Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(82)
He leans in so his wings cast us both in shade, and his jewels flash a blinding red. “I’ll prove you wrong. The moment this war is over, when I have you to myself for twenty-four hours. You’ll never again question what we have between us.”
“No. Deal’s off.”
“Fine. Break your vow. Lose your powers. Then you’ll have no one to blame but yourself when Sister Two takes Jebediah into her web.”
My nightmare flashes through my head: Jeb wrapped up, a corpse.
I growl and barrel into Morpheus. He catches me and backs me to the wall where the webs are thickest. He winds me like a top until my arms are pinned to my body by a sticky blanket. I struggle, but Sister Two’s web is as strong as twine.
Morpheus bends his knees so we’re at eye level. “Why do you insist on binding your heart within these chains? For once, just be still and listen. Listen to the nether-call.”
Before I can even ask what he means, he skims his licorice-scented lips across my forehead—just shy of touching—his warm breath dragging across my left eye patch, then down a cheek, toward my mouth. The corner of my mouth tickles as he passes over it; then his breath stops to hover across my chin.
His palms rest against the wall on either side of my head. He lets the web serve as his hands, his breath serve as his lips, holding me immobile and kissing me without ever touching me. My eyes flutter closed as his lips skim a hairbreadth away from my lids. His familiar lullaby ignites in my mind, but there's a new verse:
“Little blossom trapped in between, wearing malice like a queen; hide the truth, be cruel and tart, still all the more, you rule my heart.”
I try to shut him out, but the song drags me back to Wonderland, to landscapes now ragged and wounded.
Tears burn behind my eyelids as I witness the destruction.
The restlessness wakes within, that thumping in my head. The more I try to resist, the more my blood burns—anger for Wonderland’s ailing skies and terrain, compassion for its ragged soul.
Morpheus finally touches me, bringing my thoughts back to the loft. Hands cupping my face, he coaxes my eyes open with his thumbs at their edges. He pulls back, and his gaze meets mine, sending a message deep into my heart.
Release your chains, Alyssa. Set your magic free.
In reaction both to his silent plea and to my fury over Red’s rampage, my wing buds itch and pinch until the pressure is unbearable.
I cry out in startled surprise as they burst from my skin, ripping my shirt and slicing through the cobwebs. The webs cling to the wall and my chest—a draping of thick gossamer that serves as a shirt in place of the one I lost.
I’m free, and I step away from the wall, my wings both heavy and light.
Morpheus watches me. His jewels are the deepest purple I’ve ever seen—triumphant and proud. His mouth curves to a slow-burning smile.
“Beautifully done, My Queen,” he says, stepping back and adjusting his hat. “You are at your most powerful when you stop resisting what’s in your blood.” He walks toward my mosaics, then stalls next to them, glancing at me. “One thing more: Wonderland and I are the same. You love one of us, you love the other. You are Wonderland, too. Which means we are the perfect fit, in more ways than you can even imagine. On our day together, I’ll take great pleasure in showing you all of them.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can’t speak around it.
Morpheus picks up my mosaics then steps to the edge of the loft. He tosses Gizmo’s keys at my feet. “Don’t take too long. Your mortal boy’s memory needs a jump start. And Wonderland is waiting.”
He falls backward off the ledge and leaves me standing there, my body humming with power: a full-fledged netherling queen—freed of my webby cage, yet spellbound by a devil’s almost-kiss.
As soon as Morpheus shuts the door behind him, I peel the web from my chest and wrap up in a drop cloth to cover my bra. A rope from the scaffolding serves as a belt around the waist and holds my wings plastered to my back under the sheet.
I feel like Quasimodo in a toga.
Morpheus left his trench-coat-style blazer on the floor. It would be ideal with the wing slits, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of wearing his clothes. A peek out the door reveals him lounged against Gizmo, wings draped over the car’s hood in all their inky glory. It’s a good thing we’re on a deserted road.
He’s wearing my shades, and the ends of his hair blow in the breeze. He chats with Chessie—cool, calm, and self-assured. He doesn’t even look nervous about what’s ahead of us: facing Red and Sister Two. He’s too busy gloating.
I hiss in frustration. I want to be furious that he made a liar out of me about my feelings, and even angrier that he goaded my wings to appear, since I’m stuck trying to hide them until they fade back into my skin. But I have to admit, embracing the reality of my power is heady. I’m finding it difficult to hold a grudge when he was only trying to show me how strong I really am.
When it’s in fact what he always does.
Still, I can’t let him think he’s won. If he is my king in some unfathomable, immortal future, we will be partners. But queens have dominion over the kingdoms. I have to prove I have a penchant for manipulation that can rival his.
I gather my keys and Morpheus’s blazer, then tuck the glass decanter into the back of my makeshift belt between the bulge of my wings so it’s hidden.