stuffed into her mouth, down her throat, choking her.
Suddenly, a crash shook the whole room. The door fell from its frame, crushing thorns and roses beneath it. Something stepped through, a shadow that flashed with crackling magic.
It seemed to look directly at Nelle.
The next moment, magic flashed in curving strokes, tearing at the branches and vines, ripping the roses out from her mouth. Nelle sank to the floor, suddenly released. Her body was a mass of bleeding wounds, and every bone had strained to the point of breaking. She staggered and nearly fell.
The shadow caught her. For a moment she pressed her face into Soran’s strong chest and breathed in the smell of him—parchment and ink and salty sea air. Fresh and clean and totally blocking out the stink of roses.
His voice rumbled in her ear: “Peronelle, you’re asleep. Go, find your living body. You left it behind you down in the kitchens. You’ve got to find it and wake up. Quickly!”
Nelle pulled back and saw only shimmering shadow again. But it was Soran. She was sure of it. Soran, but in the waking world. Her arms, which had wrapped around him tightly just a moment before, now couldn’t hold onto him.
Peronelle!
It was his voice again, but so far away, echoing across worlds.
Peronelle, find your body!
Go!
Movement writhed across the floor around her. Jolting upright, Nelle saw the many limbs of the Thorn Maiden reassembling in the darkness. Here and there, roses bloomed and burned again.
She fled. Out through the door, out into the hall. Briars crawled across the walls, but she raced through them, her footsteps pounding hard.
Soran stood in the bedchamber, his eyes closed, seeing with spell vision.
He knew this room. He knew it all too well. That bed with which he had become so familiar on many dark, furtive nights of stolen embraces. That vanity where he had watched his paramour sit and arrange her hair across her bare shoulders, sending him teasing smiles in the mirror until he could not resist climbing out from the bed and catching her in his arms once more.
The Thorn Maiden gathered her broken parts, reassuming her womanly shape, and took her seat at that same vanity. My love, she whispered, her voice a soft, stirring breeze. How close we are tonight. Another few steps and I will be in your world. Then what wonders we will create together!
As she spoke, her thorny limbs melted away, becoming soft supple flesh. She sat naked on the stool, her shapely legs crossed, her bosom covered only by a large bouquet of roses clutched in her arms. Hair fell in a black curtain down her back, rippling softly as she turned to look at him over her shoulder.
“Do you not prefer me this way?” she said, her eyes flashing at him from beneath thick dark lashes. “Is this not how you first envisioned me?”
The heady perfume in the chamber played upon his senses, luring him to believe the dream that had too quickly become reality. Soran braced himself and raised his hands, spellclaws flashing.
“I’ve not come to play, Helenia,” he growled, taking a step toward her. “I’ve come to send you back where you belong.”
She did not flinch at his approach. She lifted her chin, exposing her long throat even as he reached out for her. The razor claws flashed, but he hesitated to tear into her. It was one thing to rip apart the briars of the Thorn Maiden, but this . . . she . . . she looked so like that image in his memory. The image of perfection he had so long treasured and abhorred.
Dropping the cluster of roses to fall at her feet, she stood facing him. Her voluptuous body shimmered in the light of burning roses.
“I belong with you, my love,” she said. “In this world, together. Eternally yours.” She reached for him, her hands gently cupping his cheeks, drawing his face down toward her lips.
If he didn’t act now, he would lose all will.
With a savage cry he ripped into her chest, claws tearing down through flesh, through branches, through thorns, down to the burning-rose heart. He wrenched it out and crushed the blossom in his fist until black, ink-like blood dripped through his fingers.
She stared up at him, her mouth parted in anticipation of a kiss.
Then, without a word, she melted away, the dream, the reality, the thorns. All turned to smoke and gossamer, fading out of this reality and retreating into the deeper Nightmare where she