Snide comments and frustrated anger.
My mother’s furious voice and the tears in her eyes. The last words she ever spoke to me.Welovedeach other. And you broke us. You took our emotions and twisted them up so badly that we could never be sure if we were truly angry with each other or if we were happy orcalm or stressed or if we had any feelings at all. Or if it was all just your vicious meddling. Youruinedus. You ruined everything.
The resentment in their eyes before Jessina slit their throats.
The blood. The thuds. The pools of red spreading across the pale stone floor.
I thrash desperately against the unseen hands that are strangling my throat and keeping me trapped in these nightmares. Screaming, I throw my head from side to side. But the nightmares don’t stop. Just like Orion’s twelve-hour torture session, those awful memories keep flashing before my eyes over and over again.
Panicked sobs rip from my throat.
I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to?—
“Selena!”
I gasp awake.
Terrified, I try to scramble backwards but my limbs are trapped in something. Another panicked sob tears from my lips as I shove at the soft fabric that is tangled around my legs. My head is still screaming at me, and lingering memories flicker in my vision, bleeding into the real world around me.
Then Draven’s hands cup my cheeks and his worried eyes appear right in front of me. “Selena. Take a breath. Focus on me, only on me, and draw in a long breath.”
My heart is still hammering against my ribs, and my pulse thrums in my ears while my instincts are screaming at me to flee. But I force myself to focus on what is right in front of me instead of those horrible images that still echo inside my mind.
Draven.
Draven is here.
His strong hands cup my cheeks, holding me, while his steady gaze is locked on mine.
I drag in a shuddering breath.
He brushes his thumbs over my cheekbones, stroking them gently.
I inhale deeply, and my heart at last begins to calm as my body recognizes that I’m not actually in danger.
Once I’m no longer fighting the bedsheets, Draven wraps his arms around my body instead and pulls me close. I almost sob at the comforting feeling. Pressing my forehead against his warm body, I just kneel there on the mattress and let him hold me while my head rings and my soul aches. Everything inside my body is screaming at me to use my magic so that I won’t have to feel like this. The desperate need is so intense that I think my body is actually trembling.
“What happened?” Draven asks.
“Nightmares,” I manage to whisper, my voice coming out hoarse and broken.
He pulls me even closer, his arms wrapped protectively around me as if he can defend me against my own messed-up head. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up my parents.”
“It wasn’t that,” I lie, because I can’t bear to hear the pain in his voice. “It was…” Coughing, I try to make my voice work properly again. I must have been screaming for real, not just in my nightmares, because my throat hurts.
“Here,” Draven says. “I’ll get you some water.”
After hugging me tightly for another second, he kisses my forehead and then climbs out of bed. Hurrying over to a small side table by the windows, he grabs the pitcher of water and one of the glasses next to it. I desperately try to pull myself together while he fills the glass with water, but everything inside me aches and my entire soul is screaming for just one second of relief. Twisting around, I let my legs fall down over the side of the bed while I drag in deep breaths that do absolutely nothing to block out the insistent urge inside me.
Worry pulses across Draven’s face as he quickly walks back to where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. Lowering himself to his knees before me, he strokes my thigh with comforting movements while he hands me the glass of water.
I drink it all in one gulp, wishing that it wasfirechaseror some other kind of strong alcohol that would numb the pain inside me. But at least it helps soothe my throat after all the screaming. Once I have finished the water, Draven gently takes the glass and kisses my palm before setting the glass down on the nightstand.
Still on his knees before me, he searches my face with worried eyes.
“It was me, wasn’t it?” he says, his voice filled with agony. “The nightmares, they were about me, weren’t they? About what I did to you while that flame of hatred was stuck in my chest.”
“What?” I shake my head insistently. “No!”
