Page 15 of Manacled Hearts

Then Vassallo cocks his head, and with one simple grin, he chills my bones.

“You might have to share this one.”

The scream bursts out of me at the same time my limbs are released, and my whole upper body shoots up. Only, I’m no longer in that warehouse, but sitting on a soft bed, surrounded by ridiculously fluffy pillows.

“Evie?”

I follow my sister’s voice, turning to my right, and lit up by the faint moonlight is her pretty face, marred by worry and slight fear.

“I’m so sorry, honey. It was just a bad dream. I’m sorry.” I lean over to kiss her soft forehead, then lie down next to her and scoop her in my arms.

“But you—you were crying and saying some things.”

The sleep leaves me in an instant and my eyes widen with the impact of her words. I’m scared to ask what I was saying.

“I’m sorry I woke you. It was just a nightmare. Everything’s okay.”

Only, it’s not.

I can’t do this to her—bleed my trauma onto her innocent soul. And the talking? It simply won’t do. I have to find a solution for this. A different arrangement. If we continue sharing a room and the nightmares carry on, it could traumatize her. Especially if I talk in my sleep about things that should never reach her innocent ears.

“What did I say?” I risk it because I have to know how grave it is or could be.

Maya hesitates for a moment. “You were mumbling about keeping something, then you kept asking for me. Where I was, I think.”

“I’m sorry, honey. Go on, go back to sleep.”

A soft knock sounds at the door.

“Yes?” I answer, but I can’t hide the apprehension in my tone.

It opens slightly and Katya peeks through, light streaming in with her. Brinn stands behind her, his expression stern.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yes, sorry, just a bad dream. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“No need to apologize. Do you need anything?”

“I’m okay. Thank you… I’m sor—”

She raises a palm to stop me. “I’m here if you need… anything.”

There’s an implication there. An invitation to be comforted, to talk if I need to. I’m grateful but talking is the last thing I wish to do. Talking means rehashing, and all I want to do is forget.

Not that I remember that much anyway.

I nod and she leaves, closing the door and returning us into darkness.

One thing I’m grateful for is that our experience didn’t take away from me the comfort of the shadows and replace it with fear. Whether dimly moonlit or pitch black, the absence of light brings me a sense of calm and security. It’s ironic, I know.

Why do I feel guilty that those horrible people didn’t take this away from me?

It shouldn’t be like this. Right? Other vic—No!

I will not say that word.

I am not that.

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