I press a hand flat against the bodice of my dress and fight to steady myself. Determined to speak my piece while I can.
“Dace—” I start, but he’s quick to interrupt me.
“You look beautiful.” His gaze seeks mine, but with his eyes no longer reflecting, I can’t bear the sight of it. “You’re truly a vision. Stunning—breathtaking—ravishing . . .”
When I close my eyes, I can easily pretend that nothing has changed. But the moment I open them, the illusion is gone, and I find myself wishing he’d stop.
I clear my throat, lift my chin, and center my gaze just to the right of him. Disappointed that he doesn’t seem to realize what I’ve done. Doesn’t recognize my gown as the one I described from the dream. Doesn’t find it the least bit odd that I’m wearing red to a black-and-white ball. Leaving me to wonder what else he’s forgotten—about me—about us.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice tight and clipped. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize it—it came from your brother.” Dace’s face darkens, his eyes so feral and red, it prompts me to move on. “You’re not wearing a mask.”
He rubs a hand over his chin, a holdover from the Dace I once knew. “Trust me, Daire, I am. It’s all I can do to maintain this face—you don’t want to see my other one. I pray you won’t have to.”
I straighten my spine, square my resolve, but it doesn’t do a thing to make me feel better. The sight of Dace struggling makes my heart ache. I need to find a way to appeal to him, remind him of the light still residing inside . . .
His gaze slips down the length of me, pausing on the deep V of my gown before focusing on the small golden key resting at the center of my chest. His expression so guarded, I can’t help but wonder what he might’ve done with his. Is he still wearing it? And, more importantly, does he remember what it once meant?
“Dace,” I say, my voice urgent, afraid of losing him completely. “The other night, when you caught me breaking in, why’d you let me go? What kept you from telling Leandro?”
His eyes close. His hands curl to fists. His struggle so palpable, I decide to drop it and instead tip onto my toes, press my lips to his ear, and whisper so that only he can hear. “Please try to remember who you really are. Please try to remember that you weren’t always like this. You and I are fated for each other, but not in the way the beast wants. You have to fight him, Dace. You have to come back to me—to us. Together we can beat Coyote and forge the future we want. Please, Dace, don’t let go of your light.” I draw away, eagerly reading his gaze, only to find my words fell on deaf ears.
Aside from his red glowing eyes, he looks pretty much the same. But inside, he’s guided by instinct, a shard of memory, and a beast so sordid and sinister it would just as soon kill me.
He cocks his head, shoots me a curious look. But I drop my hand to my side and take a step back. I can love him with all of my heart, and I do. But for the first time ever, I realize I can’t do it alone—it takes two to make this work.
My eyes glitter more brightly than I’d like, and with my throat so scratchy and dry, I have to push the words past. “Please don’t ever forget that it’s your belief in your darkness that snuffs out your light. You may have made the wrong choice—but you did so for all the right reasons. You did it for me—for us—and it’s not over yet. You still have the choice to save yourself. But, if you continue like this, no amount of light, no matter how insistent, could ever penetrate the walls you’ve raised to block it. They’re your walls, Dace. Which means you’re the only one capable of knocking them down.”
He meets my words with a cold, vacant stare, and I turn away, having done all that I can.
It may not look at all like I’d hoped, but it’s time to put my plan into action.
TWENTY-FIVE
DACE
“Saw you talking to the Seeker. What’s going on there?”
I watch Daire cross the room, like a blaze of red in a sea of dull nothings. “Turns out, I was wrong about her.” I find Leandro’s gaze from behind his ridiculous coyote mask, holding the look for as long as it takes to determine my truth.
He slaps an arm around my shoulder, chuckling as though I’ve made him inordinately proud. “If you knew how many times I’ve said that about a woman!” He laughs a conspiratorial laugh. “Still, they do have their uses.” He winks for emphasis, as though I might’ve missed the implication.
“Exactly how many times?” I ask, my voice as humorless as my gaze.
“What?” His forehead creases. The mirth fades from his face.
“Exactly how many times have you said that?”
He studies me closely, unsure how to react. Unsure of me. So I force my expression into one of solidarity. As though we’re just two guys comparing our trophies. Which gets him to relax just enough to give me the answer I seek.
“Hundreds,” he says. “Thousands.” His eyes shine with the memory of an endless stream of conquests, and I can’t help but wonder if my mother is featured among them. “In other words, you have a lot of catching up to do, son. But not to worry, I know just where to start . . .”
He squeezes my shoulder, starts to lead me across the room, but I’ve no interest in hooking up with anyone from Leandro’s stable.
“What’s your problem?” He glares, clenches his jaw.
“Guess I’m not as much like you as you thought.”
His features sharpen, his lips flatten with unspoken fury.