Chapter 91 When The Nightmares Begins
Malia's POV
"No—please—don’t—"
The words come out fractured and unfinished, as if captured in between a dream-state and waking. I writhe in the sheets, knotted up and panicked, my limbs pushing against a fabric that feels like hands holding me down. Sweat broke out on my t-shirt, cold and sticky on my very warm skin.
"She's not—I'm not—"
I don’t know what I’m saying. Don’t know if the words even make sense. They pour out anyway, desperate, begging, raw as my hands dig at something that isn’t there.
The dream has me by the throat.
…Silver claws shimmer in a darkness that has no source or origin – is just there, dark, dense, and total. They are longer than fingers, curved like scythes, and so sharp that I can feel them cutting through air as they come closer.
A man stands in front of me but he has no face – it is just a blur where you would expect to see his features, a smudge of shadow and a hint of light. But the claws are real. So real I can see my reflection in the polished metal distorted and terrified.
Behind him, a woman. She is dressed in white, in a dress that flows in a breeze that is not there. Where her face should be: nothing. Smooth skin like unfinished sculpture. But she's smiling--I know it even though I can't see it, that horrible knowing smile.
They operate in flawless harmony, spinning around me like wolves, like sharks, like predators that have done this a thousand times too many.
The woman opens her mouth – a mouth that shouldn’t be there on her blank face – and starts to chant. My name, over and over, but not right. Twisted. Each syllable of it is twisted into words that make you want to cry.
"Malia-Malia-Malia-Malia—"
The man lunges.
Silver claws press charged needles against my throat – not cutting, not yet, just inverting the skin for an instant, the sensation of my breath caught on a wire where my pulse point races that much faster against the surface. Cold. So cold it burns.
"She doesn't belong," the faceless woman whispered right in my ear and I realized she hadn't even moved. “She never did. Mongrel. Mistake. Abomination."
The claws press deeper.
I try to scream but my voice is gone, stolen, swallowed into the dark.
Blood is welling up hot and fast, racing down my neck and seeping into the moonstone pendant till the stone blooms crimson like a second heart.
The woman laughs – a noise like glass shattering, like bones breaking.
"He'll leave you," she says. "They all will. You're not worth the trouble. Not worth the risk. Not worth—"
The claws tear.
Everything goes red. I start screaming into my pillow, the noise is muffled but full of violence, with my whole body shaking because of it. My hands go to my throat——-panicked, feeling for blood that isn’t there, for wounds that haven’t opened up yet.
Nothing but skin. Nothing but the moonstone pendant, cold and smooth and innocent.
But I can still feel them. The claws. The cold. The certainty of my ending.
My breath is coming in jagged heaves that sound far too loud in the dark room. Tears I didn't even know I was shedding race hot down my cheeks. My heart beats so hard that I can hear it in my ears and feel it rattling my entire chest.
Just a dream just a dream just a dream—
A hand rests on my shoulder.
I almost shriek again, almost swat with talons and fangs I barely recall I possess.
"Hey—hey it's me. You're okay. I’ve got you."
Aiden's voice. Rough with sleep but solid. Real.
I spin towards him, my eyes are wide and wild in the darkness.
He is lying next to me in my dorm bed, resting on one elbow, his face is lined with worry and tiredness. His hair is disheveled, spiking out in various directions. He's got on that same hoodie that he wore earlier, like he never left his own room, like he's been here this whole time.
"You were—" he begins, but I don't let him.
I pounce on him, my arms around his neck, face in his shoulder, clinging like he’s the only thing holding me up from drowning. A sob explodes from the depths of me—ugly, hopeless, all of the emotions I've been bottling up for days coming out at once.
“I’ve got you," he murmurs once more, his arms immediately wrapping around me as he pulls me close to his chest. One palm rises to cup the back of my head. "I'm here. You're safe. I'm right here."
I can’t speak. I can’t form words. Just shake and cry and hold on while he rocks me slightly, his chin resting on the top of my head, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
“Bad dream?” he asks softly after a long moment.
I nod against his shoulder.
I nod. The nightmares I’ve been having all week are coming—disjointed, horrifying, invariably including things with no faces and silver talons and my own blood spilling out while voices tell me I don’t belong. But this one was worse. More vivid. More real.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks.
