In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter 22: Part One

Greyson awoke in the middle of the night.

He sat straight up in bed, his nightshirt damp on his skin. The nightmare clung to him, his chest billowing as he sought to catch is breath.

It was as if the fire was still around him, burning his skin and leaving bubbles under his flesh. It sizzled in his ears. His chest compressed, smoke clogging his nostrils and settling into his lungs - raw and dry as he swallowed harshly.

He closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair that had clumped from his ceaseless shifting, his coverlet wrapping around his ankles.

Greyson could see her.

She had been running from him, a lady cloaked in a silk gown. Her hips swayed enticingly, making his mouth water as she laughed. The woman glanced over her shoulder, eyes flirting beneath her eyelashes, her hair a mass of brunette curls that he longed to wrap around his fingers.

But she, dancing in his vision, was much too fast.

Greyson stumbled after her, bypassing bushels of fire that appeared every few seconds between him and her. No matter how fast he sprinted behind her, how high he jumped or how sweet her laughter, Greyson could not catch her - could not resist the lure of the fire as it fluttered about the delicate hem of her gown.

At one point, Greyson had stretched out an arm, her skirts brushing across his fingertips, but it slid from him like smoke.

Her laughter tinkled, her head fallen back upon her alabaster shoulders.

And then the dream changed.

The black recesses turned into the brimstone of the stables as they burned, and in the middle, her head tilted back as the first crack of a wooden beam sounded menacingly, she glanced at Greyson, caught his eye, her mouth an "o" of surprise.

The structure collapsed and he lost sight of her. Her screams echoed shrilly - fresh and sharp - begging him to run faster, to touch the burning beams and reach her.

But Greyson couldn't - always a hand print away, a bevy of foosteps. 

Elusive.

Taunting.

Her name tumbled from his lips.

God, why couldn't he catch her? Greyson asked, frantic, his voice distant to his own ears as he screamed for help.

And then the scene vanished, sucked into a hole beneath his feet and he went tumbling head over heels, arms flung out as if to catch himself.

That was when the growls began and he had found himself on solid ground only to peer behind him. In a flash of red eyes, a body lunged for him, teeth snapping at his neck and tearing his shirt. Gray fur was clenched in his fists, as he pushed the creature an arm's length away. The fur clumped in his hands - stiff, matted with blood.

A sound almost like a whimper escaped him. Greyson grasped his chest. His heart thudded beneath the fist of his hand and he trembled, detesting the weakness.

It was as if he had been staked clean through. His body broken and his spirit nothing more than a memory as the wind howled through the windowpanes, rattling like bars that imprisoned him.

Bitter smells assaulted him.

Wood and smoke and sweat.

Is she safe?

Words scratched his skin, an irritant that urged him to move. Greyson pushed his body to the end of the green coverlet, descending the two steps that were build into his raised bed.