Oak, Sophie - Beast [A Faery Story 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (42 page)

The dreams stopped when you died
.

So much had stopped when she’d taken that final breath and died in her brother’s arms. She shook off the terrible memory. She’d died, but Gillian’s magic had brought her back. Unseelie magic that would undoubtedly cost Gillian her life if Torin the Pretender ever caught them.

She got up from her perch. The sun was going down. It would be time to go to bed in a couple of hours. It would be time to dream again.

The dreams had only come back in the last few years, and they had taken on a distinctly adult tone.

Four hands caressing her. Two mouths vying for her attention. She didn’t know their names, but she knew how they felt when they moved against her. She knew what it felt like to be between two hard bodies. Beloved. Wanted. Whole.

Bronwyn stood and smoothed out her dress. Sheer fancy. She was alone, and she would remain that way. She was untouched. A virgin at twenty-seven. It was pathetic, but true. Her only real experience was an attempted rape that her brother, Cian, had halted. She knew only violence. Nothing could change that.

The Dark Ones were just a figment of her imagination. She’d latched on to her childhood fantasies in order to have a relationship—even one that only happened in her dreams.

But Bronwyn had left dreams behind long ago. She’d stopped believing the day Torin had slaughtered her family.

The Dark Ones weren’t coming for her. No one was. She was alone. If Beckett and Cian were alive, she prayed they had found a safe place to live and happiness.

Bronwyn went to the chest where she kept her meager possessions. She opened it and moved aside her second-best dress. She let her hand move under the fabric to wrap around the cold metal hilt of a knife.

It was the knife used to kill her.

It was the knife she intended to kill Torin with.

Bronwyn let the knife be, content that it was there. She closed the drawer and started down the stairs, a weary feeling stealing over her.

It was hours until she could slide into sleep and see them again. They were figments, but they were hers.

Her Dark Ones. Her loves.

If you’re out there—come for me. Please come for me
.

Tears blurring her eyes, Bronwyn started down the stairs.

THE END

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