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CHAPTER EIGHT

T avia screamed herself awake, sweat sliding down her chest and back. The bedroom door crashed open, splintering at the hinges, and a frenzied, shirtless Lucius stumbled in.

His eyes were wide as he searched the darkness. The only light coming from the lantern on the side table.

“My home,” she said in a shaky voice.

“What about your home?”

“My mother was screaming for help. The whole cottage was on fire.”

She stood, trying to gather her thoughts.

“It was just a dream,” Lucius said, but she shook her head in denial .

“That was too real.”

She recalled the vision—how the flames had heated her skin and licked her neck.

“It was so real,” she said, pacing back and forth.

“Let me get you some water.”

She was so frazzled that she allowed Lucius to lead her out of the bedroom and into the living room, where she sat on the sofa. Wiley chirped after her, sensing her distress, and nuzzled into her lap.

“What if something happened to them?” Tavia's voice cracked.

“Don't think that way. I'm sure they're fine. It's just a night terror.”

Lucius went to the pitcher on the counter and poured her a cup of water. He brought it over and sat beside her, handing it to her. The charming, slick demeanor he usually wore was replaced with a serious expression.

“Just breathe, sip some water, and tell me what happened.”

She hastily drank the liquid, almost choking on it. She wiped the water dribbling from the corners of her mouth and placed the cup on the small table .

“I was home,” she said. “Outside the house . . . the cottage was on fire. My father—I don't know where he was. But my mother . . . her screams, her awful screams. It sounded like she was burning alive.”

Lucius reached over and placed a hand on her arm.

“I'm not a dream expert,” he said, “but we were just talking about your family—how you left. Maybe this is guilt.”

“Guilt for abandoning them?” Tavia answered. “It's been two years since I've returned home. What if something’s happened to them? What if they're already dead?”

She stood, facing the fireplace, and sobbed—months of guilt washing over her for staying away too long, for never checking in on her parents.

Lucius came up behind her, rubbing her arms and shoulders.

“Do you want to return home?”

Of course, she wanted to.

She needed to see if they were okay. But she also had a job to do, and what if this was just her guilt manifesting in a nightmare? It wasn’t the first time she had one. It certainly wasn’t the first time she had woken up screaming.

“I don’t know,” she said with defeat, her shoulders sagging.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had a nightmare,” she admitted. “I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

She hugged herself, and Lucius rubbed her arms but made no move to be closer. Yet, she desperately wanted a hug. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged her, and that realization made her cry even harder.

Sensing the ache within her, Lucius wrapped his arms around her. His skin was warm, and she wondered if that warmth came from the fire element within him. She didn’t think any vampyre could ever feel as warm as him.

“I can go if you send me,” he said.

“I just . . .” she tried to organize her frazzled thoughts. She was so tired and drained of emotion. The nightmares always wore her down. “But it was just a dream, right?”

She turned and wrapped her arms around Lucius. He froze slightly, surprised, but then melted into the embrace, hugging her back and resting his head on top of hers.

“Tell me what you want,” he asked softly, and suddenly, the things she wanted seemed very improper.

He was shirtless, and she remembered that she was wearing a short nightdress. The fire in the hearth had diminished to a low spark, its warm glow soothing her just as his arms did.

She pulled back, wiping her eyes and looking up at him.

The sharp planes of his face and the seriousness in his deep emerald gaze made her want to forget about the nightmare and everything else. His full lips looked perfect to kiss, but she couldn’t. Crossing that boundary would complicate everything. She needed this job—this coin to get back home.

Lucius eyed her, his arm still around her, his thumb rubbing slow circles along her skin. Yet, he made no move to press forward, though his gaze was filled with hunger.

“I’m going to go hunt,” he said .

A sheepish grin appeared on his face as he pulled back, brushing her hair behind her ear before separating.

“I haven’t had much to feed on, and it’s best if I go. We’re in a city, but woodland is on the outskirts. That is if you’re okay for now.”

“I can wait until you fall asleep again,” he added.

Somehow, she didn’t want to go back into that bedroom.

“Can I sleep out here?” she asked.

He nodded.

She lay down, pulling the blanket over her and resting on the pillow Lucius had been using. His scent lingered—cedar and smoke.

She gripped the blanket and pillow tightly.

Lucius knelt beside her, rubbing her head.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Can you wait until I fall asleep?” she asked.

He nodded.

“The door . . .”

She blinked, remembering how he had destroyed it when she locked it before falling asleep .

He shrugged as if it were nothing. “I’ll get another one. Right now, rest.”

Wiley snuggled under the blanket, pressing into her side.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Lucius pulled away and sat on the other couch, watching the fire. He rested his head back, closing his eyes, and she wondered if he would sleep or merely rest—and what he was thinking about.

Tavia was too tired to answer any of those questions. She closed her eyes, pushing away the nightmare and trying to remember her mother smiling and laughing.

It was just a nightmare, she told herself.

Her parents were alive and well, tending to the garden as always. No matter how long she’d been gone, they had remained exactly the same—safe, isolated, and happy.

But the fear tugged at the edges of her mind, and no matter how hard she tried to push it away, deep down, she knew something was wrong.