“Do you think the guy with the gun is still following us?”

He’s quiet for long seconds that tick off in my head. “I think anyone who’s motivated enough to shoot a gun at someone isn’t going to give up without a damn good fight,” he says in a steady, even tone that makes fear ripple through my whole body. “But after everything that’s happened today, I’m exhausted. And if you actually let yourself feel anything for a minute, I bet you are, too.”

I don’t have the energy to try to argue with the obvious.

“If we don’t sleep, we’ll be useless tomorrow, and that’s no way to outrun someone who wants to kill you,” he says, more gently this time, lifting a hand to stroke my face.

I look down at the backpack between my feet and realize what I forgot—pillows, blankets. I didn’t exactly have much time to plan. “We have to turn the car off, don’t we?”

“Can’t waste the gas.”

“It’ll get cold.”

“Our body heat will keep the small space warm enough.”

I nod, numbly. I’ll be the first one to admit that I wasn’t feeling very optimistic about my life this morning, but even I didn’t expect to be spending the night in a stolen car, in the middle of nowhere, wondering if I’d be warm enough to sleep at all.

Benson gives me dibs and I go for the passenger seat laid down almost flat while he stretches across the back, his body perpendicular to mine. He’s right—even wrapped in a coat I’m starting to feel his body heat rise from where he lies, inches from my face.

Making me feel rather un-sleepy.

“Everything will look better in the morning,” he mumbles, half-asleep already.

“Certainly couldn’t look worse,” I whisper, but quietly enough that he can’t hear me.

After Benson’s breathing deepens and slows, I let the tears come. Quinn! I shout in my mind. I’m here—I did what you said. Where are you?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I don’t expect to fall asleep quickly; I figure I’ll spend hours drowning in fruitless self-pity. Not to mention the general discomfort of sleeping in a car. A cold car. But when my eyelashes flutter open to show me a snow-blanketed forest lit by an unearthly glow, I know I must be dreaming. A glance down at the gorgeous gown that swirls around my legs in glistening silver folds confirms it.

I walk aimlessly through the sparse forest, snowflakes dotting my skin with a burst of chill against my otherwise warm body. The wide train of the dress skims the powdered snow behind me, leaving a shallow trail that curls through the trees as I circle and weave, not hurried, but looking for something.

His profile is the first thing I see. As always, his hair is pulled back at the nape of his neck, though a few tendrils lie in wispy streaks on his tanned cheeks. A cloak covers his shoulders, veiling his body in a blackness that almost blends in with the tree he’s leaning against. He turns his head and leaf-green eyes meet mine. My chest convulses and I suck in a gasp of air at the sight of him. His eyes look through me, into me, seeing my soul. After a moment of contemplation—as if discovering something inside me that surprised him—his face relaxes into a smile. He holds out one gloved hand, and as his fingers come together, a bloodred rose appears between them.

“I knew you would come to me.”

Quinn’s words break an unseen barrier and I’m running, my bare feet silent in the soft snowfall. The rose drops to the ground when his arms stretch out, a mirror to my own as we reach.

Reach.

Reach.

My body slams into his warm chest and his hands are on my cheeks, pulling me near, grasping at the back of my neck. I don’t have time to raise my eyelids before his mouth finds mine, his lips soft. It’s as though a dam has broken inside us and every longing, every moment of wishing, is released. Fingertips graze down my sides, then curl behind my back, pulling me in harder, closer. I grasp his shirt, thin white linen beneath his cloak, and pull him down.

Or maybe I’m lifting myself up.

Whatever it takes to be nearer. As near as two souls can be without blending into one. His lips leave my mouth, and before I can make a sound of protest they find my neck, the hollow of my pulse. My fingers run through his hair and I tug the hair tie away so the strands tumble around my hand, silk against my skin, as good as I knew it would feel.

With a reluctant growl Quinn pulls back. His hands cup my face and his eyes bore into mine. “I have things to show you,” he says, and my whole body stills at the seriousness laced through his words.

“Then show me,” I whisper with greater effort than I think it should take. My words are a puff of mist in the air that hangs unnaturally between us for a few seconds before an errant wind blows it away.

Quinn draws me back against him and his mouth settles near my cheek. “I have things to show you,” he whispers again, his lips brushing the tips of my ear, making a shiver course down my spine.

Then he pulls back and there’s a strange shadow in his eyes. His arms fall from my waist and he takes a few steps backward.

Then he turns.

And walks away.

“Quinn?” The words are a whisper. It’s my dream; he can’t walk away. “Quinn?” Louder now, my voice echoes off the trees, making the icicles rattle. “Quinn!” The trees shake at my piercing cry; the icicles clatter to the ground. I lift my skirts and try to run after him, but the forest is darkening around me and soon I can’t see anything.