Knight Avenged

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Halál bolted upright in bed, a shout locked in the back of his throat. Gasping, he clawed at his bare chest, then looked down to see the damage. No blood. No gaping wound. No mark at all. Disbelief slithered in, coiling with ominous intent. Lucifer be merciful. It had felt so real. So bloody real—the slash, the pain, the warm trickle of his own blood. Pressing one hand over his heart, he fisted the other in the blanket. Rough wool scraped his palm as he sucked in another lungful of air. It didn’t help. He couldn’t catch his breath. Or think straight. Not while vivid imagery swirled inside his head and . . .

A tremor rumbled through him.

Damnation. A dream . . .

The dream.

It had shifted into something dangerous. Something darker. Drifting toward something he could no longer identify.

Another shiver rattled down his spine. Gaze riveted to the timber beam ceiling, Halál fell back onto one elbow. His bones creaked. Muscles stiff with age groaned in protest as his forearm sank into the feather mattress. Sweat beading on his chest, he shifted focus and scanned the room. Rough stone walls. Heavy wood door with the iron lock engaged. A dying fire hissed in the widemouthed hearth. The familiar arrangement grounded him. Still in the heart of night. Still safe inside his own room. Still surrounded by strength and the walls of Grey Keep.

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