After Rae Campbell is murdered by her abductor, she wakes in a world that exists parallel to ours- one which diverged in 1761, when a band of Scottish Highlanders joined with the Skin-Walking Kituwah tribe to oust the British from Appalachia.
Rae b...
I walk through the dark woods I once lost my life in. This time, however, there is no fear. There are no following footsteps, no whistled tune. A haze of iridescent fog swirls around my feet as I follow the swishing white tail of a great wolf through the maze of gnarled trunks and twisted branches.
I come upon a clearing, lit by the light of the full moon. The leaves rustle as I step within, and I find myself within the bounds of the standing stones.
At the heart of the circle stands a silver mirror. The wolf pads to its side and lays down beside it, it's dark eyes knowing, watchful.
I approach the mirror and rest my hand against its cool surface.
My reflection is me, but not. It wears its hair in an intricately woven, hip length braid, an eagle feather hanging from one of the smaller plaits woven into the auburn rope. Tear tracks are painted down her cheeks. Bruises bloom on her neck, the size and shape of a man's hands, yet her back is straight, her head held high with pride.
"Ceallach," I whisper.
My reflection smiles a smile that is not mine. She speaks, words I do not understand in a tongue I barely know. They leave her mouth in a mist and float through the mirror. I take in a deep breath, and the mist slides down my throat and into my lungs. Ceallach takes a step backwards, and the mirror vanishes into a cloud of smoke.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I lurch forward in bed, clutching my throat. The room is still shrouded in darkness, the first rays of morning yet to peek their way through the velvet evergreen curtains. Maise is curled into a small ball, her hands folded together under her chin, snoring softly at my side.
I curse under my breath and slip out of bed, padding across the cold wooden floor to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom shared between Calum's room and mine. I shut the door as softly as I can behind me, and then splash water against my sweaty face.
I catch my own gaze in the mirror, and recall dream Ceallach's reflection grinning grimly back at me. A shudder rips its way all the way down my spine, and when I pat my face dry with a plush towel, it is with shaking hands.
I startle, badly, when the door leading to Calum's room creaks open and he steps within.
He is groggy and bare chested, his hair a wild, messy mane, his eyes still swollen with sleep. My lips quirk, the sight of him distracting me from the unsettling dream. He's adorable.
"You alright?" He murmurs, his voice sleep-thick.
"I'm fine. Go black to bed," I say, gently shooing him toward the door.
Instead of listening, he steps closer and wraps me up in his big, burly arms. My entire body throbs and clenches with a desire so potent it walks the line of physical pain.
