came from forcing Leandra to watch Mike take this new woman to his bed.
The agony as he covered her body with his—Morgan seemed to drink it down. And with every spike of pain, Morgan siphoned out more and more of Leandra’s power.
The dream Mike looked at Leandra as he fucked the dream woman. She is what I want . . . what I need. You were nothing. You are nothing.
Nothingnothingnothingnothing . . .
Agnes could feel the pain splintering inside Leandra, and her heart broke. Oh, Malachi, there’s much work yet to be done here . . . In all her time with the Hunters, Leandra hadn’t really healed at all.
Agnes forced herself into the tapestry of the dream and felt the reality of it shifting, altering to accept a new presence. Morgan fought against it. The young witch would understand why Agnes was there, and she wouldn’t like it. Nobody liked having their meal taken away.
She fought the pitiful attempts to bar her from the dreams, and she forced herself further into the dream.
Leandra felt her presence. She barely glanced Agnes’s way, but Agnes knew that Leandra had felt her.
You are not nothing, Leandra.
Agnes smiled as Leandra turned away from Mike and the false lover for just a moment. They are not real, love. None of this is real.
Tears spilled out of the young witch’s topaz-colored eyes. It could be. I do not deserve . . .
Agnes snorted. Deserve, not deserve—that is not what this is about. This is about doubts, fears. Are you so weak that you will let your doubts and fears blind you?
It was a conscientious jab at Leandra’s pride. And it worked. Agnes smiled a bit as she felt Leandra turning away from the false images. In the dream, exotic eyes narrowed and she sneered arrogantly. I do not let fear control me in any way.
No—no, you do not. You never let fear into your life, did you? So why do you now?
Leandra’s face puckered in confusion, and she glanced over her shoulder. But the dream images of Mike and his lover were gone. There was . . . nothing. Just a gray fog that wrapped around them both and obscured everything. What is going on, old woman? Why are you inside my dreams?
It is not your dream. It is a falsehood, a lie . . . an attack. Wake up.
WAKE UP .
Wake up—
The words circled through Leandra’s mind, but she couldn’t force aside the heavy blanket of sleep. She knew she was dreaming now, and she could even feel the alien magick that kept her trapped.
She hammered against it, but it was like that blanket of sleep had become some sort of prison, keeping her locked inside it. Fear, nausea, disgust, rage—it all roiled inside of her gut.
A falsehood, a lie. An attack.
An attack. She could fight an attack, but where in the hell was it coming from?
AGNES COULD FEEL LEANDRA BATTLING AGAINST THE dream. But she didn’t have time to help her.
Morgan turned on Agnes with a scream, and Agnes braced herself. She was tired, though—
The bitch had fed from Leandra just enough to build some power. That power slammed against Agnes’s shields with hurricane force.
Agnes fought to retain her consciousness. If she went under, Morgan was the stronger. Even though Leandra’s dream was shattering slowly around her, Morgan still had the power there. Dream thieves—Agnes hated them. They could drain a witch dry, leaving nothing but an empty husk, and the witch would never understand what was happening until it was too late.
You will not have her , Agnes told Morgan, her voice completely confident. Morgan’s power had been weakened by Leandra’s struggles and the cold cocoon that had wrapped itself around the enclave dissolving.
Then I’ll fucking take you—and you won’t survive. She might have.
Agnes just laughed. Oh, I know your kind well enough. You don’t leave survivors. Dead bodies can tell no tales. She’d only crossed a handful of dream thieves in her entire existence. They were even more rare than true psychics. But sadly, something about the nature of
The agony as he covered her body with his—Morgan seemed to drink it down. And with every spike of pain, Morgan siphoned out more and more of Leandra’s power.
The dream Mike looked at Leandra as he fucked the dream woman. She is what I want . . . what I need. You were nothing. You are nothing.
Nothingnothingnothingnothing . . .
Agnes could feel the pain splintering inside Leandra, and her heart broke. Oh, Malachi, there’s much work yet to be done here . . . In all her time with the Hunters, Leandra hadn’t really healed at all.
Agnes forced herself into the tapestry of the dream and felt the reality of it shifting, altering to accept a new presence. Morgan fought against it. The young witch would understand why Agnes was there, and she wouldn’t like it. Nobody liked having their meal taken away.
She fought the pitiful attempts to bar her from the dreams, and she forced herself further into the dream.
Leandra felt her presence. She barely glanced Agnes’s way, but Agnes knew that Leandra had felt her.
You are not nothing, Leandra.
Agnes smiled as Leandra turned away from Mike and the false lover for just a moment. They are not real, love. None of this is real.
Tears spilled out of the young witch’s topaz-colored eyes. It could be. I do not deserve . . .
Agnes snorted. Deserve, not deserve—that is not what this is about. This is about doubts, fears. Are you so weak that you will let your doubts and fears blind you?
It was a conscientious jab at Leandra’s pride. And it worked. Agnes smiled a bit as she felt Leandra turning away from the false images. In the dream, exotic eyes narrowed and she sneered arrogantly. I do not let fear control me in any way.
No—no, you do not. You never let fear into your life, did you? So why do you now?
Leandra’s face puckered in confusion, and she glanced over her shoulder. But the dream images of Mike and his lover were gone. There was . . . nothing. Just a gray fog that wrapped around them both and obscured everything. What is going on, old woman? Why are you inside my dreams?
It is not your dream. It is a falsehood, a lie . . . an attack. Wake up.
WAKE UP .
Wake up—
The words circled through Leandra’s mind, but she couldn’t force aside the heavy blanket of sleep. She knew she was dreaming now, and she could even feel the alien magick that kept her trapped.
She hammered against it, but it was like that blanket of sleep had become some sort of prison, keeping her locked inside it. Fear, nausea, disgust, rage—it all roiled inside of her gut.
A falsehood, a lie. An attack.
An attack. She could fight an attack, but where in the hell was it coming from?
AGNES COULD FEEL LEANDRA BATTLING AGAINST THE dream. But she didn’t have time to help her.
Morgan turned on Agnes with a scream, and Agnes braced herself. She was tired, though—
The bitch had fed from Leandra just enough to build some power. That power slammed against Agnes’s shields with hurricane force.
Agnes fought to retain her consciousness. If she went under, Morgan was the stronger. Even though Leandra’s dream was shattering slowly around her, Morgan still had the power there. Dream thieves—Agnes hated them. They could drain a witch dry, leaving nothing but an empty husk, and the witch would never understand what was happening until it was too late.
You will not have her , Agnes told Morgan, her voice completely confident. Morgan’s power had been weakened by Leandra’s struggles and the cold cocoon that had wrapped itself around the enclave dissolving.
Then I’ll fucking take you—and you won’t survive. She might have.
Agnes just laughed. Oh, I know your kind well enough. You don’t leave survivors. Dead bodies can tell no tales. She’d only crossed a handful of dream thieves in her entire existence. They were even more rare than true psychics. But sadly, something about the nature of
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