Page 75 of Blood Caged

Before I can process what’s happening, Soren is beside me on the bed. His cool hand touches my shoulder, and I flinch instinctively. But then, to my surprise, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re fine. It was just a dream.”

I should push him away. I should scream at him, remind him that I’m not safe, that I’m his prisoner. But instead, I find myself melting into his embrace. His strong arms feel like a shield against the horrors of my nightmare, and I can’t help but cling to him.

For a long moment, we stay like that, my face against his chest, his hand gently stroking my hair. I breathe in his scent and feel my racing heart begin to slow.

Then, as if burned, we both seem to realize what we’re doing at the same moment. Soren pulls back abruptly, and I scramble away from him, pressing myself against the headboard.

Our eyes meet, and I see a whirlwind of emotions in his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Soren says, his voice rough. “I shouldn’t have… I’ll go.”

He stands quickly, moving toward the door. But before he leaves, he pauses, looking back at me with an expression that makes my heart skip a beat.

I watch Soren’s retreating back, my heart still thundering as my eyes trace the muscular lines. The nightmare lingers, shadows dancing at the edges of my vision. Panic rises in my throat.

“Wait,” I call out. Soren pauses, his hand on the door. “Can you…can you stay? Just for a little while?”

He turns, surprise etched on his face. For a moment, I think he’ll refuse. But then he nods, slowly walking back to sit in the chair beside the bed.

We sit in silence for a while, the air heavy between us. Finally, I speak.

“Do you ever have nightmares?” I ask, not sure why I’m even talking to him.

Soren’s eyes meet mine. “Sometimes,” he admits. “Though it’s been a long time.”

“What do vampires dream about?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

He chuckles softly. “The same things humans do, I suppose. Our fears, our regrets.”

I nod, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. “I used to get them a lot when I was a kid. Gran said it was because I had ‘the sight.’”

Soren nods. “That’s a very special gift,” he says quietly.

“You know,” I continue, “in witch culture, we have a ritual for easing nightmares. We brew a special tea with moonflowers and starlight…”

To my surprise, Soren nods again. “And you chant over it three times, widdershins, before drinking.”

I stare at him, shocked. “How do you know that? That’s not something we share with outsiders.”

Soren looks away, his jaw clenching. “There was a time…long ago…when I learned more about witch culture than most vampires ever do.”

My curiosity piques. “What do you mean? How?”

But Soren shakes his head, his expression closing off. “It’s not important.” He presses his lips together. “Not anymore.”

The cryptic comment leaves me with more questions than answers, but I can see there’s no point in pressing.

I find myself relaxing as Soren and I continue to talk. The nightmare’s grip on me loosens with each passing moment.

“So, you grew up in a family of witches,” Soren prompts, his voice gentle. “What was that like?”

I can’t help but smile, memories of my childhood flooding back. “Chaotic, mostly. Imagine trying to have a normal family dinner when someone accidentally turns the mashed potatoes into frogs.”

Soren chuckles, and the sound warms something inside me. I push the feeling away, reminding myself who he is.

“My sisters and I were always getting into magical mischief,” I continue. “Kara was the golden child, of course. Every spell perfect, every potion brewed just right. And then there was me…”

---