Queen of His Heart (The Brides of Mordenne #3) - Jeanette Lynn Page 0,1

loathed being without her, even if I’d mistakenly thought it meant she was far away from Mordenne, and the distance might be what was best for her.

Pen was my tether. My younger sister grounded me. Things had changed so much, so fast, since she’d left, my head was still spinning with it. Then she’d come back, and even then, after things had gone from bad to worse for me, I’d held my tongue.

He wouldn't have wanted me to tell, or so I’d cowed myself into thinking. He never said much when he came to me. All the same, I lived in silent terror of him.

I’d wanted so badly to tell her, but I simply couldn’t. My heart thundered every time I opened my mouth to speak to her on it, to divulge the things I’d kept to myself all these years, and now, just how bad it’s recently gotten. I felt trapped, no escape. The frequent visits had grown near nightly, habitual instead of his sporadic pop-ins in my unconscious head space.

Death was an escape, I mean… but that wasn’t me. I wouldn’t do that, couldn't. Yet, every time I would have voiced my living hell, convinced myself if only briefly I should- I honest to god just couldn’t. My tongue would grow thick like it’d glued itself to the roof of my mouth and then I’d think of the hell hole my life had quietly become, those moments I’d liked to have thought were my own now not even that, the idea of dragging her into the middle of all this and what that might mean for her—would she be chosen next? Would it paint a target on her? —I’d clammed right up.

Like fucking hell was I bringing her into all of this. She’d want to fix it, but I knew she couldn’t.

Did Pen know some Paras had strong mental powers? Like, certain depths of manipulation, mental persuasion? Did she know of dreamwalkers?

Maybe her Cyclops would know what to do about it, but then I’d have to admit things, to talk about all of it. I just couldn't. There was a whole other layer of torment to admitting it all really was occurring. Terror filled me just thinking about it.

Ben, Pen’s Parakind husband, may not realize it, but he was included in that protective bubble I put around those I cared for and tried to protect. Pen loved him to death, and that was good enough for me.

No. I just couldn’t speak on any of this. It was just easier this way. The urge to rub at a spot on my neck rode me. I resisted.

Glancing at the Troll, I wondered if admitting my grievances would scare him off. Would he wish me to be his sunshine then? I felt tainted, not special, even if his words washed over me in a strange, soothing way that made me eager to hear more. I supposed that was the most disconcerting. I’d feared at first the Troll had done something to me to elicit such a response in me, like he was fond of manipulating me during our recent dreamwalks, but soon I realized the Troll was simply being… himself.

I should tell him. I could tell him, couldn’t I? Mental abuse was its own kind of torture. I was a victim of it and more. What’s worse, the fact I’d let this go on for so long, I’d convinced myself I was a willing participant for proving to be so damned weak. The physical came later... when he’d stopped actually trying to converse, when I’d proven uncooperative and he’d grown impatient with me, or as he claimed, his hunger grew too great. A grimace stole over my face and my gaze fell. What could a Troll do for a dreamwalker? He was in my dreams! How could the Troll help me against a dream foe? What protection could the Troll possibly offer? He could murder me in my sleep if he wished, no one the wiser. It was the perfect crime.

A particularly large bump in the road brought me out of my thoughts. Head lifting as I jolted, I glanced around.

“This isn’t the way back,” I pointed out, wanting to think about anything else but what happened sometimes when night fell, yet we both already knew Treasure Troll wasn’t taking me home. I hadn’t protested, though I could have. Should I have? I wasn’t so sure. A part of me wanted to just go with it for once, see where this