His Broken Luna

Chapter Nine: Lunacy

I dreamed of Grayson that night. Well, actually, I had nightmares about him. About his death. It played on a loop over and over in my dreams, crystal clear at first, but getting more warped as the night went on. Eventually, it was just him standing in darkness, a glowing beacon amongst a sea of black with a bullet hole in his head.

He moved his mouth, trying to speak, but no words came out. His eyes were wide, tear-filled, and his complexion was ghostly white. I asked him what he was trying to say, but instead of answering, he pointed to something behind me. I followed what he was gesturing to, and to my horror, came face to face with Ansel.

He was covered in blood, smelling like rain and gun powder. And then, I woke up.

"Ella?" Ansel mumbled in his sleep, causing me to scream.

I scrambled out of bed to get away from him, forgetting for a moment that he'd spent the night with me.

He jumped up out of his sleep and reached over to turn on my bedside lamp. "Ella, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

A cold sweat covered my body, my heart thumped painfully in my chest. A wave of nausea washed over me, and before I could embarrass myself, I ran to the bathroom to throw up.

I puked for what felt like hours. It came along with a flood of tears, my body trembling from both the sick and the terror of my nightmares. I tried to keep my hair out of the way as I vomited but shook too badly to hold it back.

I didn't have to worry about it for long, though.

"Just let it out, honey." Ansel whispered behind me, gathering up my hair to hold it out of my face. "I'm here, it's okay."

He rubbed my back in slow, calming circles with one hand while holding my hair with the other as I finished puking.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I flushed the toilet to sit on the cold bathroom floor. Ansel let me go to stand up and walk toward the little shelf next to the tub and grabbed a washcloth.

He said nothing as he made his way to the sink to run cool water over the rag before squatting down in front of me. With gentle strokes, Ansel ran the damp cloth over my forehead, my temples, down my nose and across my eyes, all without saying a word. Then he moved on to my cheeks, replacing my hot tears with cool moisture. He saved my mouth for last, getting the corners with an unhurried hand before gliding the rag over my lips and chin. 

When he was done, he tossed the cloth into the sink and sat down on his ass, watching me with kind, hazel eyes. But he didn't speak, didn't try to coax me into explaining what happened. He didn't ask if I was okay, either, which was a relief. I didn't wanna talk just yet, I was too afraid I'd throw up again. 

Eventually, I pulled my legs to my chest, and rested my chin on my knees. 

"I had a nightmare." I croaked, the sound of my raspy voice painful to my ears. "Several, actually." 

"What about?" He asked, voice a gentle hush. 

I squeezed my eyes shut to keep anymore tears from spilling. "My husband. His death. You were there, covered in blood and..." 

The horrible image from my nightmare flashed across my mind, and I shook my head hard to try to get it out. A sob escaped my throat at the memory, and I was in Ansel's arm in an instant. 

"Shh, sweetheart, it's okay." Ansel cooed, smoothing my hair with a firm, yet tender, hand. "Those were just nightmares. I'm not hurt, and nothing is gonna hurt me. Unless you kick my ass, that is. I'm pretty sure you could whoop me into next week."

I sniffled and let out a small giggle at his words, but I still didn't feel better. I was deeply disturbed by what I dreamt, about what I saw just before I woke up. Would Ansel end up like Grayson? Would my wolf be the cause of his death, too?