The crowd thickened, their anticipation rippling in the air like static before a storm. The stage before us remained empty—a blank canvas waiting to be painted in horror.
Roman moved behind me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me into him.
I let myself sink into his embrace, the warmth of his body against mine, as if we existed in our private world.
Despite the danger, the urgency, and the blood still staining his clothes, I craved him.
And I wished—more than anything—that we were somewhere far away, where nothing could stop us from devouring each other.
But my mind reeled with the revelation about Tristan.
Had Balthazar sent him after me? Had my every move been tracked, my life nothing more than a game played by that foul demon? A chill skated down my spine.
Roman gently rocked me from side to side, his breath warm against my ear. “Olivia, my love… ever since we were separated, I’ve had these recurring dreams.”
“Have you?” I pressed my cheek against his jaw, relishing the rough scrape of stubble. “Tell me about them.”
“They’re always about us—you, me… and Malik.”
That got my attention. I pulled back slightly, searching his eyes.
“When I saw you with him earlier,” he continued, his voice low, “I was insanely jealous. But at the same time… I was comforted.” His brow furrowed as if the contradiction disturbed him. “I didn’t know him, but I did. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. Like when you found me upstairs. My mind screamed that you were the enemy, but my heart kept saying—he’s here. Roman is back.”
“Exactly.” He kissed my cheek, lingering long enough to send shivers down my spine.
“In the dreams,” he continued, “I’m always on horseback, gallopingthrough a field with Malik at my side. We’re not enemies. We’re… brothers or close friends, hunting together, returning home. And I can feel the excitement—the eagerness to return to my wife and children.” His gaze bore into me. “And, of course, the person I’m desperate to see is you.”
A strange sensation curled in my gut. “Then what happens?”
His expression darkened. “As we approach my home, I see flames. In some dreams, the entire village is burning. But in all of them, my house is always on fire. And you… and the children… have already burned to death.”
My hands instinctively clenched his doublet.
“It’s awful,” he murmured. “I always wake up either sobbing or drenched in sweat, my heart racing.”
I turned fully into his arms, staring up at him. “I’ve been having similar dreams. They’re horrific. They feel so real—like echoes of something already happening.”
Roman cupped my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “God help us, so do I.”
A beat of silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken fears.
“But the strangest part,” Roman admitted, his voice dropping lower, as if the words themselves were dangerous, “is Malik.” His grip on me tightened. “He’s always there. And somehow, these dreams—they don’t just feel like nightmares. They feel like a memory.”
A shiver ran through me, but it had nothing to do with the cold.
I shifted in his arms, my thoughts tangled. Malik had tried to seduce me, and I had almost let him.
How could I tell Roman?
“What do they mean?” I whispered. “Why are we both having the same nightmare?”
“I don’t know.” His fingers flexed against my waist. “But look.”
Roman gestured past me.
I turned, leaning into him again, letting his warmth envelop me like a shield.
