Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(49)

Her doorknob was cold against his fingers. One look and then he was gone. He poked his head in through the opening. The room was flooded in tarnished moonlight, the bed empty, covers tossed and tussled like she’d just been there. He swung the door wide. His heart galloped in his ears; his own breathing bellowed in and out of his lungs. The sound of his body was so alarmingly loud, he held his breath so his ears could find her.

And then he heard her. A soft sob and a sound of pain from the far side of the bed. No longer caring about the noise, he ran. He found her sitting slumped on the floor, the pretty, pale-blue sundress she’d worn that morning scrunched up around her thighs. Her eyes cut him to the core. They were wide open, staring down at a nothing space. Tears dripped in a steady flow, slicking her hands and splashing onto her dress.

She was having one of those dreams again. And this one looked like a real fucker. He crouched down to face her and then snagged her by the upper arms, yanking her up straight.

Her skin was arctic, while he felt volcanic. He could practically feel his own heat thawing her. “Isleen? Baby, wake up. You’re dreaming.” He hated to do it, but it always seemed to work so he shook her, rattling her head around on her slender neck.

The tension eased from her muscles, and her eyes blinked and moved instead of being fixed on nothingness.

“You back?”

Her gaze shifted upward, her eyes brimming and overflowing, the tears a river of sorrow on her face. “Gran.” Her voice quavered. Her chin quivered. “Oh my God. Gran.” Her tone was filled with fear and horror. She wrenched out of his grip, turned, and scrambled on hands and knees until she got her feet beneath her, then sprinted out of the room.

What now? He’d thought she was awake. “Wait.” He chased after her, out the door and down the hallway. For such a tiny thing, she was damned fast. “Isleen. Stop.” His voice echoed through the cavernous house, and his boots slapping on the hardwood floor were mini-earthquakes of noise. What was going on?

“Xander? What the—” Matt’s voice reached him, but he didn’t have time or energy for a response. All his attention was focused on getting to Isleen before she hurt herself. He gained on her going down the stairs, the muscle memory of running down the stairs as a child taking over. At the bottom he reached out to her, but she darted behind the steps to Gale’s room.

Isleen stopped in the middle of the room as quickly as if someone had hit her pause button. He crashed into her, sending her sprawling forward. Somehow he managed to grab on to her and haul her against his chest. He held her back against his front, her body limp and compliant, and he had a second—only a second—when he thought everything was going to be all right.

Then his gaze found the bed and the frail figure whose covers were pulled up over her head.

And then he noticed what he didn’t hear: the rush and swoosh of Gale’s heart pumping blood, or the suck and whine of air being processed through her lungs.

“No.” Isleen’s voice was a whisper and a world of pain. “No. No. No.” Each no got louder. “No!” She screamed the word one final time and then just screamed, bucking and fighting in his arms to go to her grandmother’s corpse. He wouldn’t let her. She didn’t need to see whatever was under those covers.

“Jesus!” Uncle Matt rushed by them to the bed.

Xander whipped around and half carried, half dragged Isleen out of the room. Dad rushed by, not even glancing at them.

Isleen bit, she clawed, she tried to kick him, but nothing was gonna make him let go. She’d had enough trauma in her life without seeing her grandmother in death. The sounds coming out of her were pure undiluted pain and brought wetness to his eyes.

“Baby, I’m here.” He didn’t have any other words. Nothing to take away her grief. All he could give her was himself and the assurance that whatever she had to face, she wouldn’t be doing it alone. “I’m here.”

“Gale, wake up.” Dad’s voice carried out to them.

“I’m here,” Xander said to Isleen.

“Wake up.”

“I’m here.”

“Gale. Wake up.” Grief frayed the edges of Dad’s voice. “I’m touching you. Wake up. Wake up. Wakeupwakeupwakeup…”

Isleen’s muscles and bones seemed to melt. Xander lost his grip on her for a moment, then locked on tighter and hauled her up in his arms.

“You killed her!” Dad stood in the doorway, pointing his finger at them, but the way his eyes shot hate beams at Isleen, it was clear just who he meant.

“Don’t. You. Ever accuse her of harming her grandmother. She was already dead when we found her.”

His father looked up at Xander, his face streaked with wetness. “I hate you for finding her. For bringing her back into my life. For making me go through this again.”

“No sweat off my balls. But don’t you dare hate Isleen. She’s the granddaughter of this woman you loved. She’s innocent. And she needs you to help her. She’s been having dreams that come true. And this was one of them.”





Chapter 14


Three days later…

“Xan, she’s had a break from reality.” Uncle Matt spoke the words real slow, as if allowing each syllable time to be absorbed before moving on to the next one. The asshole didn’t even bother hiding that he thought Xander was a weak-minded fool.