Flames of Fury

White rabbit - Jefferson airplane

"When logic and proportion

Have fallen sloppy dead

And the White Knight is talking backwards

And the Red Queen’s off with her head

Remember what the dormouse said

Feed your head"

Magnolia

~3 weeks since landing in Drow Hollow~

“I don’t care what you say to him, he needs to stop. It’s been four days since she last slept.” Ember says to someone outside my door, and even though she’s trying to be quiet, and even though there’s a literal rock wall between us, I can still hear every word she says.

I’m sitting on the ground with my back against the wall next to the door and my arms propped loosely over my bent knees.

Ember’s right, I haven’t slept in a while — four days apparently — not since Ian subjected me to the most terrifying nightmare yet.

I escape out of one of the few caves that weren’t blocked off and bolt through the forest. I’m flying as much as I can, not caring who might see me. It’s taken me three weeks to escape, not a personal record by any means but certainly not my worst.

It’s early morning, but I’m so unaccustomed to natural sunlight that even the soft morning rays are too bright for me. But I keep moving, keep running, keep flying.

I make it back to Shadowmoon in maybe twenty minutes. I tear across the lawn and barge into the pack house with a singular focus: getting to my mates.

I take the stairs two at a time and sprint down the hall towards their bedroom, their scent gets stronger with every step I take.

The door practically comes off its hinges when I kick it in. The boys are in bed, but when I get closer I can also see that two naked women are snuggled up on either side of them.

In my immediate rage I set the bed on fire which startles the four of them awake. The twins catch sight of me and instead of being happy to see their supposed soulmate, their posture drops in disappointment.

Ro puts out the fire I set and warns me, “you shouldn’t be here, Magnolia.”

None of Ian’s tricks hurt as badly as that slap to the face.

“What the fuck is this?” I gesture at the whores in their arms. “I’m trapped for three weeks in hell and you’ve, what, moved on?”

I’m seething by this point, beyond enraged at their betrayal and the fact that they don’t even have the decency to look guilty or sorry.

“You left us, remember? You chose to run off into the arms of another man. So we filled our beds with women who actually want to be here.” Varian’s eyes narrow at me with contempt.

“Run along now, little Queen, it’s time for us to have our breakfast.” Ro says before he slides down between the whore’s legs beneath the sheet.

Somehow, through the betrayal and the rage I realize something is off — but it’s not the whores in their bed, not the ice in their tone. Ro has never called me by my full name, and he’s never called me Queen.

I close my eyes and fist my hands so tightly I’m sure my nails will draw blood from my palms. My teeth feel like they’re going to shatter from the crushing pressure of my clenched jaw.

“Fuck off, Ian.” I grit out.

Varian’s face melts away like a mirage while Ro and the whores disappear in a cloud of smoke, leaving Ian sitting on the bed they had been in assessing me with curious eyes.

“I’ll give you a pass on that one for your language, my sweet flower, because I’m a generous and forgiving man. Unlike these two beasts.” He waves his hand and Ro and Varian reappear in the corner, fucking their whores against the wall as if we don’t exist.

“I would have waited for you, Magnolia. I have waited for you. Fifty years. Years! And these Neanderthals couldn’t go three weeks. You must be heartbroken, my flower. Let me put you out of your misery.”

Faster than I can blink Ian appears in front of me, like he had been there all along, and plunges a dagger straight through my heart. I cough and choke on blood as he twists it around slowly, burrowing a hole in my chest.

He pulls the blade out and before I die I can see my heart impaled on his blade, still trying to beat for my mates and my babies.

I wake choking and gasping for air.

“Mags, what’s going on? You okay?” Varian flips on the light on the nightstand.

I’m in our bed, laying between Ro and Varian, clutching my heaving chest.

“What the fuck is going on, where am I?”

“Mags, relax, you’re home, you’re safe. You sure you’re okay?” Varian reassures me, his chocolate eyes hold his signature concern for my well-being.

I collapse into his chest, listening to the beat of his heart to regulate my own.

It suddenly feels like it’s been ages since I’ve last seen him because I somehow miss him even with him sitting next to me. I throw myself on top of him, slamming my lips to his. Gods I need him like I need air. He props himself up on his hands, deepening our kiss.

“Mm baby, I could get used to this.” Varian says.