I shake my head. I have no words for what I saw. For what I felt. For the deep-in-my-bones knowing that something awful is on its way, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Okay ,” he says flatly. No pressure, no demands. Just acceptance.
We lie down again side by side, my head resting on his chest with his arms holding me tightly. He’s warm — so warm, after the chill from the dream that still hung over me. Solid.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I finally whisper, my voice raw from screaming.
“I know. “ His hand draws lazy circles on my back, soothing, steady. “I’m sorry. The team meeting ran late and then Coach wanted to talk about—” He stops himself. Sighs. “Doesn’t matter. I
should’ve texted. Shoulda been here sooner.”
“You're here now.”
“Yeah.” His arms tighten fractionally. “I'm here now.”
I raise my head to look at him. In the weak light from the streetlamp outside, I’m able to just make out his features—his strong jawline, the worry lines surrounding his eyes, the stress he’s holding in his shoulders.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper. “I needed—” My voice cracks. “I needed you.”
Something crosses his face, it could be pain, guilt, or determination alone. He takes my face in his hand, his thumb wiping away the tears that are still on my skin.
“I know things have been—” He is searching for the right word. “Weird. This week. Distance, pressure and—” Another sigh. “But I’m not going anywhere, Malia. Do you hear me? I’m not leaving you.”
The voice of the face less woman rings in my head: He’ll leave you. They all will.
“Promise?” The word is quieter than I want it to be. Vulnerable. Scared.
“Promise.” He bows, places his forehead against mine, and our breaths unite in the breathless distance between us.
I shut my eyes and let his words soak in and try to believe them, rather than the residual fear from the dream.
“The nightmares are getting worse,” I acknowledge. “Every night this week. Different take on the same concept. Things hunting me. Voices telling me I don’t belong. And tonight—” I run my hand over my throat without thinking. "It seemed so real."
His jaw clenched. "It’s the stress. Vesper and her remedial bullshit, the whispers, all of it,
it’s starting to get in your head.”
"What if there’s more going on than just stress?" I move back a little to look at his face better. “What if it’s something else? Something, I don’t know, warning me?”
"About what?"
“I have no idea.” Frustration creeps into my voice. “That’s the trouble with it. Something about it just feels wrong. Has felt wrong since we got back. Like the island protected us somehow and now—”
I gesture vaguely at the room, the campus beyond. “Now we’re exposed. ”
Aiden remains quiet for a long moment, his hand still rubbing your back in gentle circles. When he does speak, he’s judicious with his words. "Do you want to talk to someone? Professional? The campus has counselors—”
“And say what? That I’m having nightmares about faceless people with silver claws?” I shake my head. "They’d just look at me like I’m insane or label me as unstable. Either way, it gets added to my file. More talks for Madame Vesper.”
None of that is debatable to him. We both know how this works – how any indication of weakness becomes evidence, becomes justification for why people like me don’t belong in places like this.
“Then we handle it together,” he says eventually. “I’ll stay with you. Every night if you need me. Screw the dorm regulations.”
“I can’t—your classes, practice—”
“I don't care." His voice is now just that of a fierce, protective one. "You're more important than all that. How can I concentrate on practice when I know you're out there all alone, scared, having nightmares?"
Fresh tears burn through my eyes, but these are different. Relief.
"Thank you," I murmur.
He kisses my forehead, soft and slow. "You don't need to thank me for that. For being here. This is — " He pulls back to look at me. "This is what we do. you and me. We look after each other."
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
We ease back down, my body curling against his, his steady heartbeat beneath my ear. Outside, the campus is still—no voices, no footsteps, just the low buzz of the heating system and the now and then a car driving on the street outside.
"Try to sleep," Aiden whispers, his palm still making those soothing circles. "I'll be right here. You're not going to be hurt," he promises.
I want to believe him. To nestle in the security of his arms and drift off, so that sleep might lead me somewhere restful. But my eyes start closing and still I feel them at the edges of my awareness—the silver talons, the faceless woman, the knowledge that they lurk just outside the curtain of sleep.
They wait to tell me once more that I am not one of them.
That I never did.
That this all—that this is temporary.
And before too long, just any moment really, it's all going to come crashing down.