I stand in the hallway, counting my breaths. Inside, I hear the rustle of fabric, soft footsteps. When Daciana calls me back in, she’s dressed, her hair still loose but her posture more composed. She is shaken, though. I see it in the way she clasps her hands together to stop them from trembling.
Daciana moves to the small table by the window and sits. I remain standing, tension coiling in my shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Daciana says.
I’m taken aback. “What?”
“Last night. It shouldn’t have happened.” She won’t look at me. “I didn’t mean to initiate anything. I know I crossed a line.”
“Stop.” The command comes out sharper than I mean it to, and she flinches. I soften my tone. “You didn’t cross a line, Daciana. I was right there with you. I wanted…” I break off, jaw tight. “Don’t apologize for that.”
Daciana presses her lips together and looks away, toward the window where dawn is just beginning to break. “You have meetings with the candidates to be your mate today.”
“I’m not going to choose any of them.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
“Why aren’t you asking what’s really on your mind?” I finally say.
Daciana glances at me, and I see the fear there. The questions she’s afraid to voice.
“How long have you been having those dreams?” I ask softly.
Her breath catches. “What do you mean?”
“The nightmares. The dreams about Elara. How long?”
Daciana is quiet for so long, I think she won’t answer. Then: “Since the day I first saw you.”
Everything in me goes cold and hot at once.
“I usually wake up,” Daciana continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I took sleeping herbs last night. I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t…” She stops, swallowing hard. “I saw you in it. You were there, trying to reach her.”
“What did you see?” The question comes out rough, but I need to know.
As she begins describing the vivid details of the different dreams, details even I didn’t know, breathing becomes difficult. Every word is a knife sliding between my ribs.
When Daciana finishes, she looks at me directly. “You’re not surprised, are you? Who is Elara? Why is she in my dreams?”
“Have you had nightmares like this before you met me?”
Daciana hesitates, then nods slowly. “In one, my skin was darker. Tan. I had red hair. But it’s the same. I’m running, and I’m pregnant, and then I die.” Her hands twist in her lap. “I don’t understand what’s happening. What do you have to do with this?”
I take a step toward her, but she stands abruptly and puts the chair between us.
“Something is going on,” she says, her voice wavering. “And I need you to be honest with me. Please.”
The plea in that last word nearly undoes me. I sigh, suddenly feeling the weight of centuries. “The women you’ve been seeing in those dreams—they’re you.”
Daciana scoffs. “I’ve never been pregnant. And I know what I look like.”
“You’re seeing glimpses of your past lives.”
She stares at me, and the color drains completely from her face. “What?”
“Past lives. You’ve lived before, Daciana. Multiple times. And each time—”
“You’re crazy.” She backs away another step, disbelief hardening into something colder. “Past lives? You think I’m gonna buy that?”
