Chapters (53)
- Front Cover
- Letter from the Author
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- • One •
- • Two •
- • Three •
- • Four •
- • Five •
- • Six •
- • Seven •
- • Eight •
- • Nine •
- • Ten •
- • Eleven •
- • Twelve •
- • Thirteen •
- • Fourteen •
- • Fifteen •
- • Sixteen •
- • Seventeen •
- • Eighteen •
- • Nineteen •
- • Twenty •
- • Twenty-One •
- • Twenty-Two •
- • Twenty-Three •
- • Twenty-Four •
- • Twenty-Five •
- • Twenty-Six •
- • Twenty-Seven •
- • Twenty-Eight •
- • Twenty-Nine •
- • Thirty •
- • Thirty-One •
- • Thirty-Two •
- • Thirty-Three •
- • Thirty-Four •
- • Thirty-Five •
- • Thirty-Six •
- • Thirty-Seven •
- • Thirty-Eight •
- • ∞ •
- • Thirty-Nine •
- • Forty •
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Excerpt from Be Dazzled
- One
- Two
- About the Author
- Back Cover
Water came from every direction, soaking Kane and Dean instantly. Kane slammed the panel until it lessened, but this also activated a small light show of pink and green.
“Sorry,” Kane said, blotting Dean with a soaked towel and what he hoped was soap. Dean’s face scrunched up in pain, but he endured it.
Kane continued to apologize the whole time. Then he needed to remove Dean’s pants. He got the button open and then had to stop, because.
Just.
Because.
“Are you hard?”
Dean was grinning goofily. His eyes stayed closed. “Got you,” he said.
Kane swore at him, throwing the towel in his face. “You’ve been fine this whole time?”
“Oh, no, my chest hurts.” Dean scrubbed his face with the towel. “But I was enjoying the attention. And I do need help.”
“What did Poesy do to you?”
It took Dean a long time to put his words together. “She tried to take away my sight when I refused to tell her where Sophia’s reverie manifested. If it wasn’t for the Dreadmare armor, she would have taken everything from me. As it is, she got me pretty good.”
Dean wouldn’t look at Kane. Downcast, his eyes weren’t their usual shade of green. They weren’t brown, either.
“Look at me,” Kane said.
Dean’s gaze rose. His eyes were pure white.
Kane fell backward until he was against the opposite wall. “You’re not…”
Dean crossed his arms over himself, turning to give Kane his profile and closing his eyes again. “Not what?”
Real.
Kane couldn’t say it. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t understand what he was seeing. White eyes told you who was real in a reverie, and who was from the reverie itself. And Dean’s eyes were undeniably white. He was reverie-born.
Finally, Dean spoke. “I told you, anything Poesy wants from a reverie, she takes.”
A hundred moments replayed in Kane’s mind. A hundred unspoken thoughts shouted through him. Kane had wondered from the start what someone like Dean was doing working for someone like Poesy, and now he understood. Dean had no choice. He was a weapon, salvaged from a world crushed by Poesy long before this battle began.
“I’m so sorry,” Kane whispered.
“Don’t be,” Dean said, still looking away. Kane knew there was nothing he could do but wait for Dean to go on, if he wanted to, and soon enough he did.
“The world I come from is a cruel one. People like me are hunted. Slain. Eventually, I got caught looking too long at the wrong person, and that was my end. They found me, but Poesy found me, too. She offered me a choice, and I’m glad I took it. I survived and my cruel world didn’t. That’s it.”
“What do you mean, people like you?”