Page 31 of Ashen Souls

Every human man I had ever touched was a pathetic joke compared to the devastation he had just wrenched out of me. I hadn't even known my body was capable of splintering that way.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the darkness only gave the memory more room to breathe. I could still feel the airless press of him. The unblinking patience in his stare. The way he shaped my name on his tongue: not the casual, empty way the rest of the world used it, but as a visceral claim. Like he had owned every letter of it for centuries.

A perverted, damning truth curled in my gut.

I wanted him to be real.

I shoved myself upright before the thought could fester. The room tilted. I forced my bare feet onto the cold hardwood, desperate for the shock of the mundane. The heavy ache in my neck. The scent of coffee brewing…

Wait. I was in my own bedroom.

How did I get here?

I had fallen asleep on the sofa. My dad must have carried me. A fresh wave of horror washed over me. God. I prayed that this filthy nightmare had happened after he put me in my own bed.

Then I looked down at my left wrist.

Right over the pulse point was a mark. I gawked at the blistering arc of angry tissue. The outline was flawless. A literal brand, seared into my flesh.

My lungs seized. “No.”

I pressed a fingertip to the raised welt.

The pain was instant and biting, but beneath that sting was something far worse.

It was pounding.

A relentless beat that synced perfectly with the erratic rush of my own pulse.

I snatched my hand back. Psychosomatic, I tried to make myself believe. A stress reaction. The brain could trick the flesh.

The harsh vibration of my phone rattled against the nightstand.

Harper: I’m outside. Don’t pretend you’re asleep.

I scrambled off the mattress. The brand.

I lunged for the chair, snatching a fleece hoodie and shoving my arms into the sleeves. The thick weave dragged over the tender ridge, and my vision flashed white. I swallowed the groan, clutching my left wrist tightly against my stomach just as the bedroom door swung open.

Harper didn’t believe in knocking. She pushed into my room, balancing a coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

“Good morning, devil bride. I brought caffeine and baked goods in case you’re emotionally compromised.”

I forced my tense shoulders to drop. “I love you.”

“Obviously. Sit down.”

I sank onto the edge of the bed. She stopped mid-step when she got a proper look at my face. “Whoa. Okay. Either you slept terribly… or you slept really well.”

I hesitated. “Define well.”

She lowered her coffee cup slowly. “Oh my god.”

I gestured vaguely with my free hand, keeping the other buried in the sleeve. “I had another dream.”

“Wait, you’re still having those?” She thumped onto the bed beside me. “You didn’t tell me he made a comeback.”

“I didn't exactly want to broadcast it over the phone,” I muttered.