Wilde's Fire (Darkness Falls #1) (7 page)

“You don’t believe him?” I’m curious as to why he cannot connect the dots or even
feel
the difference. Were the creatures not indication enough?

“Do
you
?”

“I’ve felt like we weren’t at home from the second we left the water,” I say. I should have known something was wrong much earlier on in our trip. The moment I had the first vision of the woman, while we climbed Goat Ridge, I should have led us all right back to the Jeep.

Brad holds me prisoner with his gaze. He’s probably hoping I will change my mind and tell him I think the people he’s been talking to are crazy, but I’m not budging. He must think
I’m
crazy for believing we’ve entered another world. I feel it, even if he cannot.

“Be careful, Kate. I’ve heard the two old doctors whispering about us all day. If I weren’t stuck in this bed, I would have us home and never look back,” Brad says, closing his eyes.

He’s in pain and trying to hide it.

“What have they been whispering about?” I ask, breathless.

“I don’t know; something about them makes me uncomfortable.” Brad shifts in bed and lets out a muffled cry.

He’s dying in front of me, and there’s nothing I can do but watch. I’m useless to him here. What could they have been whispering about us, other than how lucky we are to be alive? Brad must be paranoid. He has bruises on his arm where someone has, more than likely, injected him with drugs. Those must be affecting him, too.

I have to figure out where we are and how to get home.

Swallowing hard, I stand and straighten the nightgown. “I don’t think they mean to hurt us. I’ll go talk to them and get some answers.”

“Don’t go yet. Stay with me for a while, please?” Brad whispers.

My surge of resolve melts away. “Okay.”

I move a chair from the corner of the room, set it next to the bed, then I take a seat. I prop up my elbows, rest my head in my hands.

Brad drifts in and out of sleep for what feels like hours. Sitting and watching my lifelong friend die is painful. He’s been here for me for almost as long as I can remember, held my hand when I was scared, made me smile when no one else could. I cannot imagine a life without him in it, without his witty remarks, his always knowing the right thing to say, and the warmth of his arms around me when I’m sad.

What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I tell him about the light? At least, if I had, he could have decided whether he wanted to come with us. He might not be here, if I had said something. I want to cry, but I don’t want Brad to see me upset. I don’t want to make him any more worried than he is already.

Waking again, he watches me while I think over all the mistakes I made in the forest. He motions with his finger for me to come closer.

I lean over his body.

He smiles—or at least tries to—as he pulls my face down to his, finds my lips, and gives them a sweet kiss.

I cannot return his love. Other than how strange it feels, touching his swollen lips with mine while he burns with fever, I worry Brad wants more from me—more than I’m sure I want to give him. The only thing I’m positive of, in this moment, is that if he doesn’t receive the proper treatment soon, this could be the last time I ever see or kiss him.

I stand. “I’m going to get answers.”

“Come back soon.”

“I promise.”

A renewed strength builds, centering me. My mission is to save Brad, get home, and never dream of going near that swimming hole again. Reaching the door, I turn to look over my shoulder; Brad’s eyes are closed. I pray this is not the last time I see him alive.

he hall is empty. The clanging of dishes has stopped. To the left are two other doors; one at the end, and one diagonally across from Brad’s room. I make the choice to go right.

Neither of the rooms I’ve been in have windows; small sconces with flickering candles line the wall and provide the only light.

Reliefs of people from a happier time decorate the length of the packed dirt walls. I run my fingers across the contours of the art-filled earth. The serenity displayed on the faces of the people in these scenes seems so unreal. With rings of flowers through their curly locks, children laugh and dance by a pond. Men play flutes, and women hug their babies. Everyone is smiling. The beauty of it is touching. Something nags at the back of my mind. The simple clothing, the wooden instruments, the love of the mothers for their children and the happy men—I know these people. I’ve seen them in so many of my dreams.

After getting lost in the beauty and familiarity of the walls, I walk to the end of the hall, just past the room I’ve been sleeping in. The corridor leads into a dining room. Five round tables, each with four wooden chairs, cluster throughout the little area. A buffet table made from a huge tree trunk, full of steaming, hot food sits against the far wall. My stomach growls furiously at me. When did I last eat?

Setting aside the fact I’m supposed to find answers, I look around, then make my way over to the table. Meat, potatoes, carrots—everything looks delicious. I grab a dish from one end and pile it full of enough food to feed Brad
and
me. But he’s asleep; I’ll take him something later.

Sitting at the closest table, I inhale the meal. Midway through a bite of chicken, guilt consumes me. So far, these people have been good to us. They’ve saved our lives, cleaned us up, and given us beds. In return, I’m stealing food from them, but now that I’ve done it, I might as well finish devouring what I put on my plate.

My mind wanders off and out of this gloomy little room, and I think about Brad’s confession. I should have seen it coming. How could I not realize he loves me as much as he does? People tried to tell me, but he always denied it. Even if I had accepted the truth, he was my friend—my good friend—but I had deeper feelings for someone I’ve never met. A relationship with Brad wouldn’t have been fair.

