My chest is still aching from the dream, my heart still skipping beats. I’ve never had such a real nightmare before. It rattled me to my core.
It made me never want to sleep again, for fear of having the same dream again.
So I climb from my bed and roam the halls of Whitley.
Something about this house disturbs me. It’s as though there is darkness in its heart, as though it has a soul, and it wants to absorb mine. I realize just how crazy my thoughts are, and I fight to suppress them.
Treading lightly, I quietly pad over the marble until I get to the massive glass doors of the library.
I only hesitate a moment before I open them and head outside.
I don’t know why.
I just know that I need some air. I need to be away from the pressing confines of the house. Something in here stifles me.
It’s not until I’m halfway down the path to the stables that I realize I’m barefoot. I’d walked from the house without any shoes.
What kind of lunatic am I?
I’m just turning to go back to the house when two headlights appear down the driveway. They shine into me, illuminating me through my nightgown, exposing my every line and curve. I wrap my arms around my waist, attempting to conceal myself in vain. But the car, a dark Porsche, doesn’t stop. It rolls past me toward the garage, and as it passes, Dare’s dark eyes stare at me through the driver’s window.
It must be 3 am and he’s only just now getting home?
Where in the world has he been?
But with a sinking heart, I know that it’s not my business, because I told him I wanted space. Because he’s an adult and he can come and go as he pleases and this is what I wanted.
It starts to rain so I pick up the pace, but it’s a wasted effort. By the time I make it to the gardens, it’s pouring, and I have to stop in a gazebo to wait it out. The wet winds blow across the moors, howling in a hauntingly chilling moan, and chills run up and down my spine.
I’d thought living in a funeral home was creepy. This estate makes that seem like child’s play.
Shivering, I huddle under the roof, the wind cutting through my wet nightgown.
What was I thinking coming out here?
“You know, most people wear shoes. And clothes.”
Dare lunges beneath the roof for shelter, soaked from head to toe. Unlike me, he’s fully clothed, but exactly like me, he’s completely wet.
“It’s not doing you a lot of good,” I point out. “You’re soaked through.”
He shrugs as he leans against a column, barely out of the downpour, shaking the water from his hair. He’s long and slim, and something about him reminds me of a deadly cobra, coiled to strike.
“It’s ok. I won’t melt, trust me.”
He examines me, his eyes as black as night. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, anyway?”
I think I see amusement in his eyes, amusement laced with concern, but I look away before I can be sure. This situation unsettles me, puts me on edge...wakes up every nerve ending.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
I don’t see the need to tell him that I was sleeping, but that a bad dream starring him woke me. No one needs to know that.
“You should go see Sabine tomorrow,” he tells me, his words helpful but his tone bored. “She’s a master at herbs. She’s got a tea that will put you down for the count.”
Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. Sabine, with her tiny twisted body and her dark mysterious eyes… it seems right that she would dabble in herbs.
“Ok. Maybe I will.”
Dare studies me, his eyes sweeping me from head to toe, watching my teeth chatter for a couple of minutes.
“If I had a jacket, I’d offer it to you.”
His words are quiet in the night, and offering a jacket is such a gentlemanly thing to do.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he chuckles. “I may not be as nice as you, but I have manners.” He straightens his body out, opening his arms. “Come here, Calla.”
To his warmth.
To his strength.
I want to.
I want to.
But I shake my head, determined.