Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
The sand is cool beneath my feet, and I squint as the late afternoon sun paints the water in shades of gold and orange.
“Tia?” I call, my voice swallowed by the gentle rush of waves. We’d walked across the quad to the beach just a few minutes ago, both sharing the drama of our day, then suddenly she was gone.
I frown. The beach isn’t anywhere near the quad. And didn’t Tia text me earlier that she was hanging out with some women from the Wiccan club after classes?
That’s when it hits me.
This isn’t real.
As if triggered by my realization, the water begins to churn, the gentle waves transforming into a roiling, bubbling mass. I take a step back, my heart hammering as the surf turns a sickening red-black, the color of cooling lava.
A small hand breaks the surface first—childlike but wrong, its skin slick and glistening as if oozing heat.
Its too-long fingers tipped with obsidian claws.
The lava creature pulls itself from the churning sea, its molten body hissing as it touches the wet sand.
Steam rises around it as it moves toward me with jerky, unnatural steps, its grotesque face a now-familiar parody of a child’s, with that too-wide smile full of needle-like teeth.
I spin to run, but my escape route is blocked. Two enormous scorpions have materialized on the dunes behind me, their pincers clicking in anticipation as their stingers curl high above their segmented bodies. They’re lining up on either side, herding me.
“Wake up,” I command myself, digging my nails into my palms. “Wake up now!”
But my body refuses to obey, and the dream holds me captive.
I look frantically for an escape route, turning in a slow circle as more lava creatures emerge from the sea and more scorpions appear on the dunes.
And then I see it—a cave set into a cliff face that I’m certain wasn’t there a moment ago.
There’s mist rising behind it, and in the haze I think I see the stone spires of a castle.
But it’s too far away. Too hidden. I can’t see a thing.
Still, I shiver.
All I can see is the opening to the cave. Pure black, revealing nothing.
I frown, trying to get my bearings. There’s something familiar about this, but I can’t make it click.
All I can do is move forward, drawn by the darkness.
By the insistent tug that both terrifies and entices.
I strain to look away, to find another path, but my feet are moving of their own accord, carrying me toward the cave entrance.
Here. Yes.
I remember.
I’ve been here before.
I take a step forward, and the moment I do, the creatures form a grotesque honor guard, creating a path that leads directly to the cave. And standing there in the shadows of the cave’s entrance is a man, his silhouette tall and proud and achingly familiar.
I move in that direction, more eagerly than I should. But it’s curiosity driving me, not desire.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
He extends a hand, beckoning me forward, and that’s when I remember the other time. The dark-haired woman who’d bound me with her silver rope. The shallow pool at the end of the cavernous tunnel. And the King whose kiss had utterly shattered me.
There’s danger here—I’m certain of it. This place. This man.
And yet there’s longing too. His for me. And mine for him as well. I don’t want it—this place is wrong, and when I think about what Chase has told me, I’m afraid Adric is dangerous, too.
But none of that matters in the face of my craving for answers.
He steps forward, tall and lean and proud. I fight the urge to rush toward him, my body craving another kiss like the one we shared. But I stand firm, my feet planted.
“You called me your queen,” I say. “You don’t even know me.”
He lifts a brow, his half-smile devastating. “Don’t I?”
He lifts one hand, a slow, almost lazy gesture, and the sand at my feet stirs. Green shoots push through, unfurling impossibly fast, and within seconds I’m standing in a patch of white daisies—their faces tilted up toward a sky that has no sun.
“I know you, Cora,” he says quietly. “I want to know you better.”
And the terrifying thing isn’t the magic or the monsters or the pull I feel toward this man. It’s that, for this moment at least, I believe him.
The sky darkens suddenly, and a thunderous boom shatters the moment. I look up to see an enormous golden dragon diving toward me, wings spread wide against the crimson sky. Its scales shimmer like captured sunlight, and astride its back is Dream Chase.
I’ve barely registered his face when that familiar golden rope lassoes my waist. A sharp tug, and I’m lifted from the ground, flying through the air as the creatures below screech in frustration.
Adric’s silver eyes find mine. “I will wait,” he says. “For you, Cora, I will wait as long as I must.”
Then I gasp as Dream Chase settles me in front of him on the dragon’s back.
One arm encircles me as the other takes the reins, and despite the danger, despite the madness of this dream, it feels right to be held against him like this, as if my body remembers something my mind has forgotten.
