Waking Dreams (A Soul's Mark Novella) Read online

  Waking Dreams

  A Soul’s Mark Novella

  By Ashley Stoyanoff

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Waking Dreams

  By Ashley Stoyanoff

  Published by Ashley Stoyanoff Books

  Copyright 2013 Ashley Stoyanoff

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Edited by Kathryn Calvert

  Cover design by ebookindiecovers.com

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my sister Jonel, I couldn’t have finished this without all of your support and encouragement—thank you. A special thanks to my mother Jo-Anne—your feedback and honesty kept me going when I wanted to give up. Further thanks to my editor Kathryn. Without your technical expertise and assistance, this book would not have been finished. Most of all, I would like to thank my husband Jordan, whose unwavering patience and support has made it possible for me to finish Waking Dreams.

  Books by Ashley Stoyanoff

  The Soul’s Mark Series

  The Soul’s Mark: FOUND

  The Soul’s Mark: HUNTED

  The Soul’s Mark: BROKEN

  Waking Dreams, A Soul’s Mark Novella

  CHAPTER 1

  Sterling snorted, and her left ear twitched to the side. “What do you hear, girl?” Eric asked, stroking his mare’s thick neck. His teeth chattered, and his breath puffed out in a cloud of white fog. She jumped to the right, and pawed at the snowy ground, with jittery, nervous strikes. Her ears pinned flat against her neck, and she glared at the tree line.

  Eric searched the ice-encrusted trees for what may have spooked his horse, but he saw nothing. Creaks and cracks from the trees drifted to his ears, as the branches sagged under the weight of the ice, but aside from that, the forest was silent and still. He stroked her mane and cooed calming words to her, and after a moment, she began to settle.

  Giving her a gentle nudge, he reined Sterling back to the fence. A gust of frosty wind blew through the field, and a shiver prickled over his skin. It had been a long day, rounding up the cattle that had gotten loose during the ice storm last night. Now, if he could just find the broken place in the fence and mend it, he would finally be able to get back into the warmth of his ranch house.

  Sterling walked along the rails slowly, picking her footing with care. The sun shone brightly, winking upon the icy ground and making the field look like a sea of glittering gems. Breathtaking. It was sights like this that reminded Eric why he had chosen to live so far from the village, on his own, surrounded by nature. His mother had called him a fool, not understanding why anyone would choose to farm and live an hour’s ride from civilization if they did not have to. But to Eric, the peace and wilderness was like living a dream.

  After a good twenty minutes, he finally stumbled upon the broken rails which were buried beneath a crusty layer of snow and ice. Eric slid off of Sterling’s back, and gave her a pat as he unhitched the fencing wire from the saddle, and then he got to work, breaking off the crunchy layers of snow, and yanking out the snapped rails.

  Once the three broken rails were down, Eric dug through the snow for the spares, which he knew were resting just below, against the fence. He had just pulled the first rail free, when he heard Sterling snort and squeal.

  “Settle down, girl,” he said. He dropped the rail in place and turned, pacing towards her. Her eyes were wild—panicked—and her nostrils flared. He put his hands up and he crouched, slumping his shoulders, trying to make his bulky frame smaller and less intimidating. The last thing he needed was for her to bolt, and leave him to walk back to the house in this frigid weather. “Easy girl,” he murmured, as he continued towards her.

  Sterling pranced around nervously, watching him with frightened eyes. She snorted and began to back up with her ears lying flat against her neck. Eric reached out for a rein, slowly, carefully, and just as his hand closed around it, she let out a piercing high-pitched roar, and then she reared.

  Too close, a voice in his head shouted, and he scrambled back. His foot caught a patch of ice and slid out from under him, and he landed on his back with a jarring thud, sliding closer to her and cracking his head against frozen ground. Her hooves came down fast and hard, so close to him, that he was certain she would come down right on him. He tried to roll out of the way, but he couldn’t move quickly enough. And in a blink, she was on him, her hoof came down on his stomach, and then it jumped across and skidded down his right side, ripping at his skin and muscles. She roared again, drowning out Eric’s wheezing cry. For a spilt-second, she looked down at him; her eyes were wide with fear, and then she bolted, racing away through the field.

  Eric couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. Black spots danced through his vision, and a stabbing pain shot through his head all the way down to his toes. A warm wetness spread along the base of his skull, and his stomach convulsed with pain.

  Time stood still. His ears rung, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t. Even the slightest movement sent hot waves of pain coursing through his body, paralyzing him. Get up! You need to get up! he told himself over and over, trying to coax his body to ignore the shooting pain and begging his mind to fight for survival. But no matter how much his brain wanted to survive, his body was shutting down—giving up.

  Eric didn’t know how long he had been lying on the ground, fighting against his body. It could have been seconds, or it might have been hours when he heard the crunch of snow nearby. It was excruciatingly loud, and the sound sent shockwaves through his head. A small sense of hope gripped at his chest. He forced in a burning breath, and opened his mouth to yell for help just as a shadow fell over him. He blinked and shifted his gaze, looking for the source of the shadow, and he found it, but in that moment, all he noticed was the pair of blazing red eyes staring down at him.

