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It’s a good thing that only a few seconds have passed. When I open my eyes again, they’re still adjusted to the dark and the gloom. I pull myself up into a sitting position, resting on my forearms, searching for the owner of the voice I know all too well.
The other day, I refused to acknowledge him. I swallowed my pills and went to sleep and pretended that Nine hadn’t come to see me for the first time in six years. But that was the other day. After what happened the last time I slept—well, was sedated—I think part of me was waiting for Nine to return.
The golden fae found me. Maybe it was only a matter of time before I conjured up my Shadow Man again.
I know every inch of this room. If he’s here, I know exactly where to find Nine. My eyes are drawn to the deepest, darkest shadows where two of the walls meet in a corner.
And there he is.
I’ve never forgotten what Nine looked like. I know all about glamour, of course, the fae’s ability to appear however they want to, but Nine has always appeared the same. He was tall, slender, an ageless beauty. His skin was pale, almost ghostly so, a stark contrast to his midnight hair. He had a sculpted face, all harsh angles with an unforgiving mouth.
Nine never smiled.
He’s not smiling now, either. His silver eyes flash and gleam, a pair of headlights beaming through the darkness of my room. He’s staring at me. He doesn’t seem to blink at all. I get the crazy idea that he’s too busy watching me to close his eyes for even a second.
That’s okay. I’m not blinking, either.
This… this isn’t how I remember Nine.
It’s him. No doubt about that. Still tall, slender, his body cloaked in a long, black coat that swishes in the shadows as he dares to take a few steps closer. A sliver of moonlight falls on his face.
I gasp.
He’s stunning. Like, I’m sitting in my bed, staring at him, stunned stunning. Holy shit. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone who looks as good as he does. And, okay, I always harbored a crush on him. Why wouldn’t I? He was the only guy I knew who actually seemed to care about me when I was younger, but his perfection was a little off-putting. Plus there was the whole age difference and power dynamic. I was a kid. Nine was a Shadow Man.
Now he’s one hell of a man.
Whoa.
His hair is different, too. The last time I saw him, he’d grown it out to his chin. Now it faIls a few inches past his shoulders. It looks so soft. I just want to run my fingers through its length.
But that wou
ld be touching. And Nine was very clear on his no touching rule.
Wait—no. I can’t let myself fall into this obvious trap. I managed to make it through six years without him. I worked hard to put him behind me, to pretend that the Faerie realm with its magic and its threats were stories I made up during a lonely, unstable childhood.
I’ve been pretending so long, I don’t even know what’s real anymore.
My panic attacks? They’re real.
The anxiety and terror when it comes to someone grabbing me without my permission? That’s real, too.
The Shadow Man might be just as real as my diagnoses—he certainly looks real to me right now—but I can’t act like I believe that. That’s a one-way ticket straight to Black Pine’s adult facility.
Nope.
It can’t be Nine.
He disappeared when Madelaine died and all of Acorn Falls heard me blame the fae.
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 kinda 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.
