And So She Burned

5. The Boy of Mist and Dreams

She wears strength and darkness equally well, the girl has always been half goddess, half hell. --- Nikita Gill

I stared at the boy with his golden eyes and light brown hair. For a moment, I could barely think, but then all of my thoughts rushed through my head at once.

Where did he come from? And why did I dream about him? Or does he look completely different and am I hallucinating?

What's happening?

Have I been in his dreams, too? Or is this a completely different scenario than I think it is, and I'm just crazy?

I don't understand.

The boy shifted uncomfortably under my open-mouthed stare. I saw no recognition in his eyes, and I subtly pinched myself on the back of my hand. It hurt, so I figured it was safe to say that this was real and not some sort of dream.

But it could still be a psychotic break.

"Yeah . . . I know where it is," I heard Cece say from beside me. "But Auna has world history first period. She could take you."

I whipped my head toward her and flicked out my hands with eyes wide as the moon. She nudged me and I nudged her more aggressively, but the boy cleared his throat and we both looked back at him with forced smiles.

"Sure," I sounded like I had a stick up my ass. "I can take you there. My name is Auna Claire, but you can call me Auna." Why, why, why?

"Right . . . I'm Cabhan, but no one bothers with the whole name. Call me Van."

So we both have overly lengthy names and force people to use nicknames. It seemed like we could be fast friends, if only I wasn't having dreams about him before I'd ever seen him.

That was a bit of a game changer.

I stood, grabbing my bag. Khan gave me a sympathetic glance, probably thinking that the reason I didn't want to walk Van to class was because of my mom. And he was right, I wasn't in the mood to speak to new people---especially if they already knew because of how fast gossip spread---and I didn't want their pity or to be treated like glass.

Mostly, though, I didn't want to talk to Van because he was in my dream.

As we left the library, I glanced up at him. He was looking at me, too, and I quickly looked away. "Um, it's just up here."

We entered the classroom, and he paused and caught my arm, "Thanks."

I managed a small smile, and it was surprisingly genuine. "Of course."

I headed to a seat in the middle, and Van sat in the back. Smart, because attractive, mysterious new kids tend to get unwanted attention.

I set down my things and opened my notebook. I usually doodled while waiting for class to start, so it was nothing new. But what I drew was.

I outlined the beginning of a wolf. I rarely drew anything substantial, it was mostly swirls and hearts and random things.

The wolf was stalking through a forest in my sketch. One paw was lifted, to pad quietly on soft feet.

To attack a hiker in the forest.

I braced my arms down onto the desk as I saw death and pain and a hiker, being attacked by my wolf.

A quick glance up confirmed that the teacher, Mr. Greysen, was walking in toward his desk, and was about to begin the lesson.

But I couldn't focus.

Mr. Greysen had black eyes and short black hair, streaked throughwith silver.

It almost looked like the color of my wolf's fur.