Warning bells sound in my mind. The twins have never called me “baby,” they’d never diminutize me like that. I push him down, breaking our kiss, and stumble off the bed, backing away until my back hits a wall.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He asks me, but the corner of his mouth quirks up almost imperceptibly.

“You’re not Varian,” I whisper.

Just like before, his face melts away like an abandoned ice cream on a summer day.

“What gave me away this time?” Ian smiles at me proudly.

“Your games won’t work on me.” I declare

“I beg to disagree. I think they already have.” Ian cups my cheek and looks down at me with patronizing eyes.

“My flower, you’ve barely touched your dinner.”

I’m snapped out of my daydream, or rather daymare, and brought back into the present by Ian’s acidic voice. I push the food around on my plate, not at all interested in having dinner with Ian yet again.

“Something on your mind, my sweet?” He smiles at me knowingly.

Everything is a blur these days, I can’t quite catch a hold of one thought for very long. As soon as I think I have a grip on something real it slips through my fingers like sand.

“Something… eating at you?” He practically snorts. “Sorry, dinner humor.” He’s all too proud of himself for his lame ass joke.

The truth is that something has begun to eat at me. I’m getting whiplash from the influx of memories, or dreams, or both? Mindlessly I spin the steak knife on the table as I grapple with the reality or non-reality of my situation.

“How many more nights will you force me to suffer through dinner with you?”

“Force?” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and looks genuinely confused. “You haven’t been forced to do anything here. You chose to come here, chose to take your father’s place, chose to decline my proposal of an incredible life. No, my sweet flower, you’ve always had a choice.”

“So if I chose to believe that this is a dream, and chose to drive this steak knife into my heart so I can wake up and kick you out of my mind…”

At this Ian’s expression darkens and becomes considerably more serious. He pushes his chair out and stalks past the long dining table towards the other end where I’m seated.

“That’s yet another choice you’ll have to make for yourself. But you should think long and hard about that choice, because what if you’re wrong? What if this is real? There’s no waking up then, my flower. I would be extremely displeased if you made the wrong choice.”

Ian makes his way over towards the door, leaving me twirling the knife around on the table.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, my sweet Magnolia blossom. Sweet dreams.” He says before disappearing into the hallway.

I grab the handle of the knife so the blade is facing down. If it was just my life at stake I might take the chance. But how can I risk my twins?

“FUCK!” I scream out at the empty table, my voice echoing through the cavern. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I stab the table over and over and over again taking all of my frustration and despair out on it. I spend the rest of the night carving that dinner table into wood chips.

I can handle pain better than most thanks to the training I received from my dad. I can reset most broken bones myself, can heal cuts, scrapes, and bruising. I can pick locks, and sneak around unseen and unheard.

I can survive.

But what I can’t do anymore is tell the difference between reality and imagination.

Are my memories even memories, or were they dreams? Does that make them memories even though they didn’t really happen? What is reality? Because if it’s the sum of your experiences then shouldn’t that include the dreams? And if the dreams are included in my definition of reality doesn’t that then make them real?

When I woke up that morning 4 days ago I slammed my head against the wall over and over until it was cracked and bleeding. As if concussing myself could help me answer any of those questions and sort out whether or not any of this is real.

So, the only choice I was left with was to stay awake. Which is how I came to be here, sitting on the ground with my back against the wall next to the door with my arms propped loosely over my bent knees.

— — —

Ember

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But she has to sleep at some point right?” Griffin asks me as he fits the key into the lock on Mags’ door.

“She’s stubborn and stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. At this rate she’ll either go clinically insane or die trying to stay awake.”

When Griffin opens the door I don’t panic at the sight of Mags’ empty room and perfectly made bed, I know exactly where to find her. I shut the door behind us and sure enough there she is, sitting on the floor with her back to the wall. Her eyes don’t burn quite as brightly as they did when she first arrived, but I’m hoping they’ll rekindle with some decent rest.

She’s worse than I feared. Not only has she not been sleeping, she hasn’t been eating, drinking, or bathing. She hasn’t moved from that spot. There are dried blood stains from her head wound on the wall around her muddled hair and on her neck.

“Go talk to Illian. Now. I’m going to get her into a nice hot bath.” I instruct Griffin.

“Okay. Meet me in my room when you’re done, we can speak safely there.”

This time when Griffin leaves, he doesn’t lock the door behind him.