Shattered Secrets (Book of Red #1) (50 page)

’m standing in the middle of a meadow, surrounded by tall wheat grasses. Dotted along the hillside are thousands of purple and yellow wildflowers. Bending down to pick one, I catch sight of him. Tall, strong, with looks piercing straight through me.

Stepping away from the dark shadows of the forest, he crosses into the meadow
,
then stops in front of me.

“Katriona.” He utters my name as if there’s no other name in the world he’d rather speak.

“Arland.”

He reaches out to hug me, the way he has so many times before. His work-worn hands warm my skin with their touch. He leans in, closes his eyes—

The sun disappears. The sky turns black. Emerging from the forest, gray beasts with hollow eyes surround and watch us. Before Arland can turn and fight
,
a mangled creature rushes forward
,
then stabs him through the heart with a long, dagger-like claw.

My screams fill the darkness.

he light knock on my door doesn’t awaken me—I have been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour, trying to push the memories of a troubling nightmare from my mind. Easing myself from bed, I tiptoe across the worn boards of our family’s farmhouse. Before I reach the door, my younger sister pokes her head through. Her long, brown hair falls in waves in front of her face, giving her away before she walks into the room.

“You ready, Kate?” Brit asks, holding out a cup of coffee.

Glancing back at the bed, I watch my best friend, Brad, as he sleeps; the gray morning light glows on his skin.

“No. Let’s get a later start.” We’re supposed to be loading up the truck to head out to Skyline Drive, but our Mom is sick—the occurrence should be marked in a book of world records—and for the first time in our family’s history we’re not all going together. Our Memorial Day tradition is ruined.

“Take it.” Brit continues to hold out the hot promise of a good day for me. “You guys were up late, and you haven’t slept … how bad was the nightmare?”

I grab the mug. “How’d you know?”

“I just had a feeling. You wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’m okay.”

I sigh. One day I’ll get used to my nightmares. Six years I’ve dreamed of Arland, an ancient, rugged warrior who looks like he came straight from the pages of a fairy-tale. My warrior and I spend a good portion of my nightmares wrapped in each other’s arms, but always, at the happiest part, the dreams take a dark turn and end with him murdered in gruesome, unthinkable ways.

Years ago, I tried talking to my mom about Arland and how horrible the pain of his deaths feel, but I stopped confiding in her after hearing, “It’s just a dream, dear,” so many times. I even entrusted Brad with the details of my nightmares. He tried to be understanding, at least more than my mom was, but I could tell he thought the same way she did. I haven’t spoken to him about the nightmares again.

Brit is the only person I can confide in.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be downstairs.” She glances behind me, then shakes her head. “I think you’re blind.”

“Why is that?”

Brit points to Brad. “He’s gorgeous, and in love with you,” she whispers. “I’m surprised Mom and Gary allow him to sleep in here when they know what he really wants.”

Brad’s dark-blonde hair, baby blue eyes, and body built for playing football—although he never has—makes most girls do a double-take when he walks by, but to me he is just my best friend. Some of my girlfriends used to ask permission before asking him out on a date. I don’t know why they felt they needed it, but my answer was always yes. Unfortunately for my friends, Brad’s was always no.

“I could put in a good word for you,” I say.

“I’d probably be better for him, but he’s no good for either of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brit looks behind me.

Following her gaze, I see Brad roll over in bed, his eyes half open.

“Nothing. I’ll see you in a little while.” She closes the door.

“You girls don’t know the value of sleep, do you?” Brad asks, pressing the pillow over his head.

“This is late for us.” I laugh. “I’m gonna go shower.”

He waves his hand at me.

Grabbing the clothes I laid out yesterday, I head for the bathroom. My stepdad Gary passes me in the hall, worry lines on his forehead—Mom must not be feeling better.

“Good to see you up,” he says, always the earlier riser to work the farm. “You in better spirits about the trip?”

“Still disappointed, but glad to be going.”

“Don’t worry, Kate. You kids will be fine. You know those trails like the back of your hand.” He smiles. “Anyway, have a great time.”

I nod and escape into the bathroom, then hurry through the shower.

Running a brush through my wet hair, I hear Brad and Brit chattering in the family room about how incredible the trip is going to be. Before leaving the bathroom, I make a mental decision to ensure they both have a good time.

Brit looks up as I walk down the stairs. “It’s about time! You ready?”

“Yep, but we have to load the Jeep.”

“Done. Brad took care of it while you were in the shower.” Her smile stretches ear to ear.

“Okay, let me say goodbye to Mom—”

“You just missed them. Gary took Mom to the doctor’s office.”

“Well, let’s go, then,” I say, out of excuses.

The closest entry to Skyline Drive is about an hour from our home in Albemarle, Virginia. Brit and I have been singing at the top of our lungs the entire time. Brad, who usually sings along with us, sits without talking in the backseat, staring at the mountains forming on both sides of the road. 

“What’s wrong, Brad?” I ask.

Brit turns around and peeks over the seat at him. Her dark brown hair whips in the wind. “You aren’t getting cold feet because of the time you got lost, are you?”

Keeping my eyes on the road, I manage to punch her arm. “
Brit
.”

Brad’s baby-blue eyes meet mine in the rearview. “Actually, I was kind of thinking about that.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and grunts, giving me a look of satisfaction.

I stick my tongue out at her. “Why on Earth would you want to think about that?”

“It’s the first time I’ve been out here with you guys since I got lost. Without my mom to beg me not to go … .” It’s been a year, but he still has trouble talking about his mom’s death.