Page 15 of Taming His Vampire Mate

He gave me a mild look, lips twitching with amusement.

I didn’t speak. He didn’t either.

Fuming—ortryingto—I turned away. On principle, I hated that he’d found me again. But I couldn’t deny that his presence didn’t feel bad. It didn’t feel like an intrusion. Instead, it felt… easy. My body wanted to relax, to shed anger. I had to cling tightly to my annoyance.

I don’t want him, I told myself firmly. I don’t.

But I still glanced back. I still traced the line of his jaw, his broad shoulders, the piercing blue of his eyes—so much darker than mine, like sapphires at midnight, glittering under a full moon. His hair was unkempt, too long, with dried leaves tangled in it. Dirt streaked his face. Sweat shone on his brow.

Then I froze.

Wait. How had he gotten here?

For that matter, what wasIdoing here?

I blinked, realizing for the first time he was completely naked. He had been all along. I just hadn’t noticed.

Reality wavered, surreal, like nothing was quite solid except this man beside me. And though I knew him biblically, I didn’t even know his name.

My mate broke eye contact, looking past me. His brows drew together, eyes darkening. Dangerous.

Dread coiled in me.

The world seemed ready to split apart.

Slowly, I turned to see what he was staring at.

If my heart had still been beating, it would have frozen.

The rest of me certainly did.

Twenty feet away, Godric stood in the middle of the street, watching us. His expression was strange, vacant.

Beneath his feet was another puddle of blood, fresher than the others, glistening in the sun.

And as I watched, it spread. Expanding in all directions without a source, becoming a sea of red that swept over the street, climbing cars, scaling walls, drenching buildings.

The entire time, Godric’s gaze never left mine.

The blood rushed toward me. Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed—a high, keening wail people only make when there’s nothing left to do.

I jerked awake.

My eyes snapped open. I sat up in bed, blinking against the cool darkness of my room. Shades drawn. Alone.

The empty town, boarded-up shops, blood, Godric in a sea of red—it had all been a dream. The man I’d met in the woods—now that I was awake, I was avoiding the “M” word, thank you very much—had been a dream too.

I’d dreamed of him every single night since that first encounter. Always the same. He never spoke. He barely even looked at me.

One would think that if he were just a subconscious manifestation of repressed desire—or whatever psychobabble is in vogue this decade—there’d be more actual desire involved. But he hadn’t touched me.

Not once.

Not since the forest.

Still, something had changed. My dreams were sharper now, more vivid. Far more lucid, as though I were truly there. I’ve never paid much attention to dreams before—they were fleeting ghosts, hazy and murky at best. I’ve had a handful of luciddreams over the years, but not every night for nearly a month solid.

It was all very… odd.