Ensnared (Splintered, #3)(30)

He crinkles his forehead beneath his hat’s brim. “The pain.”

My face warms at the thought of healing him, then blazes when I realize his ear is not the pain he’s referring to.

A fluctuation beneath the skin at his collarbone tells me his pulse is flitting just as fast as mine. I start to drop my hand but he catches it, holding my palm to his smooth cheek. The action both surprises and comforts me.

“I thought you’d be furious,” I say. “That I sent you here. That I destroyed the rabbit hole and neglected Wonderland. I messed everything up.” The confession winds my gut in knots.

He shakes his head. “You made a queen’s decision to send for the wraiths. And it was the right one. Even when you do the right thing, sometimes there are dire consequences. Second-guessing every step prevents any forward momentum. Trust yourself, forgive yourself, and move on.”

I curl my fingers around his jawline. I’ve needed to hear those words for so long. “Thank you.”

“What’s important is you’ve come to fix things,” he says. It’s an observation, not a question.

I nod.

Holding my wrist, he tilts his head so his mouth grazes my palm. “I always knew you would,” he whispers against my scars, his jewels glistening gold and bright—just as they did over a year ago in Wonderland, the first time he spoke those words to me, right before he dragged me through a crazy game of mayhem and politics that nearly got me killed.

Yet despite how he’s drawn to danger, how it thrives within him, or maybe because of it, the dark and wicked side of me softens at the feel of his lips on my skin.

Dad’s dagger finds its way between us, the tip pressed against Morpheus’s jugular. “Time’s up.”

Morpheus releases my hand.

I squeeze my fingers at my side to stop the tingling along my scars. “Dad, come on. The knife isn’t necessary.”

Chin hardened to granite, he elbows me behind him. He stands a few inches shorter than Morpheus, but the righteous indignation emanating off him makes up for the size difference.

Morpheus’s skin tinges green, an effect of the iron’s contact. So why doesn’t the dome limit his magic? He definitely has a secret. And I’m going to figure it out.

The thought of the challenge tantalizes me, just like Morpheus said it would. It’s more than a little unsettling, how well he knows what lights my fire.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my family?” Dad seethes, shaking me out of my musings.

Morpheus guides the dagger’s tip toward his shoulder in lieu of his bare neck. “I believe I made it possible for you to have a family to begin with, Thomas. A thank-you would suffice.”

Dad slides the dagger back to Morpheus’s neck. “Here’s how this is going to play out. You’re going to take us to Jeb then lead us safely across this godforsaken realm to the Wonderland gate, so we can get back to Alison.” The metal tip puckers Morpheus’s skin. “And then—and only then—will I decide whether I should thank you or ‘slice you in twain,’ and leave you in a pile of ash at my feet.”





Morpheus and I exchange glances while Dad digs through the duffel. When he opens the map, orange sparkles sift out, snowing into the bag’s mouth. A tiny sneeze erupts from inside. Dad jumps back and Morpheus steps forward, wearing an amused half grin.

He scoops his hand inside the bag and lifts out a hummingbird-size ball of orange and gray striped fur. Chessie’s teasing smile appears as he unfurls his body and dangles his front feet over the edge of Morpheus’s gloved palm. His fluffy tail twitches, a sure indication he’s proud of himself.

“Well, look who dragged the cat in,” Morpheus says. “Good to see you, old friend.” He rubs the feline netherling’s tiny head with his thumb.

Chessie arches his back, then turns his impish eyes my way.

“Sneakie-deakie.” I can’t stop smiling, remembering that moment when Uncle Bernie closed the Gravitron’s door and orange sparkles filtered into the chamber. Chessie was planning to hitch a ride all along.

The little netherling attempts to fly, but I stop him, closing my fingers over Morpheus’s palm. “Wait. There are rules here. If you use your magic, you’ll hurt yourself. It will mutate you . . . kill you even.”

“True for most,” Morpheus corrects, and lifts my hand away. “But remember, our Chessie is a rare strain. Both spirit and flesh all at once. He can use his magic. He’s the one full-blood netherling who can.”

“Other than you, you mean?” I goad.

Morpheus intentionally avoids my stare and concentrates on Chessie. “You should refrain from snapping your head off whilst here. With the way the landscape changes, you might risk it getting lost. Now, do you wish to fly, or would you like to hitch a ride?”

Chessie flutters up to Morpheus’s one remaining pocket and deposits himself inside, leaving only his head sticking out.

Before Morpheus can move away, I place a hand on his lapel.

Stretching to the tips of my toes, I nuzzle Chessie’s fuzzy nose with mine. “Thanks for healing me earlier,” I tell him, “and for keeping my necklace safe.” Just as I’m about to kiss his head, he ducks into the pocket.

My lips land in the middle of one of the gaps in Morpheus’s shirt, smacking his warm, soft skin.