Page 37 of Druid Dreams

Everything after that was a bundle of mental pain that attacked my consciousness. I had to battle with my own will power so that I didn’t shut them out. I’d trained against mental attacks before, and that was exactly what this felt like. I just had to endure it until I got what I needed. The moment those memories were unlocked everything went black.

Briggs

Sunday Midday

I had never been so worried in my life when I peeked in the rear view mirror. Sloane slumped forward as her eyes went totally white. Vaughn caught her without hesitation and placed her head on his thighs. Novak squeezed his body over the back of their seat and slid her legs into his lap, casting a mortified glance at Vaughn. The Fae remained calm.

“Did ye break her?” Palmer asked with an edge of nervousness to his voice.

“No, she’s reliving the memories that we unlocked. She’ll be fine in a couple hours. Think of it as dreaming while napping.” Vaughn replied.

“You could’ve warned us all that she’d pass the fuck out.” I wanted to throttle the emotions back into him. I called him Prince Emotionless one time and he busted my nose. I’d love to return the favor right now. Maybe he’d feel something afterwards.

Ten minutes passed in utter silence. The steady rhythm of her chest was the only thing that kept me from stopping the van. Stone was turned around in the passenger seat with a look that screamed “I’ll kill you” aimed towards the males holding the too still Hybrid between them. If she doesn’t wake up soon he’ll go on a rampage. 62 minutes in and he’ll try to kill them both.

Thankfully, it didn’t go that far. We were about 35 minutes in, and the only sound in the van was heavy breathing as we all tried to chill out. A sharp intake of breath had me swerving into another lane. I twisted my head to look at Sloane. She flew up into a sitting position and glanced around to get her bearings before leaning back into Vaughn’s lap and staring at the interior ceiling.

“I’m going to kill that fucking Druid,” she seethed.

“How much time did ya get back?” Palmer questioned lightly.

“A little more than two days I believe. How long was I out for?”

“Less than 40 minutes. That shouldn't be possible, Sloane. It should’ve taken you hours to recover that much time.” Vaughn was bewildered. I didn’t know why that surprised him. She surpasses every magical and mystical boundary we’ve come across. Several times I’d caught myself wondering what else she could do.

“It’s like speed reading.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “Some of the time I was unconscious so I skipped that and stuck to the important stuff, namely the parts where I was awake.”

“What did you find out?” Stone was trying to remain cool and collected, settling his anger with the sound of her seductive, rasping voice.

“York had another prisoner erase my memory, but it wasn’t clear as to why. He was Fae. A king.” She turned to Vaughn, “With your eyes,” she added apologetically. “I’m sorry, Vaughn. York made a deal with him, my memories for a phone call. He couldn’t help him escape.”

“I know this part of the story. He called me. It’s okay, Sloane. Continue with the rest of it.” Vaughn didn’t ever talk much about his family. His sisters call when they leave the Fae realm, but that’s it.

“There’s not much more to it. When I regained consciousness, I checked on him and then ran. It’s the beginning that we need to focus on. I know how to get to where we’re going.”

“How?” I interjected.

“Because I let them catch me and take me to their camp. I was sent to kill them.” She whispered. “All of them. And I didn’t finish the job.”

I focused on the road as she spoke. My anger surged with her story. Damn, York. If he wouldn’t have had her memories tampered with then she would’ve killed those guys. They wouldn’t have had a chance to kidnap him. We wouldn’t be trying to rescue him. My heart wouldn’t have nearly fucking stopped when I watched her fall over while her eyes went all cloudy and shit. That was just the smaller scale stuff. On the bigger side of the repercussions, there was one main issue. If those guys would’ve been killed five years ago, then that rogue-inducing drug might not have been as successful. That could’ve saved hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. I knew he was a selfish bastard, but he always had his reasons. Maybe he thought it wouldn’t get that far, or maybe he was trying to protect her before he really knew her. I’d fought against her and watched her fight though. I knew she didn’t need to be protected. If I had to pick anyone to protect me, I’d pick her before I picked any of the males in this van.

We reached our destination before any of us could think of something to say to her. She didn’t seem like she was looking for comfort, but instead needed an outlet for her anger. The address Franklin gave us was not what any of us expected. I turned the van to the right by a large sign with the street numbers 5683 labeled on it. We followed a long dirt road until we came to a minuscule gravel parking area. When I parked we sat and viewed the scenery around us before we started opening any doors. The heavy wooden lot was home to all manner of wildlife. My wolf inched to the surface of my skin, thrilled by the prospect of a bountiful hunt.

Nestled in the trees in front of us was an enormous treehouse. The stairs began on the foliage covered ground and led up to a platform which connected to a bridge suspended above a natural sandstone formation. The minutature bridge was only wide enough for one person to walk across it at a time. I contemplated the safety of it versus climbing a tree to get to the wraparound deck that was attached to the house. The trees grew through cut out places in the deck flooring and appeared to also grow through the house itself. This is the luxury side of camping, I guess.

We filed out of the van and started grabbing our bags. Butterflies flew around Sloane’s head the moment her boots touched the ground. She gazed at them for several seconds in blissful tranquility as they fluttered themselves down to chest height. She snapped the fingers of her left hand and those massive hellhounds-in-disguise slammed their paws into the gravel patch she was standing in. They surrounded her in a protective formation, covering all angles as they surveyed the land for any threats. With three clicks of her tongue, their gigantic bodies thundered through the woods in different directions to secure the perimeter around our temporary haven. And run all the wildlife off.

We observed Sloane while she climbed the stairs, collectively holding our breath as she glided across the rickety bridge to the main deck around the house. She looked strange with her bright pink backpack strapped to her back and the small matching duffle swaying in her delicate hand. I wasted no more time assessing her as I bounded up the steps and crossed the bridge in large strides. The sooner I reach the other side the quicker I can get off this death trap. We were only here to drop off the van and our bags before we started the search for York. Once inside, I didn’t even admire the rustic decor as I found the kitchen table and set my bag of weapons on the top. I dropped my other bag to the floor and kicked it aside.

Within the bag that held my attention was brand new tactical gear. Franklin vehemently reassured me this morning that it would remain on my body between shifts. I still don’t believe him. I set the clothing and boots to the side and continued looking through the bag. He explained all of the weapons to me last night before we went to sleep and I’ve been itching to try this stuff out. Four magic infused handguns were tucked neatly in pairs inside rough plastic cases. They didn’t use bullets and they never ran out of their ammo. He included a handful of paper thin knives as well. They were so sharp I could probably slice through the tree that the kitchen table was built around.

The last thing in the bag was a five inch long black box that looked like it was made for jewelry. It wasn’t anything Franklin and I talked about last night. It was new. Inside the box was a custom made switchblade. The obsidian blade and bleached bone handle matched the daggers Sloane used yesterday. Attached to the lid of the box was a short note in frilly handwriting.

“Briggs,

This switchblade will never miss a target and always returns to its owner. Use it with care. Enjoy it often.

-Sloane”