The Fae King's Dream (Between Dawn and Dusk #2) - Jamie Schlosser Page 0,117

I feel rather than see or hear. It seems as if the witches are waiting for something.

A lie.

Or, in this case, the truth.

When nothing happens to me, they know my word is good. The oath I made in my dream has been fulfilled, and it dissolves, leaving me lighter.

I give Damon a nod, and he goes back to inspecting his parents.

“I wish we were meeting under different circumstances, but I’m still happy to see you both.” Damon tells them before glancing back at me. “They’re just temporarily stunned. The electricity will work its way out in a few minutes.”

On a wheeze, Silas manages to say, “Trap.”

“Well, duh,” Damon quips, his tone much too light for the situation as he leans over the couple to check them. “No visible injuries. Are you well otherwise?”

“Go,” Silas rasps.

“I will not. You made a deal with the coven. Am I right?”

The only response is a grunt.

“Why?” Damon demands. “Why would you do that?”

“Desperate.”

“Said they’d tell us who your mate is,” Tehya adds, her words coming out slow and broken, “as long as we came back to Valora when they gave us permission to.”

Silas wiggles his fingers until they’re touching her arm. “We thought, at worst, they’d try to keep us away. We didn’t know they’d use us against you.”

“You must leave immediately.” Tehya’s eyes plead with her son.

“They’ll kill you,” I cut in, stepping forward.

The former king and queen don’t have a chance to reply, because suddenly, something in the atmosphere changes. An unwelcomed tingle races down my spine. The hairs on my arms lift, and my scalp prickles.

A spark ignites from somewhere in the forest.

Oh, shi—

I don’t even get to finish my thought before a painful blast hits me. I’m temporarily blinded as I drop to the ground. My muscles seize, and I can barely think of anything besides the electrical current burning me from the inside out. I want to curl up into a ball and writhe from the pain, but I can’t move.

Through a yellow haze, I see Damon sprawled out a few feet away. I wish I could reach for him, but I’m barely able to flex my fingers.

Chains rattle from somewhere. I recognize that sound—shackles. There’s a whimper, a shout, and a few garbled threats.

Much to my surprise, the pain from the high voltage starts to drain away. A pleasant warmness floods in, replacing the smolder. With the aching gone, a heightened sense of awareness floats to the forefront of my mind. It’s like an amplified version of when Astrid brought my memories back, only it taps into a deeper level of consciousness.

The critical thinking part of my brain ignites.

My cleverness sharpens.

As I lie here, I enter a half-dream state where flashes of what’s going to happen in the next ten minutes pop up in my head. Several possible future scenarios run their course. Some of the visions end with Silas and Tehya dead. Others, I inevitably leave with the witches.

They don’t realize they just made a huge mistake.

Lightning is actually good for me. Sure, it hurts like a bitch and none of the outcomes I saw were great, but I’ve gained knowledge I didn’t have before.

And that gives me an advantage.

Minutes pass quickly and slowly at the same time as I start to regain control over my body. I can wiggle my toes and move a hand.

Damon snaps out of the stupor first. When he crawls over to me, he brushes my hair out of my face and frantically pats my cheek.

“Whitley. Baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good?” he repeats incredulously. “That could’ve killed you.”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?” He has no idea how much I mean that in the literal sense. “Help me up?”

Wobbling a little, he stands, hauling me with him. My legs are shaky, but I’m able to balance with help.

Damon lets out an anguished sound when he sees his parents bound by iron. He already knew they would be. I gave him enough details so he’d be prepared, but even I’m startled by the amount of iron the witches have used. An excessive amount, really. Enough to completely incapacitate them. In addition to the usual shackles on their necks, wrists, and ankles, chains have been wrapped around and around their bodies. Hardly any skin peeks through on their arms.

I’m not sure who has it worse. While Silas’ bare torso gave the witches a lot of room to work with, Tehya’s face is mangled by two thick chains. The metal is practically