I change into my pajamas and slide under the covers. As my mind jumps between modern responsibilities and old souls, I’m sure it’ll take forever to relax. But as soon as I close my eyes, I’m out.
I dream of him. My ghost guardian.
The images flash vivid and terrifying.
He’s in trouble.Needs help.
My help.
I’m in the woods, running. I hear distant, panicked grunts—the sound of someone fighting but losing. Though I’ve never heard his voice, I know it’s him. Branches slap my face as I push harder, breath sawing in my chest.
The woods vanish. Suddenly, I’m at the mouth of a cave. Inside, there’s only darkness. And deeper inside, horrific sounds.
It’s him.
The fight is leaving him. His moans are dwindling, becoming low and guttural.
I don’t hesitate. I step forward, and the cave swallows me whole.As my eyes adjust, I make out torchlight flickering on stone walls.
And there he is. Bound. Struggling. Helpless.
Three hooded figures hunch over him. They’re feeding on him.
Oh, dear God.
They’re feeding on him.
I try to scream, but my throat, my chest, are paralyzed. I must manage to make some noise because his eyes snap to mine, bright as a lightning strike. What I feel is instant, electric. A surge of something so real, it crackles through my bones. His gaze smolders…with warning. Connection. Longing.
Something ancient jolts through me—something primal, intimate.
Heknowsme.Iknowhim.
But then someone slices into the space between us, eclipsing him from view.
It’s one of the hooded ones. A woman, and she’s close. Too close. Her shadowy silhouette fills my vision.She’s staring at me.
With eyes stitched shut.
I jolt awake,a ragged shout ripping from my throat, heart galloping so hard it thuds in my neck. I press my hand to my pounding chest. Just a nightmare.
But it felt so real.
I take in an unsteady breath. Could I have just witnessed his actual death?
No. It was only a dream.
And yet, I can’t shake this unsettled feeling. Shivering but sweaty, I rub my arms, more exhausted than when I went to bed.
I have to get out of here.
Tomorrow. No matter what.
I try again to sleep, but it fractures into disjointed images and distant sounds—voices in the stairwell, clattering plates—until I can’t tell if I’m awake or dreaming. Sleep drags me under like quicksand each time I try to surface.
When a slash of sunlight burns red behind my eyelids, my body finally lurches to life, stiff and sluggish. My legs are tangled in the sheets, and my sleeves have left angry, crisscrossing indents along my skin. The hair at the nape of my neck is damp with sweat.
I think hard, grasping at the dream before it slips away. The ghost wasn’t a ghost. He was real. Flesh and blood. His eyes—the color of fog over the sea—were full of terror as he was lashed down and tortured in a cave.
