Chapter 224

Heather

My breath came in pants as the panic that I’d been holding back ripped free. I hadn’t reached for Brent yet because I wasn’t sure the fragile connection would hold, but I reached now. I grasped the tiny little thread of our bond and screamed, Brent! Get me out of here! I shoved the words through the bond, hoping that by some miracle he’d hear me and be able to do something about it.

Then there was light. Too much light. I skidded to a stop, closing my eyes, but it burned through my eyelids.

I covered my eyes. “Stop! Stop this!” My legs have out, and I fell to my hands and knees.

Brent! I called out and a faint scent of pine and dirt and home hit me. I hadn’t gotten any power, but his scent was there. I breathed it deep into my lungs and remembered who I was. Where I was.

I’d forgotten that. In my panicked run, I’d forgotten who I was.

Witch. Werewolf. Alpha. Mate.

Strong.

I was stronger than this. I didn’t need to let myself be trapped. I could find a way out. If I could smell Brent, then he was near, even if our bond made it feel like we were far away. Which meant I was in my own mind, under mental and spiritual attack. But it wasn’t physical.

If I was in my own mind, then I just had to kick whoever this was out of my head.

That switch in perspective was enough to shake me free from the panic.

First things first. I kept my eyes squeezed shut against the burning light and started building up my mental barriers one by one. I pictured a brick wall, but that wasn’t enough. I could still feel this thing’s magic slithering up my arms like a thousand oil-slicked snakes.

I built a second barrier outside the wall, forming an igloo made of concrete bricks laid three thick. I made sure to keep my tie to Brent present in my mind so that I wouldn’t accidentally cut off my lifeline to him.

Slowly, the light started to fade to a normal level. I blinked my eyes open, revealing Brent standing in front of me.

“You okay?” Brent was wearing a pair of green scrubs that I’d never seen before. A little worry line appeared between his brows, but I couldn’t feel his worry. “Need help with that?”

I looked down to find myself on one knee tying the laces of my white canvas shoes. The laminate floor glistened like it’d just been cleaned, but I couldn’t smell any disinfectant.

Couldn’t sense Brent’s feelings? No smells? White canvas shoes?

This was all kinds of wrong.

Brent squatted in front of me. “Everything okay?” One of his dark curls fell across his forehead, and he brushed it back. A move so familiar that I questioned my gut for a second.

This was my Brent, but the rest of it… “I don’t know.” I looked around as I stood, but I didn’t recognize the place.

We were in the entryway of a large building. Behind me was a desk with a security guard. Three hallways branched off from where we stood, but everything was white. There were no signs to give me a clue. “Where are we?” The best I could come up with was some kind of office building, but that didn’t explain why Brent was wearing scrubs.

“You don’t know?”

I licked my lips. “No.” If I was still in my head, then maybe I’d switched into a vision. Was I seeing a future possibility? No. That didn’t quite fit. I didn’t think Brent had any desire to be a doctor. Did he?

What the hell was this?

“Are you having one of your episodes?” His condescending tone made my hackles rise.

“Episodes?” What the hell was he talking about?

“Maybe it’s time to get you back to your room.”

My room? Was I supposed to be a patient in a hospital? I didn’t feel sick.

And then I almost laughed. I stood and pushed past Brent into the courtyard outside. The sun hit my face, but it didn’t have any heat.

Brent and I once had a conversation about this exact fear. I’d woken up one morning in Brent’s

in France and despite everything that had happened, I was so thankful with how my life had turned out.

Even if I’d almost been killed multiple times, I’d survived and was on the most perfect honeymoon. I’d wondered offhandedly if my life was really just a dream. If maybe I was Freaky

Heather and was having a mental break in a psychiatric facility.

If the thing that was attacking me had bothered to look a little deeper in my mind, they’d know this wasn’t a valid fear of mine. If anything, it was more like a joke Brent and I had shared than a fear that I spent any real time worrying about.

“Nice try, fucker!” I screamed at the too perfectly blue sky. “Show me something scary, you miserable piece of—”

Everything went black again. The only sound was my breath rushing in and out too fast. “Shit.” I wasn’t in control yet. I was in my head but somehow this asshole had the upper hand. I needed to gain it back.

In the quiet dark, I reached for my bond to Brent. This wasn’t one of my normal visions, but it was still my mind. And if I could use some of Brent’s power, then maybe I’d have enough juice to get control and kick this motherfucker out of my head.

I started pulling power though the paper-thin bond and—

“You’re mine,” it said right by my ear. Its magic plopped onto my shoulder and wormed its way down my back like tiny maggots.

I twitched, trying to shake the little magical worms off of me.

When I blinked, the scene changed again. I stood in front of the hostess stand in a diner.

What the hell was this? A diner? I understood the metal institution reference, but a diner seemed lame in comparison.

“Table for one?” A girl, not much younger than me, in poorly fitting khaki pants and a polo shirt holding a menu.

I glanced over my shoulder just to be sure, but no one was behind me. Only a dusty claw crane machine was there. “Me?” I asked, pointing to myself.

“Yes.” She scrunched up her face as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “You’re the only one standing here.”

The diner wasn’t packed, but there were a few people scattered around. A family with two kids sat at one table. Two elderly men played chess while sipping their coffees at another. There was a salad bar in the back, and a few people were picking through the food.

One guy used his fingers to grab a shrimp. He dipped it in a red sauce and made an approving sound before dropping the tail on the floor and reaching for another.

I barely contained a gag.

“You need a table for one or is someone meeting you?” The hostess asked, bringing my focus back to her.

I thought about saying just one. I’d rather get one million shots than meet whoever was messing with me. But there was no point in putting it off. “Two, please.”

“Do you want to wait for them here or be seated at the table?”

I shook my head. “No.” I was done with waiting. “I’ll sit.”

The hostess led me to a booth and waved me in. The green vinyl was ripped and covered in spots with duct tape. I put my hand down as I scooted in and touched something sticky. I grabbed a bunch of napkins from the chrome dispenser on the table and tried to wipe my hands off to no avail.

“Server will be with you in a bit.”

“Cool,” I said without looking up. It was rude of me, but she wasn’t real. None of this was real.

It didn’t make sense. Why a diner? What was the jerk trying to accomplish?

I grabbed for Brent again, but nothing came. No thoughts. No feelings. And no power.

Damn it.

I tried to shake off my frustration. This thing wanted to play games, and for now there was nothing to do but go along with them. At least until I could reach Brent.

I grabbed the menu from the table and scanned the contents. Pizza with shrimp and cream sauce. Hotdog hash with chopped beets. What kind of menu was this? Everything seemed to have either shrimp, beets, chicharones or a combination of all three.

I closed the menu with a sigh. Of course.

Everything I hated. “Nice touch, douchebag.”

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on my bond to Brent. Even just a little extra power might be enough to get me out of this mess.

Tingles ran up my spine, raising goosebumps in their wake, but they weren’t from Brent.

Someone was staring at me.

I twisted in the booth. The family was leaving. The little girl was yammering on and on about some toy that she wanted, and the parents were ignoring her as they each grabbed a mint from the bowl on the hostess’ stand. The little boy—maybe about four years old—stood quietly behind them.

He was wearing a blue, puffy ski jacket with the hood pulled up over his head. He was the one staring.

I thought it was odd that he was wearing a jacket, but it was winter, even if it didn’t feel like it was almost winter in the Caribbean.

What the hell was I even thinking about? This place was fake. Not real. Neither was the family. Who cared what kind of jacket the kid was wearing?