The Wolf Series #3: Between Two Worlds

Chapter 18

A/N: Ah! Thank you for your patience, everybody! I took a promotion in another state and have been relocating!

Chapter 18

They come towards me. The Collected. Their jaws clamp down on and tear me limb by limb. No matter how loudly I scream or how hard I kick, it's futile. They are unfeeling. Zombie-like. I am slowly consumed by their darkness.

These black, blown-out pupils meet mine. The longer I stare into them, the more constricted I feel. I see Death. Flashes of my worst nightmares reflected in their eyes. I shriek but I can't rip my gaze away from the horrors. I see the piles of bodies that Orion stands on. Eamonn. My parents. Adrian. Mac. Kiana. Their pups. Steph. Nancy and Addison. Nataniel...not him. Not him!

"Leave me alone!" I clutch onto one of them and shake it violently. It gurgles in my grasps, even as I tear it to pieces. It dissipates like a shadowy vapor in the atmosphere—my most jarring reminder that this is just a dream. Collected are not masses of energy, but reanimated corpses that would rot after destroying them. Darkness floods through my voice as I snarl, "Leave him alone!"

All at once they come down on me. A flood of Collected souls that have no purpose other than to snuff me out. I claw and fight them off, but only more gather. Pinned down under the weight of the humanoids, my chest feels crushed. My screams are snuffed out in the black void they create around my body. I can't move. I can't breathe.

"Prophet!"

I open my eyes, screaming. I'm drenched in sweat and curled up in a tight ball. Mansel's hand is on my shoulder, his eyes wide and frightened. I grab my stomach like I'm in pain, but all I want to do is cry. I feel like I'm about to be sick. Mansel and I stare at my trembling hands.

I tuck my head between my arms and sob loudly. Mansel's hand rests beside me, but he knows better than to touch me when I'm like this. All the Sentinels and Initiates learnt early on that my control is brittler than glass when I...when I get like this.

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. The word chants in my head as I tug at my hair. I can't stop replaying the dream in my head—the nightmare of watching my loved ones ripped to pieces. I can't do this anymore. I can't! I can't...I can't...

"I can't...I—I can...can't..."

"Prophet," Mansel speaks quietly over my blubbering, "Was it—"

"No, it wasn't a vision," I suck in a deep breath, "It was just a really bad dream."

"...Can I ask what it was about?"

This surprises me. Mansel doesn't inquire—he only absorbs what I tell him, nothing more and nothing less. But when he is sitting next to me on this small bed...the Moonlight seems to shine brighter on him than on me. I blink and he clears his throat.

"Sorry, I don't mean to pry—"

"It was just a nightmare..." It's all I can offer him. Years of secrecy lead to a habit of coveting all information. I feel as though my lips are sewn shut, or connected to wires that only open when I'm allowed to.

"Prophet...I..." He really is open tonight. I've only seen him run his hand over his hair in discomfort a handful of times. Mansel rarely loses his composure, which means this is really bothering him, "I'm sorry for what she did to you. I'm...sorry for not standing up to Serani—"

I grab his hands and his words get stuck on the tip of his tongue. He stares at me so intently, but all I can do is nod stiffly.

"You've protected what is most important to me, Mansel...and as long as you continue to do that, then I can't feel anything but gratitude for you," There were times in the past when one of us would reach in for more than just this simple touch. But now, he and I just simply stare at our entwined fingers. "I'm sorry that I haven't been the Prophet everyone expected me to be—"