Dydra jolted awake, breath tearing from her chest as though she had surfaced from deep water. For a moment, her mind refused to settle, her thoughts scattered like startled birds. Then the world sharpened, and her heart skipped violently. She was back inside the carriage. Hugh's carriage. Panic clawed up her spine as she tried to sit up, only to realize her body would not obey. Cold metal bit into her wrists and ankles. Chains. Her gaze dropped, dread pooling in her chest as she confirmed it—she was bound. The leather-lined walls of the carriage seemed to close in on her, the faint sway beneath her body mocking the freedom she thought she had won. Hadn't she escaped? Hadn't she ridden into the forest and vanished? Her breathing turned shallow as a figure shifted within the shadows opposite her.
"Such beauty," a voice murmured, thick with hunger.
Her blood ran cold. The figure leaned forward, and Hugh emerged into the dim light, his smile crooked, yellowed teeth exposed as his fangs glinted faintly. He moved fast, too fast. His weight crashed down on her, crushing the air from her lungs, pinning her helplessly against the seat. She screamed, the sound tearing from her throat in raw terror. "No! No, no, no—someone help me!" She thrashed against the chains, metal biting deeper into her skin, but he only laughed, his breath hot against her neck. His head dipped lower, lips grazing her skin, and despair flooded her veins. She wasn't going to survive this. She couldn't endure it again. Never again.
Then her voice vanished.
Her mouth still moved, her lips forming frantic pleas, but no sound came. Horror eclipsed panic as she realized she could no longer hear herself. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she strained, screamed silently, begged with nothing but breathless air. Why couldn't she speak? Why couldn't she hear her own voice? The questions spiraled, tightening around her thoughts until something else seized her attention—a sudden, brutal grip around her throat. Fingers closed hard, cutting off her breath. Her vision blurred as she struggled to see her attacker, and through the haze, a small red glow flickered. A low snarl vibrated through her bones. Her heart thundered as recognition struck. Red eyes. Vampire eyes.
Her vision cleared, and Hugh was gone.
Jerry loomed over her instead, his face twisted with fury, fangs bared, crimson eyes blazing with malice. "Your kind needs to die," he roared, tightening his grip. "Your kind needs to die!" The words echoed, over and over, pounding into her skull as the chains began to move. They crawled over her body like living things, slithering across her chest, her arms, her neck. She tried to scream again, but her voice was gone, stolen from her entirely. Tears streamed down her face as fear consumed her, her head spinning, a piercing ringing filling her ears. Darkness closed in, dragging her under.
Her eyes flew open.
She gasped sharply, sucking in air as though she had been drowning. Her hands flew to her throat, fingers digging into her skin. There was no grip. No chains. No vampire. Her chest rose and fell erratically as she scanned the room, pulse roaring in her ears. Wooden walls. A straw mattress. A small chest. Oryen's room. She was safe. Or so it seemed. Her breathing slowed slightly, but confusion lingered. Had it all been a dream? She rubbed her neck—and froze. Her throat ached. Worse, faint soreness lingered exactly where Jerry's fingers had been. Her brows knitted tightly. If it had been a dream, why did her body remember it so vividly?
Unease settled deep in her stomach as she rose unsteadily and stepped into the washroom. She stopped short. The tub was filled with warm water, steam curling lazily into the air. Her heart skipped. She hadn't drawn a bath. Slowly, she backed out and checked the door. Locked. From the inside. Her pulse spiked. How could Oryen have entered without unlocking it? She scanned the room again, dread creeping into her thoughts. The sweet scent of roses filled the air, thick and unmistakable. She searched for the source—flowers, herbs, anything—but found nothing. Her breath trembled as she leaned against the door, squeezing her eyes shut. You're imagining things, she told herself fiercely. You're shaken. That's all. The nightmare felt real because it was terrifying. Nothing more.
Clinging to that thought, she forced herself to move. She bathed quickly, scrubbing her skin as though she could wash the fear away, then dressed in her black gown. She folded the clothes Oryen had given her neatly and placed them on the bed. Slipping on her boots, she tied the golden locket around her wrist like a bracelet, the familiar weight grounding her. She would leave today. Find a town. Find work. Start over. Gratitude warmed her chest as she thought of Oryen's kindness, and she resolved not to overstay her welcome.
The sound of movement drew her toward the kitchen. She paused at the doorway as she spotted Oryen, her back turned, slicing vegetables with practiced ease. Without looking up, the woman spoke calmly. "Go set the table, dear."
Dydra hesitated. She needed to tell her she was leaving. Night would fall soon, and she had to reach civilization. She bit her lower lip, uncertainty tightening her chest. When she didn't move, Oryen turned, amusement flickering briefly in her eyes. "What are you wearing?" she asked mildly. Then her gaze sharpened. "You're not planning on leaving, are you?"
Guilt bloomed unexpectedly. Dydra dropped her eyes. "I am," she said softly. "I don't wish to overstay my welcome. I'm deeply grateful for everything you've done."
A quiet chuckle escaped Oryen, puzzling her. "May I ask what's amusing?" Dydra asked carefully.
Oryen stepped closer, her gaze drifting to Dydra's neck. "Nightmares," she murmured.
Dydra stiffened. Her eyes widened as she backed away instinctively. "What did you say?" How could she know? The calm certainty in Oryen's expression unsettled her more than the dream itself. Questions swarmed her mind. Was this woman truly just an old hermit? Or something far more dangerous?
The cottage felt suddenly smaller. And Dydra realized, with a chill settling deep in her bones, that she might not have woken up from the nightmare at all—she might have only stepped into another one.