I am breathing rapidly, my heart racing in my chest. The moment I see him clearly, I fall against him, letting him wrap his arms around me. I once felt safe when Jasik was near, but slowly, I am losing that feeling altogether.
Jasik whispers to me, his breath blowing my hair atop my head as he tells me it will be okay, that I am safe now, that he will never let anything bad happen to me. He promises to always be here, to always be the one to wake me in these moments. Never does he ask me what I dreamed or what I saw, because he knows it was a nightmare. He knows it is never anything good.
By the time I finally settle enough to shake the feeling of utter dread from my soul, my legs hurt from standing for so long. I teeter on my feet, balancing my weight from one foot to the other, trying to ease the pain in both. I do not succeed. Every day, I am reminded of how different I am now, and every day, that dagger sinks a little deeper into my gut.
Jasik pulls back and smiles at me, running his thumb down the curve of my jaw. His hair is messy from sleep, his eyes tired from restless nights of watching over me. His crimson irises glow in the darkness, just like that rogue vampire’s, but I never feel uneasy when I am with him. The only vampires that scare me lurk outside of these manor’s walls.
His gaze drops down, and Jasik frowns. I squint, trying to see him more clearly in the darkness. His features darken, and a sudden anguish washes over me.
Jasik grabs on to my arm, turning it too quickly, too roughly, and I hiss. Immediately, he realizes his mistake and drops my arm, He looks at me, sorrow in his eyes.
“Is that from your dream?” he asks calmly.
I frown. “Is what from my dream?”
“Your arm, Ava. Look at your arm.”
I glance down, seeing nothing in the darkness. As I walk toward the nightstand to turn on the bedside light, I rub my hand over my arm. I do not feel anything, but when I apply pressure, my muscle screams in protest.
I twist the knob on the lamp, illuminating the room, and squeeze my eyes shut at the sudden assault. The moment my senses adjust, I glance down, sucking in a sharp breath as I take in what Jasik noticed even in the darkness.
I hold out both arms, spinning until I face Jasik. His features are pinched into an unreadable slate, but I showcase my fear without shame.
Because on both arms, there are four slender marks that wrap all the way around. I can’t see the backs of my arms, but I am certain a single mark stains my skin as well.
The black marks are already turning purple and blue from ruptured blood vessels, forming bruises in the perfect compressions of handprints.
The rogue vampire told me he was real, not a figment of my overactive and cruel imagination, and now, I believe him.
The manor is eerily silent at breakfast. The vampires file in, preparing their own breakfast while I eat what Holland already prepared for us. No one looks at me, not even the hunters. But I do not care. I am too busy wondering how my nightmare manifested itself into a real-life side effect.
I refuse to believe a rogue vampire has the capabilities to find his way into my dreams. He knew my name, which again might only be the cause of an unrelenting imagination.
I glance at Holland, and he smiles at me as he chomps down a mouthful of eggs. I do not smile back. I keep my mind focused on last night’s events, not pointless breakfast chitchat.
I play with the fabric of my turtleneck, running my fingers against my soft skin. I feel the same, even though I know I do not look the same. The black marks are threading higher with each day that passes. I was too tired to attempt a botched makeup job, so I decided against concealer and opted for even more clothes. If the others noticed, they did not comment on my attire.
I push my breakfast around my plate with my fork, never wincing when the metal scrapes against the dish. My senses are too dulled to be bothered by it, but I can tell the vampires do not like it. Even so, I do not stop. I am lost in thought, replaying my nightmare over and over again in my mind until something makes sense.
If he was real, who was he? How did he know my name? How did he manage to injure me? Is it possible it was more than just a dream? The witch I used to be chastises me for asking such stupid questions. Spirit witches can visit the astral plane. Thanks to my introduction with Will, I now know other hybrids can enter my dreams unwelcomed.
But I am not a witch anymore.
And that was no hybrid.
Right?
“Everything okay?” Holland asks, breaking my trance.
I freeze, fork still in hand. I drop it, and the metal clanks against the plate loudly, echoing all through the room. The nearby vampires watch me carefully before they continue nuking their mugs of blood. Slowly, they begin to clear out. I do not blame them. I would not want to be around me either.
I collapse into my hands, resting my elbows on the tabletop. Sighing, I shake my head, only succeeding in rubbing my forehead against my palms.
Suddenly, I remember how I scratched my palms in my dream, trying to wake myself from what I assumed was just another bad nightmare.
I pull back, assessing the damage done, finding nothing but pale, dry skin. I stare at the creases, wishing I taught myself to read the lines as a fortune teller does at carnivals. I never tried before because I only had to close my eyes to see the future. I wonder what my future holds now.
“Ava?” Holland says again. He reaches across the table to offer me his hand, but I do not take it.
“I feel like I am losing my mind,” I whisper.
“Tell me about the dream,” he whispers back.
My gaze darts to his. “Did Jasik tell you?” I am not truly upset that Jasik informed the others of my midday outburst. What else do I expect of him?
Holland nods. “Do not be upset. We all heard your screams. He was cornered into telling us.”
I shrug it off. “He would have told you anyway,” I say, sounding far more bitter than I mean to.
I know I am being childish, but I can’t help it. I am only seventeen. I am supposed to act like a child. I am not supposed to be planning my impending funeral. Sometimes, I think the others forget they have far more years on me.
“Ava…” Holland says, chastising me for my behavior without being too harsh.
I inhale deeply, and before I release my breath, I let my lungs fill until it hurts.
“Tell me about it,” Holland asks again.
I stare at my food as I recount the nightmare. Only when I am finished do I peer over at Holland. His forehead is creased, his eyes narrowed. He looks angry, but I have come to understand he is not upset. This is the face he makes when he is lost in thought. He is considering my words carefully, trying to analyze my dream for some hidden meaning that might make sense. He is trying to find a way to make everything okay again, and I worry he will fail.
“What do you think?” I ask, finally breaking the silence.
“I think you are looking pretty rough, Ava,” someone says.
I tear my gaze away from Holland to stare at our intruder. The moment I see Will, I am swarmed with emotion. My heart bursts at the sight of him, and I practically hum with excitement.
“Will!”
I shriek as I jump to my feet and push away from the table, my chair skidding against the tile floor. As I rush over to him, I slam my hip into the edge of the table. Pain surges through me, but I ignore it. I hear the distinct clash of something breaking, followed by Holland cursing under his breath, but I ignore those things too. I am focused solely on Will.