Page 72 of Binding His Fated Mates

But I already knew the answer to that question, didn’t I?

Ever since the moment my family had placed the geas on me, my life had been an object lesson in powerlessness. I had never been capable of the courage and inner strength it took to face down my demons head-on. I had always allowed life to happen to me.

I was weak. A coward. That was the truth.

But was I ready to be strong and brave enough to do the right thing now? For the men I loved more than I loved myself? Was I willing to risk everything?

With no good answers for myself, I closed my eyes, letting sleep finally drag me under.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN || HUNTER

The dream was wrong, somehow. I knew it immediately, the moment it began. Our clearing, the soft grass and the ancient pines and the full moon, was darker than it should have been. The colors were too muted—almost gray, as though the saturation had bled away completely from the world around us. And the air was thick with the smell of fireworks and something else—a chemical and faintly metallic odor—that I couldn’t place.

I frowned.

Had I just heard a noise, right before I had gotten here? It felt like I had.

Daniel and Lee were already there, standing close together, their faces tight with the same unease I was feeling.

Yeah, I had heard a noise, the instant the dream had started. The crack of gunfire. It had been oddly loud, as though it had come from an enclosed space instead of outside, where we now stood.

“Something’s different,” Daniel said, looking around the clearing with confusion. “This isn’t—this isn’t how the dream usually goes.”

Lee was very still, his head tilted. As I watched, his eyes went distant and unfocused, his expression oddly blank.

“Lee?” I asked, alarm surging through me as I took a step toward him.

Then, without warning, the clearing dissolved.

We were suddenly standing in a bedroom.

It was small, sparsely furnished, with a sheriff’s department jacket hung over the back of a desk chair. A holster was on the wooden nightstand beside a narrow bed. A man was lying in the bed, frozen, his eyes wide. A gun was still in his hand, which was shaking, as though he was gripped by a seizure.

For a moment, I didn’t recognize the man at all—my dream-self processed him as a random early-thirties guy with sandy blond hair and a medium build, wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants.

What was he doing here, in our shared dream?

But then, an instant later, I recognized him as Jensen. The sheriff’s deputy for the county, who had an office inside the “everything building” in Crescent Springs. He came into the bar all the time. He’d helped lead the search for our missing hiker two months ago. He always ordered a whiskey—neat—when anyone else was around. When he was alone, without any other patrons, he always ordered a cosmopolitan, blushing right down to his roots and avoiding eye contact. I’d had to learn how to make it on the fly—consulting Google—just for him. It was our little secret and I’d never told a soul, not even Lee.

Jensen in bed, his face contorted, his sheets soaked with sweat. His breathing was ragged and uneven, as if he couldn’t catch his breath. As if something massively heavy was sitting on his chest.

And then the dream shifted again and, to my horror, I saw that something was.

The Mara crouched over him, spiderlike. Its faceless head was inches from Jensen’s face, its torso split open, tentacles extending from the cavity to press against Jensen’s throat, his heart, and his solar plexus. The suckers at the ends of the tentacles pulsed rhythmically, drawing something shimmering and faintly luminous from his body.

His mouth was open, as if he wanted to scream, but no sound came out except shuddering gasps.

The second Mara was at the foot of the bed, perfectly still, its featureless face turned toward the window. Standing guard. Waiting its turn.

Daniel made a choked sound beside me. Lee’s hand found mine and gripped hard.

I watched, helpless and horrified, as the color drained from Jensen’s face. His breathing grew shallower. His heartbeat—audible even in the dream, my wolf senses bleeding through—slowed. Then it faltered. Then it slowed again. Worse this time.

The creatures didn’t seem to know we were there.

I understood with horrible clarity. This was just like the dream about Robert. We were seeing the future.

“Where is this?” I demanded, wrenching my gaze from the feeding creature and turning to my twin. “Do you know where he lives?”