CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Verena
THE NIGHTMARES THAT CHASED ME that night were colder than the others, more vivid.
I was still on the mountain, still racing toward the bottom where I thought safety waited. Except, I wasn’t running. I wasn’t being chased.
Iwas hunting.
The ground slid beneath me like ice. No roots to trip me. No stone to slow me. My body moved like shadow unchained, every stride a predator’s grace. The world bled in colors not meant for even immortal eyes—blue and yellow, red and black. My lips weren’t moving but I could hear a song, a lullaby, one made only for me.
Little bird, little bird, the forest goes still.
There's a howl in your throat and the promise to kill.
Feathers of starlight, talons of flame,
you cradle the darkness and whisper their name.
Little bird, little bird, the shadows all bend.
You breathe out beginnings and swallow the end.
And ahead, there was only her.
Her movements were quick and desperate as she stumbled, eyes flooded wide in terror when she looked back. The mountain’s base was only yards away. She could make it. But she wouldn’t.
The moment I lunged, fangs sank into the tender flesh of her legs. She screamed once before collapsing, the taste of blood and fear staining my mouth. I moved around her, over her, consuming, until her body became mine.
Until we were one.
Because the girl I had hunted wasn’t a stranger. She was me. And at last, I had become the nightmare.
The screams still clung when I shot upright, splitting the dusk. It was a different vision, but the same haunting ending. There was nothing familiar here to chase them away this time. And so, the nightmare lingered.
Moonlight lacquered the room, a silver veil draped across the sheets. They clung to my skin, tracing the tremors in me. Shadows swayed from the open windows, the breeze a cold kiss against my burning face.
I didn’t see him at first. But I felt the low tug in my chest, winding deep into my ribs. My pulse soothed as though my heart remembered him before my eyes did.
Footsteps broke the hush as he emerged from the washroom, light bending around his form. His torso glowed, loose pants hanging scandalously low at his hips. He hadn’t been here when I fell asleep. When had he returned?
Water ran from his hands, wrung between his fingers, droplets hitting the floor in small, hissed sparks.
“You’re okay,” he said, moving to where my legs hung off the side of the bed. “You’re safe. It was only a nightmare.”
The cool cloth touched first to my brow, then the dip of my temples, ending at the nape of my neck. Each press was knowing, patient, until the stutter of my breath evened.
His hands moved lower, thumbs tracing the line of my wrist, intentionally pressing into the soft center of my palm. As though he knew where every pressure point was meant to calm inside my chest.
“How did you get here so fast?” My voice rasped, rough from sleep.
He’d told me not to wait, had warned he’d be tied to meetings until dawn. I’d grumbled at his leaving, then folded under sleep like a fool.
“You were screaming.” The bristle of his jaw scratched soft against my skin as his lips brushed over my palm.
And yet, no footsteps came running but his. No one else had stirred. Apparently, my nightly horrors were nothing more than another ambient noise like crickets. Or the distant echo of murder.
“Lay back,” he demanded gently.