  “Demon,” Eric breathed and gasped, a wet and painful sound, and he coughed, choking on his own saliva. He tried to scramble away, but the pain ceased him, rendering the effort useless. The demon smiled, which might have been meant as a friendly gesture, but the dagger sharp fangs that protruded from his mouth were anything but welcoming.

  “What’s your name, son?” the demon asked, folding his arms over his thick chest. His voice was like velvet, alluring and comforting. Eric froze and looked back at him, mesmerized by the sound. The demon was tall, at least four inches taller than Eric’s own six feet, and he had the same muscular frame. He had no jacket or gloves, only wearing a thin short sleeve shirt and woven cotton slacks. His skin was flawless, the color of ivory.

  He chuckled, and his blazing eyes danced with amusement. “Your name?” he repeated, and his smile grew.

  Eric opened his mouth to speak, but the words were lodged in his throat. He cleared it, and his voice shook as he answered, “Eric Carter.”

  The demon watched him with a thoughtful expression for a moment, and his crimson eyes faded to sky-blue. He bent down, crouching beside Eric
in the snow. He reached out, ripped open Eric’s coat, and lifted his shirt. Blood pooled below his skin where Sterling had landed, blackening his stomach.

  “Well, Mr. Carter, it looks like you are about to die,” he said with a matter-of-fact tone, as if it was common knowledge, obvious even.

  “Yes, sir,” Eric replied breathlessly, wincing as the demon poked at his stomach. For a moment, he wondered why he was not trying to run, but then he looked back at the angelic face of the demon, towering over him, and then down at his stomach, and he knew fear was pointless and running, impossible. Death was inevitable. Even if he could fight the pain and get to his feet, he would die from his injuries.

  “Is that what you want? To die?” he asked curiously, cocking his head to the side almost like a bird.

  Eric thought about the question, as if there could be more than one possible answer to it, and then he shook his throbbing head from side to side and said, “No, sir.” His voice was a gravelly whisper. “Are you going to kill me?”

  The demon cocked his head to the side again, and looked at him with an intensity Eric had never seen before. It was a complicated look, filled with so many conflicting emotions that he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what any of them meant. The demon sighed, a long and gusty sound. His eyes grew wide and clouded, and the pleasant cerulean fogged as a milky film swallowed them. He lifted his wrist to his mouth, biting down, and when he pulled it away, blood pooled on his skin. He slid closer, cradling his wrist as if he was trying not to let any of the blood to spill onto the snow, and before Eric could comprehend what was happening, the demon pressed his wound against Eric’s lips and said, “Drink.”

  Eric squirmed and gasped. The movement sent shockwaves of pain coursing through his body. The demon cupped the back of his head, and held him firmly, with unyielding strength. Eric could feel the warm blood on his lips, seeping into his mouth, and his stomach rolled. But then he tasted it. Tangy and sweet and spicy. It was delicious and disgusting all at once, and Eric couldn’t stop himself. He opened his mouth, latching onto the demon’s wrist and drank, swallowing mouthfuls as quickly as he could.

  The demon leaned in closer, but Eric didn’t care. All he could think about was the mouthwatering blood that filled his mouth in a waterfall of goodness. Skin tingling warmth spread through his body.

  The demon dropped his hand from the back of Eric’s head, and then suddenly, his mouth was on Eric’s neck. Eric felt the demon’s teeth sink into his skin, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered except tasting the nectar of his blood.

  It was when he pulled his arm away from Eric’s mouth, that Eric noticed the demon’s teeth were no longer in his neck. The disconnection felt cold, sending shivers along his skin. His eyes became heavy and drowsiness smothered him. He wanted to ask for more—demand more, anything to bring back the warmth and ease the pain of death, but his voice eluded him. He stared into the milky eyes, pleadingly, but the demon just smiled a little.

  The shivers came quicker, and Eric’s body convulsed from the cold. The pain in his stomach faded. It felt as if his mind couldn’t take it anymore and had given up—shut down. Darkness grew around him. Then, despite all efforts, he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and they drifted shut.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Are we going to keep him?” a musical voice questioned, stirring Eric from his sleep.

  Eric groaned, rolling onto his side. His throat was burning, parched. He smacked his mouth, trying to get some saliva moving to ease the painful flames that licked up his esophagus. His mouth was throbbing as if it had its own pulse. Eric scrubbed at his face and blinked awake. The room was dark, with only a soft flickering glow from a candle which rested on a table beside the bed that he occupied. But even in the dark, he knew that the bed was not his own, and this room was not in his ranch house. His heart jumped into his throat and he sprung up, sitting in the bed.

  His eyes swept the room quickly. There was a small window in front of the bed, with light curtains pushed to the side, revealing that night had fallen. The inky black sky was streaked with approaching clouds, and small flakes of snow had begun to drift down. The room was small and welcoming, with whitewashed walls, and even hardwood flooring. The furniture was sparse but in good repair; a dresser nestled under the window, the small bedside table, and the bed.

