It was then that he felt it.
She sank against him—but not just that.
She sankintohim. The first seal was shattered. He could not withhold a gasp as he felt her mind so close to his. It sparked that dangerous desire once more. That need in him totake.Toclaim.
But also toprotect.
Serrik moved without thinking, incorporeal arms wrapping around her essence as they stood suspended in his nightmare. Her consciousness was fragile, untethered—lost between realms after unleashing the first key.
“Ava.” He used her name like a talisman against the memories that still echoed around them. The scent of his own blood. The sound of royal laughter.
She trembled against him, her mind fluttering like a trapped bird. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know—I’m sorry?—”
“Hush,” he commanded, though his voice was gentle. “The first seal’s breaking has thinned the barriers between us. You were drawn here without intent.”
Her presence steadied, the panic receding. She wasn’t quite there, wasn’t quitewhole.She had no true form—just a luminous impression of herself, a ghost made of golden light. Yet he could feel her emotions washing over him—confusion, fear, and beneath it all, a dangerous thread of fascination.
“I saw what they did to you.”
Serrik went rigid. “You saw nothing.”
“I felt it.” Her essence pulsed with distress. “I felt the knife. I heard themlaughing.”
A wave of her fury swept through him. The memory was his burden alone—his shame, his hatred. He had not intended to share it, least of all with her.
“The bond grows stronger.” All he could do was insist that was the case. Though he knew the truth was so much deeper than that. So much more dangerous. “Your use of the first key has changed things between us. But you are safe.”
“Is that why I’m here? In your…dream?” The golden light of her essence swirled closer, curious despite what she must know was foolishness. “Or memory. Whatever this is.”
“Dreams and memories are much the same in the Web.” And so were fantasies. Serrik felt his control slipping, his essence responding to her proximity in ways he could not entirely govern. Tendrils of his true self reached for her—the spider within him hungering for connection. Forher.
He recoiled from his own desire, curbing the impulse with iron will.
“You’re hurting.” She furrowed her brow.
“You see too much.” He struggled to reshape their surroundings, turning the throne room of his memory into his library. But the bond made it difficult to hide. The first key had never been used before Ava. It allowed her deeper access than he had anticipated.
He supposed that was by design. He should have known. He designed it to function this way, after all.
“Why did youreallydo it?” she asked suddenly.
“Do what, little butterfly?”
“Give up your memory to the crone. For me.” Her essence drifted closer, warm against the perpetual cold of his being. “You claimed it was because you didn’t care if you rememberedthe Morrigan. But I don’t buy that. Why would you sacrifice anything for me?”
Serrik turned away, though in this realm the gesture was largely symbolic. “The tactical advantages of maintaining your trust are obvious.”
“Bullshit.” The coarse word was somehow elegant in its simplicity.
He almost smiled. Almost. “Such a delicate turn of phrase.”
“Don’t change the subject. It wasn’t tactical. It was…” She hesitated, searching for the word. “Personal.”
The accusation hung between them, uncomfortably accurate.
“I insist. The memory was of little consequence.” The lie left him smoothly. “A small price for your continued cooperation.”
In truth, it had been precious—the only memory of the Morrigan, bitter as it was. But when faced with the crone’s intent to take Ava’s memories of her own mother, he had acted without calculation.
