Across the Pressing Dark (The Pressing Dark #1)

Prologue

Again, I sense her. The young woman who haunts me. I feel her beckoning as I stand at the forge, hammer in hand. Like a faraway whisper. A pull I cannot resist.

Promising myself just one moment, just one last glimpse, I let my gaze stray to the flames. My vision blurs, the world falls away, and my soul exhales in quiet relief.

There she is.

Perhaps these are waking dreams, my mind roving the edges of madness, but I don’t care.

I’ve never met her, yet she is somehow mine. As familiar as a remembered dream of comfort and home. It’s not because she’s beautiful, though she is that. Her proud shoulders and the long strength of her body belie a face that steals my breath with its loveliness.

Still, there’s something more. Something deeper. A kinship beyond blood or clan. Like firelight in the dark, she calls to me. As though I know her. As though she’s my missing piece.

“Callum!”

A shout of my name yanks me back to reality.

Best not to forget. I am no one. Nothing. Wanted by none. Deserving of naught so grand as dreams such as these.

The mirage dissolves, as fleeting as embers winking into night.