20. Soren

Chapter twenty

Soren

T here are still no words when we reached the house.

She slides off the horse, evading my touch, and meets Em at the door, waggling a newly cobbled pair of boots.

After Em leaves, I see little of Mari—or any of her, for that matter.

She grabs two pastries off the counter and practically sprints to her room, locking the latch behind her.

No amount of sweet scents lures her downstairs tonight. Not the stew, not the sticky buns.

I wait downstairs until my eyes droop. Until the crochet I was working on falls on my face, jerking me awake.

I walk up to my room, and it isn't long before sleep claims me. Images of Mariana flood my dreams. Even here, alone in my room, she haunts me.

A sharp scream shakes me from sleep. I'm on my feet before my eyes clear and adjust.

I run down the hall, and the cold hardwood floors slap my feet. I reach for the cool metal handle on the door to Mariana's room, twist, and push. Locked, still locked. Fuck.

"Come on, come on." The lock holds tight. It rattles and clinks with agitation but holds firm.

Her screams, followed by muffled sobs, cast into the dark space. I strike the door with my shoulder this time. The wood fiber cracks and splinters with a hard pop . I can fix that later. I shove again, bursting the hardwood from where the brass latch anchors it.

I run over to her bed, where I'm met with cold, clammy skin. She doesn't embrace me like she was being attacked and needed saving. She stares blankly into the black room. Her breathing is ragged, and tears pour down her cheeks.

"Mari, what is it?" I jostle her, seeing if she will break from this trance, this abduction of her consciousness.

She takes a deep inhale as if readying herself to cry out again. I wrap her in my arms in an attempt to shelter her. What is going on?

The only thing coming to mind is a night-terror. She buries her face into my chest before bellowing again, the slick of her tears soaking into my nightclothes .

"Please, wake up," I say into her hair, kissing the crown of her head. Helpless, helpless in the pure chaos that ravages my mind. Helpless that I can't do anything to help her other than the comfort of my body against hers.

Then I remember something. When my sister used to have night terrors, the only way to wake her was something truly sensory—hot, cold, or wet.

I'm on my feet before the thought finishes materializing. A cup rests byhersink, which I fill with water from the coldest setting.

Please don ' t hate me, I think before rearing the cup and splashing the contents onherface.

She gasps, the light returning to her eyes. But instead of hardening, turning her anger and fear toward me, her eyes scan the room in frantic sweeps. Perhaps she was looking for whatever was haunting her dreams.

New tears fall from her reddened eyes when the realization washes over her.

"Hey, I'm here, you're safe," I gently say to her, sweeping some strands of wet hair from her face. Her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, and all I can do is hold her.

What happened? How can I help? Thoughts reel in my mind, but I let the silence in the air sink in. She is shaking more now, and I realize it must also be from the cold. Before she has time to protest, I scoop her into my arms.

She focuses on me but remains quiet. I kick the door out of my way and move her down the hall to the other spare room.

"Why are we here?" she says quietly into the nape of my neck.

"You need a dry bed. You're shivering."

"I don't like the window in this room. It's—it's just too much. I can see too much. "

See too much? I look out the window, the black night obscuring my view of the expansive land that stretches beyond the glass.

"The window in my room only looks over the barns and the pasture. Would you like to sleep there? By yourself, of course," I correct anyway, to assure her I'm not trying to make an advance.

She releases a long breath, and I can feel the heat of it through my clothes, bleeding onto my chest. "Would you stay with me?" she asks, remaining cradled in my arms without looking up. Her eyes still focused on the window.

"Of course."

We return to my room, and I lay her on the white linens. She crawls over to where the bed meets the wall and tucks herself into the pile of blankets. I can't help but smile at the heap she creates.She looks more like discarded laundry than a woman.

I lay opposite her, creating as much space between us as possible. My body and limbs itch to wrap aroundher. Hold her close and feel the rise and fall of her breath in sleep. But I resist—instead focusing on the ceiling, arms tucked behind my head.

"Would you put your arms around me again?" She asks her words barely above a whisper. I'm so stunned by the request that I stay silent, hoping I heard correctly. "It made me feel safe."

"Yes, of course." I slide next to her, wrapping my arms around her muscular frame. Despite her muscles and statuesque build for a human, she is so tiny and delicate in my grasp. Maybe it's just the moment, her vulnerability.

"I had a nightmare," she says with a sigh, "about a creature I found in the woods the first night Patti found me." It could be my imagination, but I swear she pulls my arms tighter around her. "I thought my friend was lost in the woods," she says. "Her voice was so clear, so real. I went out to find her. But it was there instead, waiting for me. "

I rack my brain for creatures that can mimic voices, and multitudes of horrid things pop into my mind. But none of them live here. In fact, they don't even live in the Stormlands, where most of the more menacing creatures live.

The creature that meets her description doesn't belong anywhere. It's something told to scare children, something wholly evil. But it's just a story. It's always been just a story.

In my lifetime, I've never heard of anyone encountering it. It's not even named. Different creatures and lands call it many things, but Soul Eater is usually the translation.

There is no reason for them to be here.

"Do you remember what it looked like?"

She sucks in a big breath and describes the creature.

It is as I thought. A being so horrid children are taught not to utter its name, ever, not even in the day, even if it doesn't exist in our lands. Is that really what she saw? All the questions I have jam up in my throat. She's not going to know the answers to any of them.

"I've been having nightmares about it ever since, even though I'm pretty sure I killed it. And sometimes, when I look outside at night, I see it moving through the tree line around the house. I know it sounds crazy, but it's watching me. It's in my head."

"I would have nightmares, too. You said it was Patti's knife, the one he gave you, the one you keep tucked into your belt or in your pockets." She nods. The strength of this warrior is unmatched. She bested the creature which shall not be named, lived to tell about it, and kept her sanity. I hold her closer, tucking my face into the crux of her neck.

"Maroon," she says in the quiet room.

"What?" I ask, confused .

"You wanted to know my favorite color. It's maroon or wine red, whichever."

I smile into her hair, so touched by her gesture, however small it may seem.

I snake my arms around her tighter than before. Leaning in close to brush my lips against her ear.

"Thank you, Mariana," I say before we both go silent and sleep claims us.