The scream caught in her throat.
She bolted upright in the bed, chest heaving, hair damp with sweat. The silk sheets tangled around her legs like vines. Her hands gripped them as though they were the only thing keeping her from falling straight into the nightmare again.
The fire had died down to a few glowing embers. The moon had moved across the sky, casting pale blue light through the stained-glass window above the hearth.
But the room was still.
Too still.
She pressed her palm to her chest. Her heart pounded so violently she thought it might break through her ribs. A cold draft slipped beneath the door, brushing against her damp skin like fingers.
It was only a dream, she told herself. Only a dream.
But it hadn't felt like one.
In it, she'd been running. Barefoot through the castle, the same stone corridors she had wandered hours ago. But they were different—twisted. Endless. The torches flickered with blue fire. The portraits bled black tears. The stone gargoyles moved when she turned her back.
And behind her… something chased her.
Not a man.
Not even a beast.
It was a shadow. A demon with no face. Just red eyes. Claws. And teeth too long for any living thing.
She'd run toward the iron doors—the forbidden ones. Something in her dream had screamed that safety waited behind them. That whatever chased her couldn't follow there. That he was on the other side.
She'd reached for the handle—
And then it had grabbed her ankle.
The cold. The pain. The growl.
That's when she woke up.
Elira swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, shaky but determined. The nightmare clung to her skin, to her breath, to the air in this room. She needed water. Or movement. Or just to prove to herself that she wasn't still dreaming.
She crossed to the window and looked out.
The forest surrounding Blackthorn stretched wide and wild. The castle's towers pierced the night like jagged teeth. The wind stirred the treetops, and in the distance, she thought she saw movement along the ridge.
A wolf, maybe.
Or something else.
She wrapped her arms around herself and backed away from the window. Every nerve in her body buzzed with warning. Her thoughts kept spiraling back to the dream… and how real it had felt. Not like fear, but like memory.
Or prophecy.
And then came the quiet thought she hadn't dared speak aloud yet:
What if the thing behind that door wasn't just Kael's secret… but hers too?
She woke with a gasp, sitting upright as if dragged from drowning.
Sweat clung to her skin. Her hair stuck to her temples. The sheets twisted around her legs like chains, heavy and suffocating. She clawed them off and stared into the darkness, chest rising and falling with sharp, panicked breaths.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
But gods, it felt real.
Her throat was dry, aching. Her heart thundered against her ribs so loudly she was certain someone—he—might hear it. She pressed a trembling hand over it as if she could calm it with touch alone.
The fire had burned low. Just a soft glow lit the chamber, barely enough to cast shadows. Still, she looked around—just in case.
No one.
No sound.
But the dream still clung to her like cold fog.
She had been running.
Running through Blackthorn Castle's halls, barefoot, breathless. The stones had whispered under her feet, and the torches burned an eerie, ghostly blue. Doors had shut behind her on their own. Paintings had watched her with hollow eyes.
And something chased her.
Not Kael. Not even a man.
A demon.
Dark, formless, massive. Red eyes and jagged teeth. The sound of claws scraping over stone echoed through her skull even now. It hadn't spoken, but she felt its hunger—felt the way it reached for her like it knew her, wanted her.
She'd run to the one place she shouldn't have—the door.
That forbidden, ancient thing at the end of the eastern corridor.
She didn't know why, but in the dream it had called to her. Like it knew she didn't belong out in the open. Like it was the only safe place left.
She reached for the handle—
And just before she could open it, the demon grabbed her ankle.
The burn of its touch still lingered, phantom-like, just above her heel.
Elira rose from the bed on unsteady legs. The air felt too thin in the room. Too heavy at the same time. She paced once, twice, trying to shake off the dream's hold.
But it clung to her bones.
That wasn't just fear, she thought. That was something else.
She crossed to the basin near the hearth and splashed cold water onto her face. Her reflection shimmered in the bronze mirror above it. Pale skin. Wide blue eyes. Damp golden hair like tangled silk.
She didn't recognize herself anymore.
This place—this castle—was changing her already. Or maybe it was just waking something that had always been buried deep.
A shiver danced down her spine.
Elira wrapped her arms around herself and turned back toward the bed—but paused.
Her eyes flicked to the chamber doors.
The hall beyond was dark. Silent. But not empty.
She could feel it. Something pulsed in the walls tonight, slow and steady, like a heartbeat buried in stone. Something had followed her into the dream—or maybe out of it.
And that door… that door in the east wing…
Why had it felt safer than her bed?