Page 20 of Ashen Souls

In my old room, I closed the door and changed out of my clothes, pausing after every motion to keep the nausea at bay. My phone buzzed again.

Harper: If he shows up in your dreams again, kick him in the spectral balls.

Me: Ghost balls?

Harper: Demon, ghost, hot guy in a trench coat. Whatever. I’m pro-consent in all realms.

Me: Noted.

I switched off the lamp. Darkness gathered in the corners of the room, slowly bleeding over the posters and the bookshelves, swallowing everything familiar.

I closed my eyes, and a treacherous thought crept through the exhaustion: Would he come back?

The house was finally quiet. But it wasn't the silence I was waiting for.

6

♫ CROSSES—SENSATION

Silk caught me.

No falling. No fading. One second I was braced for the worn cotton of my childhood bed, and the next, reality simply snapped. The faint scent of chamomile died. Smooth, black sheets swallowed me instead, drowning out everything I knew.

I dug my nails in.

A hiss of ignited air split the dark. It was thick with smoldering cedar and crushed spice, coating my throat.

Flames flared along the walls, catching in iron sconces. They stretched toward the high ceiling before tilting in unison, bowing to a current I couldn't feel.

I sat up. The pressure behind my eyes was gone. The nausea, the ache in my ribs—erased.

In the corner where the light failed, the shadows uncoiled from the stone.

“You drag the stench of that fragile mortal world straight into my domain.” The voice scraped across the floor, sinking deep into me. “But beneath the chamomile and bleach... you smell like a soul begging for ruin.”

“Daeren,” I breathed.

He stepped forward, abandoning the gloom as though it were a discarded cloak. Bare skin. Dark hair falling in a messy slash across his forehead.

“Did you ache for my fire, Aveline?” A lethal softness bled into his voice.

I forced my spine rigid, refusing to sound as desperate as I felt. “I was actually hoping for a quiet nightmare for a change. Something relaxing.”

“Little liar, my Patches,” he murmured.

“I haven't even decided yet if I'm going to let you call me that,” I shot back.

A slow, wicked curve claimed his lips, as if he had already heard me say those exact words.

He began to close the distance.

“You’re telling yourself this is wrong.” His voice dropped to a low rumble as his gaze tracked the erratic rise and fall of my chest. “But your body disagrees.”

“This is a dream.” I closed my eyes, trying to force the cotton and floral wallpaper back into existence. “This is just a dream.”

But when I opened my eyes, he was already there. Two dying coals pinning me to the mattress.

“You are in my fucking hell, Aveline.” The heat of his proximity left me frozen in place. “And I am the only one who decides when you get to leave.”