avidly from behind the unkept strands of his long blond hair.
Attention returning to Illusions, I find he’s halted. The coppery mop on his head is more golden in the rays of the sun. His expression usually lost and tormented, a little more carefree.
“If you go up into the mountains, that’s where the river Lethe begins.” Illusions points toward the brooding black outline off in the distance. “It’s also known as the river of forgetfulness.”
Forgetfulness? A chill sweeps over me. Is that the reason I don’t remember anything? Has it something to do with that river? Why hasn’t Morpheus mentioned it before?
Distracted by my jumbled thoughts, I catch sight of a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Before I have a chance to react, red hot pain detonates through my stomach. I’m thrown backward, against my will, by the sheer force. I’m aware of shouts, my throat vibrating with my own scream. Hitting the ground, I stare up into the blue expanse of sky panting, agony blanketing my body.
“Robin?” Illusions drops to his knees beside me in the grass, his face tight with worry. “Don’t move, ok. Stay still.”
Raising my head up, I see something protruding from my body. An arrow shaft, I realize dazedly. Elegant onyx feathers adorn the end, a spreading stain of red soaking into the cloth of my dress beneath where it’s embedded deep into my flesh. Past that stands a man, bow still in his grasp as he notches another. Dressed in green combats, he has a handsome face and a slightly uneven nose from a break in the past. Blond hair cropped short, chilling icy blue eyes stare back at me.
“You’re dead meat, arsehole,” Morpheus spits. Appearing out of nowhere to take a protective stance before me, Nightmares flanks him on the left.
“Upset I shot your human pet?” The stranger taunts in an unpleasant drawl. “I don’t know who cloaked this place, but it lit up like a Christmas tree a day ago. It’s taken me a while to find it because it was only for a second, and this island is so well shrouded for somewhere that should no longer exist.”
“What do you want?” Morpheus questions.
“An end to dreams. They give humans ideas and inspiration. The concept of heroes. What we want is a meek population. Weed out the brave and self-sacrificing. In a century, we’ll have a docile submissive race too fearful to think of anyone but themselves. They’ll worship us again. We’ll be the gods we once were.”
Tears blind me, slipping free to roll down my cheeks, the pain from my wound searing through my abdomen like a branding iron. I want to yank the wooden shaft out, but common sense whispers it will only make it worse. Curling into a fetal position, the soft blades of blood-stained grass cradle me like a mattress. A hand brushes my hair. Illusions soft repetitive soothing words bring me no comfort.
“I know you…” Morpheus deep voice is laced with suspicion.
The stranger answers with a chuckle. “No point refreshing your memory as you’re all about to die.”
12
Morpheus
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
He thinks he can control my fate. Take Robin from me. I’m about to prove him wrong.
Particles of power prickle on my fingertips. The very fabric of dreams coursing through my veins. I’m surprised to feel it so strongly. As if it’s not been absent at all. That I haven’t been denying it for centuries, burying it beneath drugs and alcohol.
“Let’s see how you like this, pretty boy.” Throwing up my arm the energy blasts out of my palm in a stream of discord.
Even before it reaches him, the stranger steps clear.
“Oh, please.” His lips curl in distaste as he raises his weapon. “I’m a seasoned hunter with more kills under my belt than you’ve had fucks. You’re nothing but a washed-up has-been who needs to be put down.”
Fuck, I’m rusty. The last time I’d been in battle was eons ago. I can’t ignore the tremor in my limbs, the ache in my muscles. My skin feels cold and clammy. All signs of drug withdrawal kicking in. The craving for sweet relief comes crawling through my body. A need to shoot up and let the poison I’ve been injecting and ingesting for so long take it all away in a cloud of pleasure.
An inhuman bellow roars from Nightmares’ chest. Charging like an enraged bull, he heads for the assassin powering through the swaying grass. Tossing magic bolts at the same time, it’s a gamble to