Tears stream down my face as I finish my meal. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my sleeve. Instead of sitting here, thinking about how stupid I am for the rest of my life, I should take food to Brad and wait for him to wake up so he can eat. If I’m going to steal, it should be for someone who is sick and more than likely going to die.

I put so much food on the plate, potatoes and chicken hang over the edge. Turning to take the treasures back to Brad’s room, I bump into someone standing right behind me. My gaze works its way up a man’s chest, neck, face, then finally comes to rest on eyes so familiar, my hands tremble, and all the blood in my body runs cold.

It’s
him.

The dish falls to the floor. Bits of food splatter all over the place.

“You must be Kate,” he says, frowning at me.

“Y-yes. I came to find someone to talk to and saw all of the food and couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess.” I kneel to gather pieces of plate, chicken, and potatoes from the floor and begin to whisper under my breath. “This is all just a dream, it’s just a dream, and everything is going to be okay.”

“A dream?” He laughs, joining me on the floor. “No, Kate, this is not a dream.”

“Well, you have been in almost every one of my dreams since I was fourteen,” I say, not meeting his eyes. Do concussions cause hallucinations? I rub the back of my head. The swelling from my meeting with the rocks on Goat Ridge has gone away.

He places his fingers under my elbow, then lifts me to my feet. Surges of excitement rush up my arm and into my chest; air catches in my lungs.

“That is not necessary. They will clean it up,” he says, pointing to Lann and another man who looks like he could be Lann’s twin.

The two men do not appear pleased about having to clean up my mess, but they move right in as they were instructed, while I’m brought to a table in the middle of the room.

Arland motions for me to sit down, facing away from them. “Have you eaten?”

“Y-yes, but I was taking something for my f-friend.” Formulating fluid thoughts seems to be impossible. I’m flustered by his presence. His eyes, the beautiful emeralds I’ve stared into a hundred times, hold my gaze now. He’s so intense, so handsome—so exactly how I dreamed.

“Flanna, will you please prepare a plate for our guest’s friend?” he asks, without looking away from me.

I glance over my shoulder as Flanna rushes through the room, doing as she’s been instructed. Her long, fiery-red hair bounces as she walks; her skin glows a pale white. I cannot get a good look at her face, but she must be as beautiful as the men I’ve seen here so far.

The intensity of Arland’s eyes burns straight through me. I’m perplexed by his appearance—millions of questions buzz through my head, but nerves win out over my need for answers, rendering me mute. I allow him to speak first.

“So you say you have dreamed about me? Would you mind sharing?” He gives me a warm smile, but it transforms into a smirk. He’s enjoying this.

I feel my whole face flush. A memory of a kiss flashes in my head, sending the heat rushing into my cheeks. “What do you want to know, Arland Maher?”

He laughs. “What did we do in these dreams?”

I stare at my hands, afraid to meet his eyes again—afraid he’ll laugh me out of the room, but I might as well lay it all on the line. If this is a dream, it won’t matter, but if it’s real, well, he’ll know what he’s done to me. “We’ve fought side-by-side, worried for one another, lain in bed together for days, kissed passionately, and loved each other deeper than could ever be true in reality. I’ve also seen you die dozens of different ways and found myself alone and broken, each and every time. You are the only man I’ve ever loved with my whole heart.”

Arland’s smirk fades; his jaw tightens.

“Cadman, where did you report finding Kate and the boy?” he asks of a man entering from the kitchen.

I close my eyes.
Wake up. This is just a dream. It’s not real. You’re in your bed; you’re at home. Brad is just fine. None of this is happening.

Heat radiates into my shoulder blades. Looking up, I see the corner of Cadman’s lip twist up—just a little. He is the same man who carried me into bed when I thought Brad had been killed.

“We found them in the clearing, sir. We heard the girl screaming from the edge of the forest and knew someone needed help.”

“I believe I instructed you to inform me upon discovering
anyone
in the clearing!”

“I am sorry, sir. You were away upon the arrival of these two innocents. I should have informed you this morning, when you returned from Wickward, but failed to do so.” Judging by the flecks of gray in his short, red hair, and the wrinkles around his mouth and deep-set eyes, I’d say Cadman is in his late fifties. He stands straight, waiting for someone much younger to mete out his punishment.

But it doesn’t come.

Arland whispers into Cadman’s ear. Without another word, he walks away, but before disappearing into the hallway, he steals one more glance at us.

“We have been expecting you for a very long time. How did you and your friend find the entrance to Encardia?” Arland asks, his attention back on me.

“Expecting me? What do you mean?”

“Are you Katriona Wilde? Daughter of Brian and Saraid Wilde?”

Arland knows my name, my parents’ names, and he has been waiting for me. But how can this be? How can I dream of someone I’ve never met, never known, who’s from another world?