I can figure this out. With no conscious knowledge of Adwaeweth, she’d linked with Bane, teleported and misted into memories. I can do anything.

Nola’s stomach gurgled, shattering the veil of silence.

After I eat. Before this, she’d been too sick to hold down water.

Careful not to wake Bane, she disentangled their limbs, surely one of the most difficult things she’d ever done—so warm!—and climbed out of the bed.

She dressed in a long T-shirt, clean panties and sweatpants. But she didn’t head for the door; like an addict, she returned to the bed for another hit of her morphine.

The sight of Bane left her gobsmacked. His golden hair was tousled, his features soft, his tension gone. He was almost...boyish.

If her stomach hadn’t gurgled again, she would have crawled back into bed, just to be close to her love. Instead, she tiptoed to the kitchen...and found Zion seated at the table, sipping a glass of whiskey. A single-bulb lamp hung above, bathing him in golden beams. He wore a black shirt and leathers, his hair damp from a recent shower. On his hand was a ring she’d never before seen—Colt’s ring. It was metal, with a rounded silver top the size of a quarter.

“I’m surprised you can walk,” he said, his tone dry.

Heat infused in her cheeks. “You jealous of my sexcapades?” When a muscle jumped underneath his eye, she laughed and said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He waved her words away, downed his whiskey and poured another shot. “I’ve been waiting here, hoping you’d emerge alone. We must talk.”

Her foreboding returned and redoubled, her empty stomach filling with acid. Needing a moment, she stalked to the minibar, selected a candy bar and bag of peanuts, then poured a cup of water before plopping into the seat across from him. “All right. Hit me,” she said, and popped a handful of nuts into her mouth.

“Hit you?” He blanched. “I will do no such thing.”

Gah! The language barrier was still a serious nuisance. “I meant, tell me what you need to tell me.”

He sighed. “My dream—” he downed the newest shot “—it will come true...” Poured. Downed. “Very, very soon. In a matter of weeks. Maybe days.”

“Wrong.” She shook her head. “Your dream prediction is a dud this time.”

“My dreams are never wrong, sweet dreki.” He gave up pouring shots and drank straight from the bottle. “I have never lied to you, and I won’t start now. You will murder him.”

She continued shaking her head, adamant. “I won’t hurt him, ever.”