“It’s happening faster than I expected,” he says, his breath warm against my ear. “They’re getting bolder.”
“Who?” I twist to look at him, but his gaze remains fixed on the horizon. “What’s happening to me?”
Instead of answering, he silences me with two fingers pressed softly against my lips and a kiss brushing the back of my ear, so lightly it might be my imagination. But real or not, it sends sizzles of electricity racing through me.
“Don’t trust him, Cora,” he murmurs. “Never trust him.”
“Chase, please. I don’t understand.”
“Goodbye, Cora,” he whispers, and I scream as he pushes me sideways, off the dragon’s back to fall down, down, down into that swirling vortex of darkness, deeper and deeper and deeper until—
With a gasp, I bolt upright in bed, a scream trapped in my throat and the phantom sensation of Dream Chase’s lips still tingling against the curve of my ear. My heart pounds, and I tell myself that it was just a dream even though I know damn well that it was so much more.
I only wish I understood what.
The Griffin’s Nest sits about four blocks from campus, wedged between a saltwater taffy shop and a place hawking overpriced seashell art. It’s the kind of independent bookstore that shouldn’t still exist in the age of online shopping but somehow persists through sheer stubbornness.
An enticing scent hits me the moment I step inside—old paper, fresh coffee, and something earthy I can’t quite identify. Vanilla, maybe, or sandalwood.
“Be right with you,” a male voice calls from somewhere in the maze of bookshelves.
I linger awkwardly in the entryway of my new workplace, complete with flexible hours and all the coffee I can drink.
As I wait, I take in the space. Small reading nooks are tucked in corners, and a coffee counter runs along the left wall, its surface covered with colorful patterns of light from the stained-glass panels above the entry.
It’s completely charming, and I owe Uncle Finn big-time for getting me this gig.
My scholarship covers tuition and housing, but I still need money for general life stuff.
Especially since my mom coupled her lack of life insurance with a pile of debt, and I don’t even know my father’s name.
Not that I’d ask my deadbeat dad for help, even if I could track him down.
Nope. Not bitter at all.
“You must be Cora.”
I spin around, startled, to find a man emerging from between two tall shelves.
He looks to be in his late sixties—maybe early seventies—with a shock of white hair and bushy eyebrows over kind eyes.
He’s wearing faded jeans and a sweater vest over a button-up shirt, looking every bit like a stereotypical bookstore owner.
“Mr. Griffin?” I offer my hand. “Thanks for hiring me.”
His grip is firm, his palm rough with calluses. “Finn speaks highly of you. Plus,” he adds with a note of gentleness, “he says you’ve had some rough years. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” I glance at the floor long enough to blink back tears, wishing that my uncle had said nothing, but at the same time appreciating that this man really seems to care.
“Sometimes a peaceful job surrounded by books is all anybody needs. Welcome to The Griffin’s Nest.”
“Thanks,” I say, certain I’ll like it here.
“Let me give you the grand tour.” He’s already moving, and I fall in step beside him. “We sell books, obviously, and decent coffee. The morning rush is mostly caffeine seekers. The afternoon crowd tends more toward readers and tourists. You’ll handle both.”
I nod, then hurry to catch up as he disappears into the stacks.
The tour is brief but thorough, even including rare books and what Mr. Griffin calls “specialty interests,” but which seem to all be occult in nature. I pause, trailing my fingertip over spines with titles like Dreamwalking: Ancient Practices and The Veil Between Worlds.
One book in particular catches my eye—Sleep Terrors and Supernatural Visitation. I pull it out, surprised by its weight. Although maybe I shouldn’t be. After all, I have personal knowledge about just how deep that particular topic can go.
“Interested in that sort of thing?”
I jump—for a moment I’d forgotten where I was—then shove the book back onto the shelf, wondering what Uncle Finn has told him.
“I’m a psych major. Anything about the mind grabs my interest. How come the store has such a large occult section?
” I wince. I’d blurted out the question before I could talk myself out of it.
“This is St. Augustine,” he says, as if that explains everything. Considering what the guide said during orientation, I guess it kind of does. “Any questions so far?”
“Not yet, but I will say you’ve got some pretty cool books in your inventory.”
“Oh, I definitely do.” He grins, almost like he’s keeping a secret. “Come on. There’s more to see.”