Page 42 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
She’s Duchess of Drakefell again, and her brief life with Dorian at Ebronrose was the dream. This is her reality. Her past. Herfuture.It’s inescapable.
Then she’s at her grandmother’s house, only it’s hers, now, hers and not hers, because she owns nothing. Everything is the Duke’s. Everything is always his.
And there are soldiers at the door, and she’s running, and hurt, and there’s blood, so much blood…
She wakes up screaming.
Someone is grasping her arms, shaking her roughly.
“No!” she cries. “Don’t touch me!”
The hands spring away. The candle at her bedside flickers to life.
It’s Dorian.
“Selene,” he whispers. “It’s all right. It’s just a dream.”
The nightmare still has its claws in her. Is she still dreaming? Perhaps she is just making up Dorian coming to her rescue, like she made up finding him in the garden when she needed to escape the Duke. Because she didn’t escape. She’s still there—
But then she notices where she is, and reality slides back to her. Her gaze fixes on the man hovering by her side, a man as unlike the Duke as anyone could be.
“You’re all right,” Dorian repeats.
A strangled sob escapes her, and she launches into his arms. Her fingers coil into his clothes. He smells of horse and sweat, but she doesn’t care.He’s here, he’s here, he’s real, she’s safe.
Dorian stands stunned for a moment, before his arms slowly circle her back, and he lowers them both back down to the bed. His heart is thundering. She clings onto the sound. She needs it. Needshim.
“It was only a dream.”
He strokes her hair. She likes the grinding pull of his touch, needs more of it to convince her that she’s fine. Because it wasn’t a dream. Everything happened. It doesn’t seem to matter that she’s safe.
“You’re here,” she whispers into his clothes.
Dorian squeezes her tightly. “I’m here.”
The door bangs open, and Soren bursts in. Dorian unlatches from Selene and turns around to glare at him. “You took your time.”
Soren doesn’t blink. “I heard screaming.”
“Lady Selene was having a nightmare. Could you see about going to get her something warm to drink?”
Soren glares at Dorian, like a petulant child being given an order, but he doesn’t complain out loud. He turns on his heels.
Dorian turns back to Selene. Her hands are still gripping his wrists, so hard she’s surprised he doesn’t say anything. He frees himself only to rub her arms, murmuring more soft, silky words that don’t quite reach her.
“How was your trip?” she asks him finally.
A faint, sad smile dusts Dorian’s face. “It was… fine.”
“I’m glad you’re back.”
He strokes her hair. “I’m glad I’m back, too.”
She doesn’t know how long they stay that way, Dorian beside her, brushing her back, holding her arms, telling her that all is well when she feels like the world is spinning beneath her, but eventually Soren returns with a cup of milk. Herbs swirl inside it.
“Is it poisoned?” she asks, half serious.
Dorian purses his lips. She can’t tell if it’s in annoyance or amusement. “They’re to help you sleep.”
