Page 28 of Dark Dragon’s Wolf

The dreams came, but not like before. She wandered the hallways of her mind, the same places she always went, but there were no ghosts.

Only silence, and a feeling that something was wrong. She was missing something.

She wanted Tristan. She could feel him next to her as she walked, his warmth and his presence, but when she looked he was never there.

Just emptiness.

No ghosts. No voices. That should be good, but somehow she knew it wasn’t.

She was almost relieved when she heard them again, faintly in the distance.

Here we are. We’re here. Save us.

She struggled toward them, but it was like walking through peanut butter. Here we are. Save us.

She fought her way to consciousness. Tristan wasn’t beside her.

He was on his knees, head cocked like a wolf. Listening.

The voices weren’t in her dreams, or in her mind. They were outside. And Tristan could hear them too.

Her dragon said,

Mayah scrambled to the opening, pausing on the way to touch Tristan, dressing them both in black leather.

Whatever was out there, she was sure as shit not going to face it naked.

Tristan said, “Stay in here. I’ll go.”

As if she would really do that—stay in here safe and let him face everything alone.

She emerged into the dark, wet clearing. The skies had cleared, and a half-moon hung just over the treetops, casting a wavering light.

The clearing was full of ghosts.

Crowding the edges in a big circle, reaching out. Calling.

Save us.

She stood up slowly, staring at them. They pressed forward—calling, beseeching.

Tristan pushed past her and rose to his feet. When he saw what was out there, he flinched, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples. She could feel the pain that knifed through his brain.

He could see them. And they were setting off his own ghosts.

No, that wasn’t right. He’d heard them, even before she did. He was seeing her ghosts.

And they were hurting him.

“I can’t save you!” she shouted. “And he can’t either! Just leave us alone!”

They turned to long wisps of white fog with yellow eyes, like ghost animals. They circled round and round, faster and faster.

And then they were gone.

Tristan slid down the side of the spell shelter until he was sitting on the ground, elbows on his knees, a trickle of blood on his upper lip.

Mayah sat down next to him and conjured a t-shirt, handing it to him. He dabbed at the blood on his face.