  And then he saw her—the angel with the musical voice.

  Stunning. Her auburn locks cascaded over her shoulders in a waterfall of silk. His eyes trailed over her, taking in her lean body, her ample chest, and the way her woolen slacks hugged her curvy hips and long legs. Her face looked as if it had been sculpted from delicate clay, with doll lips and high cheekbones, and her eyes, big and chocolaty, were smiling at him.

  “Who are you?” he whispered, his heart skipping a beat. “Am I dead?” I must be, he thought, because angels like this do not exist in life.

  “No silly, you’re not dead,” she said with a giggle. “My name is Angelle.” She sat down, perching on the edge of the bed, and smiled. Then she glanced towards the door. Eric followed her gaze, and his jaw dropped when his eyes found what she was looking at—the demon. “He’s very handsome, Mitchell,” she said excitedly. “I’ve never seen eyes like his before. They are so green, almost like grass in the springtime. We must keep him.”

  He didn’t kill me. Panic clenched Eric’s stomach, and he felt hot and cold and sick. His mind spun with questions. Why? Why was he here? And where was here? A pinprick of red burned in Mitchell’s eyes as he watched Eric, closely, and thoroughly. What does the demon want? Eric did not know, but he also did not want to find out. His imagination ran wild with possibilities, torture being the one thing that his mind reached at the end of each avenue. He wanted to run, and he thought about it, but his legs wouldn’t listen. He scrambled back, pressing himself against the wall, and he gripped at the blankets.

  “Angelle, he’s not a pet,” the demon—Mitchell—said with a chuckle. “He may stay if he wishes, but he’s not yours to keep.” The way he spoke to her, it was as if he was speaking to a child, teaching her and guiding her.

  Stay? Why would I want to stay with a demon? A soft thump, thump, thump, filled Eric’s ears as the demon chuckled again, and for a moment, Eric’s eyes locked onto his neck, where a throbbing vein pulsed rhythmically. The memory of the demon’s tangy, sweet blood hit him, and his mouth watered. He kept his eyes fixed on the pulsing vein, unable to look away, and a thought dawned on him; Eric could see the demon’s heartbeat in his throat, and he yearned for the blood that flowed through that vein. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and a rolling shiver prickled over Eric’s shoulders. His eyes darted back and forth between the two strangers, and that’s when he realized something else. There was no pain. His stomach felt … fine. Better than fine, actually. He dropped the blankets, pulled up his thin cotton shirt, and gasped. Not even a bruise.

  “What have you done to me?” Eric breathed with a mix of wonder and fear in his voice.

  Mitchell did not answer. He shifted uneasily, and for a split second, Eric thought the demon looked nervous. It seemed … odd, unreal, and it passed quickly, so quickly that Eric wasn’t even sure that he had seen it.

  A soft intake of breath that sounded like a sob brought Eric’s attention back to Angelle. Her bottom lip jutted out, and her big brown eyes widened and drooped. It was so heartbreaking to see, that Eric couldn’t stop himself. It was as if in that moment, all reason flew away, and as he looked at her, he forgot his fear, and he forgot that he should be dead. “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “Please don’t.”

  “Promise you’ll stay,” she murmured, gazing at him through hooded eyes. “No matter what?”

  Eric chuckled, mesmerized by the creature, and the burning in his throat grew. He knew he should be terrified, but oddly, he wasn’t. He felt strong, stronger than he had ever felt before; his muscles vibrated with energy. The words slipped out without thought. “I promise,” he said in a raspy voice. He brought a hand to his n
eck, rubbing down the center, trying to ease the blistering heat.

  She tilted her head from side to side, searching his face for what, he did not know, but then, after a moment, her eyes lit up and she said, “Oh, you’re hungry.”

  “Angelle,” Mitchell snapped. He cut her a look of warning, and she shuddered slightly under his stare.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered shyly, and in an incredibly quick motion, she was off the bed and standing before him. She kept her eyes cast down, as if she couldn’t bear to look at the demon, and the way she trembled, Eric was certain she was frightened.

  But the demon … he smiled. It was a kind of adorning smile, one that a parent would give a child, and after a long minute, he said, “Go.” Just that, one simple word. And in a blink, she was gone, and Eric was suddenly alone with the monster.

  Mitchell closed the door with a soft click and leaned against it. His smile was gone; his lips drawn thin, in a straight white line, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Eric tried to keep calm, but in that moment, his heart was pounding into his throat. Eric did not consider himself a small man by any means, but near Mitchell, he felt it. There was something about Mitchell that commanded fear and intimidation. His presence filled the room like a thick fog, sucking out all rational sense.

  “How are you feeling?” Mitchell asked, after staring at him for an excruciating and nerve racking long minute.

  His deep, soothing voice calmed Eric’s thumping heart. “What are you going to do with me?” he countered, unnerved by the bitterness that coated his tone, but he couldn’t hold it back. This was cruel. All of it. Why hadn’t the monster just killed him already? Or left him to die in the field? And more importantly, why didn’t the idea of his impending death bother him?