Page 13 of Regal Queen

Four

There wassomething about dreams that latched on to our subconscious, dragging our innermost thoughts from the depths of our hidden desires.

If we remembered them, then we learned something about ourselves.

If we didn’t, we were left with a feeling that there was something missing, some kind of lighting bolt moment, flittering just out of our grasp. Like trying to capture the wind, or tugging onto the fog.

As soon as I slowly pulled myself from unconsciousness, before my eyes even opened, I knew I was safe.

I didn’t know how I knew this, but I was as sure of it as I was that my hair was a chestnut brown.

I also knew that I was no longer with Dimitri but in a hidden place. Secret and protected.

My eyelids were heavy, too heavy, so I pressed my face into the soft mattress before opening my eyes. A tight band around my waist kept me still and even after I squirmed, it didn’t let me go. I vaguely recognized the feel of fingers cinching into the muscles of my back.

As my mind slowly grew more attentive to my surroundings, I recognized the smell. It surrounded me, basking me in its essence. It was like fire and sin, like loss and love, like everything I ever wanted, and yet not quite enough.

It was Coulter, and somehow, he was holding me.

I snuggled in deeper, letting my mind float in the nothingness for a minute longer, trying to remember what I had been dreaming.

What was it? It had something to do with Ivan, something to do with the last words he shouted as I sprinted across the white open plain, my feet clumsy with the too large boots and the too high, icy snow.

His voice was too muted. Even now my ears still rang, pulsating into my mind with a quivering ache. And yet, my finger was only a dull throb and I felt phantom wisps at the edge of it, as if it were still there.

A small part of me hoped that I'd only been having a nightmare when Dimitri cut it off, the knife edge serrated for maximum pain. But my screaming was too raw, too real, the scratchiness at my throat still there and too much for it to be only a nightmare.

I clasped my eyes tighter, not wanting to face reality just yet, because then things would be too real, too much for my mind.

They’d come for me, rescued me, risking their own lives in the process. They’d taken care of me.

Ivan, also, had given his life for mine, and the knowledge was a deep, drilling ache in my chest.

He’d given his life, for me.

God, I hated the thought of it.

Coulter was a heater by my side and the more alert I was becoming, the more I was growing uncomfortable. I didn't want to move away from him but at the same time, I needed relief.

"Coulter," I tried to moan but my words came out mumbled and unrecognizable. I tried again. “Coulter."

He didn't move. In fact, besides the time his fingers squeezed into my back, pulling me closer, he was dead weight against me.

Suddenly, I was alert. Was something wrong with him?

My eyes shot open, the need to know if he was okay stronger than my need for my mental escape.

The shots. Just as I was pulled down the hallway at the King mansion, there were shots.

My heart thudded, fear watching through me with the thought that Bourbon or Coulter could be dead.

In front of me was a large, expansive chest and the firm, muscular lines of a neck. I would have to tilt my face upwards to look into his face, but I recognized Coulter's neck, just like I'd recognized his scent. My eyes were distracted by the pocked-marked scars indented into his naked chest.

I sucked in a breath, my fingers reaching to tace them slowly. Tears prickled at my eyes.

He'd been shot.

And yet, he was holding me, his chest moving in and out as he breathed. He must be okay, otherwise, things would be different. I finally had the nerve to pull back and look up into his face.

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