Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(55)

A week later, after the fire cooled, the tribe gathered the ash and rubbed it over Bear’s totem to seal their power together inside the carving for eternity.

*

The world of Fearless and Bear was so real and alive that Isleen could smell the ash from their funeral pyre. Only it wasn’t ash she smelled, it was the dark, earthy scent of fresh dirt. The kind of soil that could only be found when digging a deep hole. Like for a grave. An image of a beautifully carved coffin floated in front of her closed eyes. Gran’s coffin. Oh no. She wasn’t going to open her eyes. No way. It wasn’t safe out there—outside the shell of herself. Her only chance of survival was to keep floating in the dreamy haze of another time and be held safe in Xander’s arms. He wouldn’t let anything out there hurt her.

A raindrop pattered against her arm, another one on the top of her head. All around, hundreds of drops splattered against the grass, the leaves, but one sound wasn’t natural. The hollow thunking of rain against polished wood. No, no, no. She was not going to think about that.

A spike of thunder split the sky, the unexpectedness of it jolting her body. Xander tightened his grip on her, as if assuring her with his actions that he would protect her. But a fine, barely perceptible trembling traveled through his arms, up to his shoulders, and down his chest, until even the skin underneath her cheek twitched.

Something was wrong with Xander. She clenched her eyes shut, scrunched her face up, and held on tight to him. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t open her eyes, or talk to him. It was dangerous out there. But what if the danger wasn’t just to her? What if Xander was in danger? Because of her?

A low serrated growl rolled across the sky. Xander wheezed in a breath of air, his lungs expanding, then contracting so violently her body rocked against his. What had been a gentle trembling morphed into full-on violent quivering of muscle. The light of realization went on inside her brain.

They were in a storm. He had said he’d been struck by lightning.

“Xander?” Her voice was drowned out by another crack of thunder.

She tried to pull out of his hold to see him, but his grip was steel. “Xander. Let me go.” Panic—not for herself, for him—edged into her tone. Her eyes shot open. “Xan—”

“Baby?” He didn’t let go of her, just gave her room to pull back and see his face. His face was the color of milk, his scars the color of blood, and his eyes were an unnameable color that could only be described as tortured. “You’re back.”

“Are you all right?” She raised her hand to his cheek, needing to sooth the angry scars.

At her touch, he turned his face into her palm. “You’re asking if I’m all right?” His voice was thick, and he seemed to struggle to speak at all. “Are you all right?” Keeping one arm around her, he gestured to the side.

She didn’t want to look, but her eyes moved before she could stop them. What they saw, she could never un-see. They stood next to the jaws of an open grave. Gran’s grave. Inside that exquisite box lay Gran’s body.

Right after they’d been taken, she and Gran had fought for each other, fought to keep one another safe and sane, but when Gran’s mind had started going, Isleen had battled alone. Always struggling to protect Gran, to keep her alive for when they were rescued. For when they could start living again. But now, her fight was over. She had failed. Gran was dead. And it was all because of her.

You are the Dragon, a vile beast set upon this earth by the foulest of demons. Your evil will corrupt all. You will slay everyone you love. It is your nature. Queen’s words rose up out of the pit of buried memory and echoed through Isleen’s mind. She’d never believed Queen until now. Until this moment of truth.

She’d watched the man pour that poison into Gran’s mouth. Had watched Gran die. And had done nothing.

Her throat opened, and a wild mix of anguish, grief, and guilt spewed out of her in a sound so primal even the storm around them seemed to diminish under the immensity of her pain. A tornado of bad memories swirled around her, only there wouldn’t be a rainbow-colored Oz after this cyclone. There would be nothing left of her but the bad memories. She wouldn’t survive if she had to remember everything. It was too much. Too much. Too much. She beat the sides of her head with her fists.

“Stop. Right now!” Xander’s voice cut through the anguish at the same time his hands grabbed her wrists and forced them down to her sides. She tried to slam her head against his chest—physical pain being so much easier to deal with than the memories. He yanked her fully against him pinioning her arms at her sides and holding her tight. “I know what you’re trying to do. You need to feel this.”

“I can’t. IcantIcantIcant…” Everything she never wanted to remember was right there in front of her mind’s eye, and this time she couldn’t escape. Grief stole her breath. Regret broke her heart. Guilt shattered her into a thousand tiny shards.





Chapter 15


Reality and its repercussions tore Isleen away from sleep’s sacred oblivion. There was no moment of confusion between drowsing and waking. Nope. It was all right there with one horrifying memory ruling them all.

She lay on the couch where Xander had settled them after they’d gotten back from Gran’s grave. Directly across from her, a wide window opened onto a swath of yard, sloping down into an enchanting thicket of trees where wood fairies and mythical creatures ought to live. Overhead, the sky was an elusive shade of blue more translucent and gossamer than any color created by man. This place was all so magical and majestic and, for her, temporary.