Siren Song (The Fated #1)

35 | Haunted Dreams

"Why me?"

Koun studied her, silence stretching between them. His hand played with the air, as if plucking strings only he could see. A finger curled, tucking the unseen to his palm as he drew in a slow breath.

"I didn't pick you. When it comes to the anklet itself, I only helped weave the red strings. And, unfortunately, what was going through her mind as she gifted it to you is something only she can explain. Just know...I didn't agree to our plan lightly."

"That explains nothing," Iliana pointed out, clenching her fist as frustration filled her voice.

"I wouldn't say nothing." He released the invisible string and leaned down to brush his hand along the red anklet thread that led to their left. "Regardless. You were here to spy on others, yes?"

"I wouldn't call it sp--"

"If you can't pick someone else for yourself, I'll do it for you," Koun interrupted. He crouched and grasped the string beneath his palm, a faint golden glow encasing his hand. "Oh, hm. They're sleeping. How boring."

Without warning, Koun's other hand grasped Iliana's ankle and the white surrounding them flashed into that familiar nothingness.

"Hope you don't mind nightmares."

Time didn't seem to exist in the nothing. So, it was impossible to tell how many seconds, or hours, passed as foreign emotion flooded her being. It drenched her in chilling fear, and anger so sharp it hurt.

Then, as the world around her sharpened into an oddly-familiar room, her own emotions--uneasiness, irritation, frustration--began seeping in. It clicked, then. The fear wasn't hers. She had no reason to be terrified. Neither was the anger, which had only grown stronger since she dropped into the "nightmare" Koun wished her to view.

The emotion was unsettling.

Iliana was an angry person. It wasn't something she loved about herself, but it was the truth. She reacted to anything uncomfortable, anything overwhelming, with burning anger and snark. Sometimes, the reaction was physical.

The emotion the owner of this nightmare had unwittingly shared--as she had no doubt that Koun or the anklet were responsible for this--felt deeper, colder than anything she'd experienced to date. Instinctively, she knew this was a feeling they'd buried within themselves, cultivating it until it was such a part of them that the chill felt natural.

It took everything she had to turn her attention from the emotions assaulting her mind to the world sharpening into existence around her. Once again, she noted a strange sense of familiarity.

The room's ash colored walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, and long, intricate rug struck a chord in her memory that she couldn't place. Something about the details was different than the last time she saw them, she knew, but where and when she'd seen them before, she couldn't immediately recall. It wasn't until her eyes landed on the far end of the now-occupied room, taking in the gilded, one-armed throne that the scene clicked. This was where Koun had first intruded into her dreams.

Only, back then it'd been coated in blood, and the seat empty. Both of those details had since changed.

Lounging in the throne was a confident stranger. There wasn't a single doubt in her mind that the room, and therefore the crown, belonged to him.

His black frock coat was worn loose and unbuttoned, and decorated with swirling gold embroidery. Beneath laid a white long-sleeve of the finest material, the 'v' at the top barely laced, showing off his scarred, tanned skin. The shirt hung loose over his form-fitting, black pants, cinched at the waist with a buckled black belt. He propped one elbow on the arm of his throne, sharp nails pressed against dark, trimmed scruff of his chin. His shaggy black hair hung just past his ears, only adding to the seemingly carefree, yet carefully manicured feel of the man's appearance.