Haunted Rayne

25 | Touching the Void (part 1)

Cole Bradford trudges through a dark oasis, fists clenched, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to explode. Above him, the sky is an endless, black abyss, stars thrown like shattered glass against the void. Everything around him is too damn quiet, too perfect, like some kind of dream. Hell, maybe it is. This secret garden of emerald leaves, kissed by the soft glow of moonlight, is almost cinematic, and certainly not real life.

He steps forward, bare feet into the crystal-clear water, toes gliding over smooth, ancient stones. The tranquil surface ripples beneath him, mirrors of the stars above breaking with every step. He loathes how peaceful it seems, how wrong it is, until he sees her.

Perched on a large, moss-covered rock protruding out of the water, sits his baby sister, Alaina. She is absorbed in her sketchbook, tiny fingers deftly working with an ordinary pencil. "Took you long enough," she mutters without looking up.

"Lainey," he breathes. "What . . . what are you doing over there? It's dangerous."

"Not as dangerous as your dorm room."

"My dorm room?" A sudden throbbing sensation rips through Cole's temple. He reaches for it instinctively. "I should be in my bed. I—I'm dreaming."

Lainey nods, a hint of exasperation seeping into her little voice. "Well, we could've been in my dream, if you weren't so stubborn."

He ignores her, eyes stirring, searching his mind for something, fragmented images for him to piece together. "I was dreaming . . . of something else, I think. Rayne?"

The memory hits him like a sucker punch.

He'd been locked in a fierce struggle . . . with Rayne.

In his dream, the intensity of their fight left him breathless. She had been pinned against the wall, his body against hers. Insults flying, a slap across his face, their voices raised, and then, she'd thrown her hands in the air, practically begging him to peel off her shirt mid-screaming match. Underneath, just a little black bra. He was about to rip that off too, until she slammed her skull into his, sending him stumbling backward. Rayne was on top of him in an instant, tearing open the buttons of his uniform, hands roaming, lips kissing him eagerly.

It was all teeth and heat.

He rolled her over and tossed her to the ground, her head crashing to the floor, and her eyes glinted wildly with pain and pleasure—a twisted dance of desire and anger. A trickle of blood slipped down her forehead.

"He can't hurt you like I can," he told her, biting down on her lip. "Can't love you"—tender kisses now, gentle promises over her bare shoulder—"like I can."

And then . . . somehow, he found himself here. In this quiet place.

"Yeah, your dream was gross." Lainey turns her sketchpad around, revealing a colorful drawing that resembles the watering hole around them. Yet, all she has is a regular pencil. Where did all the color come from? "Don't worry," Lainey adds. "I made it look like my dream. Much better now."

Cole knows this doesn't make sense, that his sister couldn't possibly have seen what he dreamt—right? After all, this is just a dream too. Still, he feels something akin to embarrassment, burning his cheeks.

A rustling in the leafage makes Cole whip around, his fists already balling up. A dark figure emerges from the green and shadow, moving with a surreal elegance. Raven-black hair spills over his forehead, and a deep scar cuts across his face. These are the only features Cole doesn't recognize. But everything else? The guy is a damn near dead ringer for his English teacher, Mr. Matthews.

"We don't have time for this," the stranger says, stepping closer. "Your soul is too difficult to sway. I couldn't ferry you to Alaina's dreamspace, so we had to enter yours."