Page 26 of Dead By Dusk

The sun is rising, and skittering gold dances across the ground around us. The wind blows the leaves surrounding our feet with every step, and I can’t help but stare at the beauty of it all. For in this moment of quiet, no matter how deadly this situation may seem, there is still a graceful waltz of nature that we cannot stop.

I woke up for this, I realize. When I heard Carmen shuffling about to take watch, I took it instead. The sleep I got was more than enough, and I found myself a bit restless in the midst of our new company.

Knowing two of our three companions should set me at ease, but the knowledge of how we got here puts a vile taste in my mouth. One that should eventually diminish with more time together and his head separated from his body, but something tells me I need to leave now rather than wait. For some reason, I feel more in danger with those I know I trusted at one point than I did with just Carmen at my side.

Don’t trust anyone.That’s what I was told, and yet here I am surrounded by the very people I was warned against. Though, I also wasn’t given much of a choice in the matter, given the course of events yesterday, and I can’t help but look to my left at where Carmen’s petite frame rests against a tree. She’s fiddling with the hem of her jacket while staring off in every which direction while the others get in their last bit of sleep when I hear deep, heavy breathing. The kind of breathing one does when they’re running or panicking.

My body stiffens on instinct as I check our surroundings, but there’s nothing. I finally look down at the three other sleeping forms, and I see it’s him.

Ronan.

His hands are clenching and unclenching, legs jolting slightly, and I’m about to wake him from whatever nightmare seems to plague him when his eyes snap open, his body jerks upright, and a barely audible gasp of my name escapes him.

His entire body seems to slump back for a moment as he exhales a long, slow breath. He still looks tired as his skin has lost its normal flush and darkness lingers beneath his eyes. Like whatever was haunting his dreams, followed him back here and he can feel its weight on his shoulders like a burden he never asked to carry. Something that seems to be incredibly heavy.

And for a moment, I find myself wanting to care.

For a moment, the part of me that knows who he was to me before wants to lift the weight off of his shoulders so he can sit a little straighter and sleep better in these bitter-aired uncertain nights. That woman would’ve held him every day if he needed her to carry the weight of the world in her arms. She would have given him everything should he have asked for it. But then I remember what he did to me, and realize that woman died the second the barrel of a gun was pressed against Carmen’s head.

Or maybe it was prior to that moment. Maybe when he kissed my hand out of jealousy that I would even listen to another man’s words before we knew each other. Maybe she died then. Or, what if that was the start of her death?

What if her death was slow and sickly? It was one of false promises and proclamations that wasted her away slowly—day by day—until she was finally put out of her misery with the betrayal of her heart and the loss of her mind.

So when our eyes connect, I just raise an irritated brow at him for disturbing my peace. When he doesn’t look away, I finally decide to speak.

“Do you remember yet? Looked like you weren’t having the best time in your own head, and if my name was any indication I can only assume it was one of two things.”

His brows raise in response, head tipping to the side before a raspy and deep whisper answers back.

“What would those two options be, Silene?”

If I could describe the way he looks at me as he asks the question, I would say it was something of wonder. Maybe even curiosity. It was deep rooted and overgrown and a seed of emotion that had been planted long before we woke in that house.

“I would say you dreamt of what I asked you yesterday.” He shakes his head inquisitively, gaze locked on my own. “Or I would say you dreamt of all the ways I could kill you, now that you know your death is imminent.”

The chuckle that he lets out is soft, quiet even and he shakes his head again. “Why would you assume that my dreams have anything to do with you?”

I wait until he lifts his chin back up and our eyes are locked together before I respond. “Well, the way you were saying my name when you woke up was the first hint.”

“And the second?”

His question holds no heat behind it like one might expect it to. Instead, it feels sad—like an intense unwavering of his mental state has settled into his bones. Sad with just a little hope dusting the edges and I almost falter.

Almost.

“Does there need to be another reason? You saying my name is undeniable reason enough.” He chuckles and looks me up and down, drinking my appearance in like my lips aren’t horribly chapped and cracking, or like my skin isn’t paling from dehydration, and lack of any real sunlight in days. Instead, he looks at me like I know he always has. A heaven-sent gift made of honey and emerald isles with hair so brown it resembles life. The same color as the soil that I grip between my fingertips as we speak.

He looks at me like I wasn’t moments from stripping him of his life yesterday, and for some reason I hate it. I hate that I’m burdened with the truth of what happened while he remains unaware enough to look at me like I’m something to adore when he so easily turned his back on all of us when we needed him most.

“Let’s say I was dreaming of you…who’s to say your options are the only two that are possible?” He questions, a smirk playing at his lips for a brief moment. Any realfeelinggone and replaced with humor. “What if my dreams were of you with that dagger to my throat again? What if we were both wearing far less clothes? Would that be an appealing option to you,Killer?”

Red hot fury blinds me. A flush spreads across my entire body as heat envelopes me—confused by the sudden change in the way that he looks and speaks to me.

“I hope that I haunt you. In every single dream that you have, I hope I’m there. That you’re never able to escape me.” I recognize that my words are harsh and venomous as I speak them. I don’t even mean it. But for some reason I can’t stopmyself from saying them when he’s looking at me the way that he is.

His bravado falters.

“You do.” His words are warm, the cadence of his voice unwavering. So much so that it seems like he expected me to say what I had, and that it was right on par with who he knows me to be. Like the idea that he would dream of anything or anyone else would never have even been a possibility, and for some reason, it makes me so damn unexplainably mad.

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