Friends with the King of the Underworld | Book 1

Chapter Thirteen

The familiar hoot of the owl in the night reminded me of where I was.

The forest again – the same night Damien and I met.

The rain pelted me as I watched the two children run through the forest.

I continued to watch the dream again like a movie, the same details playing out as before.

The Dark-Haired Man yelled at the man at his feet. "You will do as I say! I don't care if you are the last of your kind! If you do not kill her, I will kill you myself!"

The Silver-Haired Man shook his head as he gently held his jaw. "I will not kill an innocent!"

The Dark-Haired man looked at my younger self, never letting Damien go.

"Run!" The man on the ground choked out. "Run, little girl!"

The girl didn't move and I watched the man eventually laugh maniacally as he always did as he watched the young girl in terror. "Yes!" He shouted again. "Fortune smiles on me! There is no better way to end my day!"

The Silver-Haired man lunged at the girl but was cut short.

It was much too fast for me to catch but he suddenly dropped dead at my feet.

The copper smell of freshly spilled blood stung my nose. I winced in horror and covered my nose in disgust.

How could a dream feel this real?

A cry burst into the night in front of me, making the hair on my arm stand on end. I'd never heard such a cry.

Damien dropped to the ground, the Dark-Haired man was on his knees next to him, cradling what was left of his arm.

Young Damien crawled away and grabbed the severed, pale arm still firmly gripping his shirt. He detached each finger and tossed the alabaster arm far away from him.

I held back the bile threatening to come up.

Suddenly, I watched another man come into view. He slowly walked to the Dark-Haired Man who was still crumpled on the floor in pain holding his new stump against his chest. He towered over him and stood in front of the boy in a protective stance. He looked powerful and menacing like nothing I had ever seen.

Damien's father.

I moved slowly forward trying to catch their conversation over the pouring rain.

The Dark-Haired Man rocked back and forth cradling what was left of his arm. "I will get them, I will get them all!"

Damien's father shook his head. "It's over, brother."

Brother? It had been Damien's own uncle that almost killed him all along?

His uncle laughed. "How does it feel to have killed the last Light Fae?"

Damien's father was stoic. "I will do what it takes to protect an innocent life."

Though as scary as he looked, I felt no fear from him.

"It's over, Robyn." His voice was soft but had a deadly tone. "You attacked my son-"

"It's never over, brother!" The man screamed. "As long as I have breath in me I will fight my enemies - everyone - do you hear me!? I will do whatever it takes- "

I watched transfixed at the exchange. Taking in all information as much as I could. How could a dream come up with such a conversation? I've never been that creative.

I watched in stunned silence and didn't realize someone was next to me until a hand shot out of the darkness and wrapped its long fingers around my neck. I turned to the man holding me and would have gasped if I could.

It was the Dark-Haired Man – Robyn? – holding me by my neck.

He clung to my neck as I struggled to breathe, squeezing tight.

My hands wrapped around his wrist in response as I struggled to breathe.

The man was different from the one in my memory just seconds before. He had been clutching his arm, rocking back and forth on the floor, whimpering, hysterical mess – now, he was clutching at me with one hand, a wide, pearly white smile across his face. He was extremely pleased with the current situation.

He laughed as I struggled, his blue eyes shone in delight.

I gasped for breath as I tried to punch and scratch at his arm still holding me. This felt too real to only be a dream. I could feel no air in my lungs.

He chuckled his silky, menacing voice enveloping me. "Found you."

My vision blurred – I could barely breathe ...

Gasping, I sat up in my bed, drenched in sweat.

I reached for my neck, coughing air into my lungs. I looked around me. I was in my room, where I'd fallen asleep hours before.

I looked at the window – it was still dark outside, probably the middle of the night. I sighed. I'd never get back to sleep.

The dreams were getting worse. At first, it was only reliving the memory but now ...

There was an actual conversation - I could hear what they were saying. And then ...

I shuddered at the memory of the Dark-Haired Man clutching my throat.

It was terrifying.

I reached for my phone, wanting to text Damien but stopped. It was reflexive after so many years.

He hadn't answered any of my texts or calls since he left Chris and me at the bar two months ago. I imagined he was mad but ... not like this.

I hoped he was all right.

I grabbed my recently fixed glasses from my nightstand and stumbled to my bathroom attached to my room.

Turning on the light carefully, I twisted the faucet open and splashed water on my face. After drying my face and placing my glasses back on I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

I stared in horror, the towel dropping from my hands.

The dark bruise seemed like it could glow from the contrast against my tawny colored skin. But there was no mistaking it.

There, on my neck where the Dark-Haired Man held me in my dream was a perfectly placed handprint.