Page 12 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
I look down, my stomach churning as I see the lifeless body at my feet. A stranger, their unseeing eyes accusing me even in death. But the worst part? The thrill that courses through my veins, the intoxicating rush of power that comes with taking a life.
“Good,”Nero purrs, his approval both revolting and addictive.“You’re learning. Soon, you’ll be the perfect weapon.”
I want to scream, to run, to wash the blood from my hands and the guilt from my soul. But a part of me—a dark, twisted part I desperately try to ignore—preens under the praise. Revels in the strength coursing through my body.
“No one can ever know,” I whisper, horror and shame warring within me. “They’d never understand.”
The corpse at my feet begins to shift, its features morphing between those of Geraldine and Max. Once filled with trust and friendship, their eyes now reflect only betrayal and disgust.
“Don’t go,” I beg, reaching out for them, for anyone who might pull me from this nightmare. But my bloodstained hands only seem to drive them further away.
“You’re dreaming, Willow.”Bodin’s baritone voice cuts through the haze of guilt and fear, feeling cold and wrong in this twisted version of reality.
I struggle against the memory, against the shame threatening to consume me. “Where are you?” I cry out into the darkness, mentally groping for him. “Fox? Varen?”
Anyone?
The nightmarish chamber begins to dissolve, replaced by encroaching shadows. From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a horrific, disjointed figure—the Cornertwister. No eyes. Gaping mouth. It wants to feed on my fear, and I can’t—I can’t—I gasp for air.
“My turn,”it hisses in my ears, and then I feel its hands picking up from where Fox left off. Cold, dead fingers touch my intimate flesh, and I scream.
“Wake up!”
I jolt awake into Varen’s bright room, in his bed, him sleeping behind me. Overcast light filters through the gaps in the curtains.
There is no mistaking Bodin’s tall, powerfully built frame as he storms toward me, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a mixture of fury, concern, and something else—something raw and vulnerable that vanishes as quickly as it appears. Dressed in his usual work shirt and leather breeches, every taut muscle screams of restrained power. I’m reminded I missed an early morning training session, but his reaction seems disproportionate to a simple missed appointment.
My heart still pounds from my nightmare as I rub my sleepy eyes. “Sorry. I forgot about training,” I mumble. “I had this weird dream.”
“I know,” he grunts, his voice rougher than usual. “I was there.”
Shit.
Now that I see him in the warm, living flesh, last night’s events return to me. Fox. Styx. Me, slipping into Varen’s bed from loneliness. And then the nightmare, the blood on my hands, the disgust in my friends’ eyes. Bodin saw it all.
Grief hits me hard. I close my eyes against the onslaught of emotion but don’t get time to process them. Movement beneath my shirt snaps my eyes open. Varen’s hand is trapped beneath Fox’s borrowed shirt, toying with my breast. He tweaks my nipple, and my body responds with heat, sending liquid desire straight south.
Bodin’s nostrils flare, his eyes darkening as they track the movement beneath my shirt. I glimpse the same heated lookfrom my dream before a scowl quickly masks it. His fists clench at his sides as if physically restraining himself.
I glance up at the wall behind Varen’s bedhead. No dream-catching web sits there like in Fox’s room.
Bodin grumbles, “He doesn’t need a web. His dreams are fractured nonsense.” His voice has an edge, a hint of something that sounds almost like longing.
Heat flushes my cheeks as I tug the shirt down to cover my nakedness—not that Bodin seems to mind. His gaze lingers every place I try to hide, a war of desire and frustration playing across his features.
“I didn’t mean for this to—shit, Varen, stop.”
Except Varen must hear the word “continue” because he renews his fondling with vigor.
I give a nervous laugh and pull at Varen’s hand. “I think we overslept.”
Bodin folds his arms, his biceps bulging.
“You shouldn’t sleep here at all.” The words come out gruff, but an undercurrent of hurt tightens his voice. His eyes flick between Varen and me, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
My pulse beats harder than a dragon’s wings in a storm. I roll and face Varen, acutely aware of Bodin’s burning gaze on my back. Varen’s eyes are closed, but he growls sleepily at my disturbance and mumbles something unintelligible.
“Honey,” I whisper and gently cup his face.
