EIGHT #2
She let out a slow breath. “I’ve been told it on many occasions, so it’s not news to me,” Amelia muttered bitterly, tearing at her bread just to stare down at it.
Silas was quiet, so she looked up, finding him serious once more as he watched her.
Unable to interpret the look, she ploughed on.
“We’ve never gotten along, and while you can be a frustrating asshole…
sorry ,” she added, realising an apology should abstain from insulting the recipient.
Silas just chuckled. “…I know I’m also at fault, so if you could believe when I say I’ll try to be better so we can work together on this.
I hope to avoid only speaking in arguments. ”
He sat thoughtfully before responding. “Avoiding only arguments sounds doable. Probably not eradicate them, though.” Silas leaned forwards, edging closer to her. She raised a brow. “I do enjoy the occasional verbal sparring.”
Amelia tried to hide the smile, but her mouth betrayed her.
He leaned back, looking satisfied as he returned to his meal.
Lapsing into an easy silence that was abnormal between them, they ate their dinner and people watched.
There was a strange crowd in the Rider’s Retreat, ranging from large, bulky men with guns at their hips, to slight, wiry bookish types, who read while they ate.
Amelia pondered what they were here for.
To explore the Rift? The Southern Monolith?
She had a hankering to start conversations with each of them to satisfy her curiosity.
Though as her belly grew full, she warmed, eyes growing heavy. She leaned back and breathed out slowly. “I don’t know how I’ll stay awake until midnight,” she mused tiredly.
Silas’ blue eyes shifted from watching two men arm wrestle, to her face instead. “You should sleep,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically soft. “I’ll wake you before midnight.”
Confused, she straightened. “Really?”
Silas reached for her empty bowl and stood. “I’ll see you before midnight. Keep your door unlocked.”
He left her sitting alone, her eyes lingering on him while she wondered at the different sides to him. Amelia had only noticed the argumentative, insufferable know-it-all side of Silas. The past few days had exposed a depth she hadn’t expected. Silas had been at times kind, generous and…protective.
Amelia made her way back to her room, storing away her confusion for later perusal.
The mattress screeched as she lay down, though was surprised by its comfort. It took only moments for her mind to descend into slumber.
Amelia stood in a place that should not exist.
The air was thick, pressing against her skin like unseen hands, cold and weightless.
A vast expanse stretched out, neither sky nor ground, only an endless sea of swirling darkness threaded with veins of eerie, purple light.
The world shifted as if breathing, the shadows writhing and curling around her feet like a dense mist.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled in a low, resonant sound that set her bones aching.
Amelia stepped forwards, the ground shimmering beneath her boots. The light pulsed in response to her movement, dimming, then surging back to life. Every step felt unsteady, like the ground was made up by something shifting constantly, a live organism beneath her feet.
Then, she heard it.
A whisper, barely audible, curling around her like a serpent.
Amelia.
She turned sharply but found nothing. Just shifting darkness and that endless, pulsing glow.
The whispers grew, a chorus of voices. Some familiar, some foreign, all tangling together in a chilling melody. They slithered through the air, words dissolving before she could comprehend them.
One voice stood out starkly.
Amelia.
Her heart clenched. She knew that voice.
“Silas?” Her voice was swallowed by darkness, but the whisper returned, closer this time.
Find me. Help me.
A gust of wind rushed past her, and the shadows moved. They surged upwards, twisting into shapes. Figures, almost human, but stretched and hollow. Eyes like fractured glass glowed within faceless forms, and they each turned towards her.
She stumbled back.
The whispers surrounding her sharpened into a relentless hissing noise, and her heart thundered.
The shadows lunged for her.
Amelia gasped herself awake, the remnants of the dream clinging to her skin like ice. Her pulse pounded against her ribs, the whisper of his voice lingering in her ears.
Disoriented, she sat, looking around her dimly lit room.
A dream .
One that had felt unnaturally real, the deep voice belonging to Silas had been like a call for help.
Not just calling. Begging . The echoes of it sent a shiver down her spine, skin feeling cold.
Amelia checked her watch. It was just past eleven, the seconds ticking towards an approaching midnight.
She sighed and shifted to the edge of her bed, laying her hands across her knees.
The panic lingered, heart still beating too hard. She had the urge to check on him, to be sure that Silas was unharmed, strange as it was. Amelia turned her hand over and stared down at the cut on her palm.
“What are you doing to me?” she asked accusingly.
Unable to shake the feeling, she stood and shrugged on a jacket before stepping out into the dark hallway.
Amelia didn’t bother to knock as she reached for the door handle. It creaked violently on its hinges as she pushed it open, stepping inside with the urgency of someone about to deliver world-altering news.
“Finley—”
Amelia froze.
Silas stood in the middle of his room, shirt halfway over his head, muscles flexing as he yanked the fabric free.
His bare chest, marked with faint scars and a dark, sprawling tattoo across his left side, captured her attention.
The lamp on the nightstand cast a golden glow across his skin, shadows clinging to the sharp lines of his abdomen.
For just a second, Amelia forgot why she had entered his room.
Silas tossed the shirt to his bed and looked at her, expression shifting from confusion to exasperation. “Blimey, Winslow, ever heard of knocking?”
Her focus returned and she hurriedly shifted her eyes away from his bare chest, feeling flustered. “You should have locked your door!”
Silas arched an eyebrow at her. “I couldn’t…”
Amelia realised her mistake, eyes falling shut with mortification. “Right… ‘lock doesn’t work’ …” She cringed, but forced herself to act as if there was nothing unusual about having barged in on a half-naked Silas. Her eyes opened, chin high. “That’s beside the point.”
Silas ran a hand through his tousled hair, unimpressed. “Is it?”
“Yes.” She shook herself, regaining momentum. “Midnight is less than an hour away, and I realise you were going to wake me, but I think this bond is starting to affect me, so we should talk about that, and perhaps make a plan for midnight—”
“Slow down, Winslow,” Silas said exasperatedly. His chest expanded with an inhale and her eyes drifted back to the smooth skin against her will.
Catching herself, Amelia quickly looked away again. “Well, uh, join me in my room when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
Her gaze shot back to him, finding him smiling smugly.
Irritation straightened her spine. “Ugh, you’re so…
” Amelia struggled to finish the sentence, heat creeping into her cheeks as her attention roved, yet again, to his bare chest. This time, she lingered on the tattoo, a large tree spanning up his left side, and a more delicate inking across his left shoulder that she couldn’t make out.
“I’m what?” Silas prompted, stepping closer. The space between them felt much smaller, heat radiating off his skin, and Amelia pointedly kept her gaze above his collarbones.
She scowled. “You’re insufferable.”
Silas smirked. “You’re distracted.”
Her eyes widened at the insinuation. “I…am not .”
His smirk deepened, and she hated the way the blush in her cheeks did, too. “Then why are you still staring?”
Amelia opened her mouth, closed it again. Exhaling sharply, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the door. “Put on a damn shirt and meet me in my room.”
“Next time, knock .” Silas chuckled as she stormed out, fingers curling inwards at his parting words. “Unless you like what you see.”