Page 104 of Devoured

An icy chill blows through the room, and I shiver. Dread pricks needles along my arms. Because that can’t be right. Ms. Hanover should be at her desk. There should be twenty-three students crowded around me. The bell should be ringing by now. But—I stand slowly, deliberately—the bright fluorescents shine on me like a spotlight. The clock ticks, but the minute hand doesn’t move. And the rectangular window in the door reveals nothing. Nothing except darkness. Oblivion.

I shake my head and creep toward it. This doesn’t make sense. I check my phone again, but it’s black now. It doesn’t turn on. Something—something is wrong.

Glancing at the floor, I watch in horror as my sneakers vanish. As my socks replace them instead. Socks, leggings, a thin white camisole. I stare at my hands as claws begin to push from my fingers. A scream rises on my lips.

The door to oblivion opens, and in strolls the Crown Prince of the Wolf Queen’s Court.

Reality slams hard into my chest. This isn’t high school, and Celeste isn’t alive.

Which can only mean one thing: Sinclair Severi has just invaded my dreams.

He leans against the wall, his ankles crossed, his blond hair gleaming unfairly golden beneath the horrid lights. He watches me silently. As if he’s not rummaging through my brain.

My voice comes out ice cold. “Is this really the best you could imagine for us? I thought you were meant to be good at Dreamweaving.”

He lifts a careless shoulder. “It’s your dream. I’m simply in attendance.”

“Wow, merciful of you. So no torture victims, then? No more mauled children?” I glare at him, and he laughs dryly.

“I knew you were still pissed at me.”

For once, I don’t care enough to lie. “Of course I’m pissed, Sinclair. You’re inside my brain. I haven’t slept in months because of you. Do you know what that’s like? To be so afraid of someone plunging their claws in your brain that you refuse a basic function? Yes, I’m pissed. You shouldn’t be here. You know you shouldn’t be here, but of course you are. I fall asleep once.”

He stalks toward me, slow and predatory, as the lights above burn brighter, crackling with electricity. One of the bulbs over his head flickers out. He doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m glad we can finally be honest with each other.”

A sharp, hideous laugh claws up my throat. “I’m not the one who has problems with honesty.”

He splays his arms wide. “I’ve told you nothing but the truth since winter solstice.”

“Since the massacre,” I snap, unsure why my hands are shaking and the truth keeps spilling from my lips. His fault, I’m sure. Everything is always his fault. “Call it what it is, Sinclair.”

His jaw cracks. His scarlet eyes flare. “I have apologized—”

“I’m tired of your words, and your actions prove you aren’t sorry at all.” I pivot on my heel, stalking across the classroom. As I walk, the desks flicker in and out of sight. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

“This is the only way I could get you to talk to me.”

A guttural scream builds on my tongue, but I swallow it, kicking the nearest chair instead. It flies across the classroom and smashes against the wall. Shattering into a hundred plastic pieces. “This is not my fault.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

I whirl on him, my chest heaving. My lungs aching. Rage thrashes like a wild animal trapped between my ribs. “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m not doing anything, Vanessa.”

A truth. Even in the dream, I can tell he’s not lying. “That’s not possible.”

“Why?” He tilts his head. “Are you angry? Do you want to hit me, Vanessa? Do you want to hurt me?”

Yes, yes, and yes.

But I shake my head. “You’re manipulating this. I don’t—I don’t trust you.”

A shadow of hurt crosses the razor-sharp planes of his face. “Ah. I see.”

“Sinclair—”

“It’s a dream, Vanessa. It’s your subconscious mind. I’m not controlling this, but the deepest recesses of you are. It’s hard for those parts of you to lie. Or hide.” He shrugs as if this doesn’t matter at all. “If you dig in a graveyard, you’re bound to find skeletons.”