Chapter 21 Dreams
Eva
I woke up screaming at the top of my lungs. Not a weak whimper; a full-throated, I’m-being-murdered-by-a-ghost scream that tore my throat apart.
My bedroom was dark, with only the hazy gray of dawn filtering through the window. My sheets were twisted around my legs. I was alone. I scrambled up, my hands flying to my neck.
The torc was gone. My head was throbbing, my wrist a dull ache, and a deep, humiliating soreness pulsed between my legs. My gaze landed on the nightstand.
My Glock was there, right next to the keys to my Ducati. My phone, too, was plugged in and charging at a hundred percent. And my wallet. A bottle of water. An unopened pack of my brand of clove cigarettes.
He’d been here. He’d touched my things. He'd touch me, hadn't he? My hands wander down my body; the shirt that should be shredded was perfectly fine. My jeans were still on. I checked myself thoroughly, but my body didn't show any signs of being forced.
"I'm going insane," I said to the empty room. The soreness between my legs seemed to pulse in agreement. It had been so real. The feeling of him. The brutal, humiliating pleasure of it.
My hands trembled as I lit a cigarette. The smell served as a weak shield against the lingering ghostly scent of pine and moonshine. I needed a new job, a new identity, and a new life somewhere without mountains, moons, or six-foot-eight assholes with silver eyes.
My phone buzzed. A text from a number I didn't recognize. My blood ran cold.
Enjoyed the ride? That was a nice dream you had. We should do that for real sometime.
I threw the phone across the room, and it hit the wall with a sickening crack. I didn't care. I grabbed my keys, wallet, and Glock without packing and headed out the door.
The Ducati roared to life under me, the engine a familiar, comforting growl. I didn't look back. I just rode.
I headed west with no plan or destination, just a long, straight stretch of asphalt and the wind in my hair. I pushed the bike faster and faster, trying to outrun the memories, the phantom feeling of his touch, the words carved into my soul.
My body, my blood, my womb...
The words echoed like a litany in my mind. I kept riding until the sun was high overhead, until my shoulders ached and my eyes burned. Finally, I pulled off at a dingy truck stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I went into the diner, ordered coffee and a greasy plate of eggs, and sat in a booth by the window, watching the world pass by.
I tried to think logically. Rationally. The dream had to be a product of my own mind. A manifestation of the fear and the… whatever the hell I was feeling for him.
Okay, I understand that part. I also realize that I seem to be a reborn version of some priestess who cursed him. And the curse is that he can't have me unless I give myself to him willingly.
So the dream... was that his way of trying to make me think I already had? Some psychic bullshit? A premonition? Or was it just my own traitorous brain, finally giving in?
I didn't know. And not knowing was the worst part. I was a creature of control, of logic. And my world had been turned upside down.
I ate my eggs, drank my coffee, and smoked a cigarette. I made a decision, this whole thing can kiss my fucking ass.