s grin is even worse than Dr. Gillespie’s—but for totally different reasons.
“Ah,” he says softly, “so you do remember.”
Available Now
Asylum (Touched by the Fae #1)
The fae are real. I just pretend they’re not.
Black Pine Facility for Wayward Juveniles. The asylum. It's a place where they stick troubled cases like me until we age out or they think they've fixed us.
Newsflash: you can't fix what's not broken. And I may have been thrown into Black Pine when I was barely fifteen, but I'm not crazy.
I'm cursed.
Because the fae? They're real. Gorgeous, ethereal, mythical creatures who can't lie but are experts at twisting the truth. Just one touch, that's all it takes. Just one touch and the fae have power over you. Just one touch and your whole
world can go up in flames.
I was warned. He called himself the Shadow Man. With his raven hair and glowing silver eyes, he looked the part, too. He's the one who told me about the fae, who made me promise not to be tricked into giving up everything I have with the single touch of my hand.