Page 54 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“Where…” she mumbled, hands curling into fists. “I don’t know how to find you…”
Silas shifted closer.
Amelia gasped softly, brows pulling together before relaxing again.
“Silas!” she called out.
He stilled, stunned breathless by the sound of his name. Never, in all the years they had known one another, had they used anything other than surnames. It had been a joke he’d started when they were first introduced, but it had written a precedent into stone that neither had been willing to deviate from.
Silas hadn’t known how he yearned to hear her utter those two syllables of his given name, until that moment.
Only…it was in a tone laced with primal fear.
Silas dropped to his knees before Amelia, reaching gently for her arm. “Hey,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her. “Winslow, you’re dreaming…come on, now. Wake up.”
Amelia’s eyes fluttered slowly, breath hitching. Then she looked at him, the dark brown of her eyes struggling to focus. When she seemed to realise he was there, she gasped, sitting up straight.
Silas shifted back onto his haunches, his hand sliding away, watching her worriedly.
“Are you okay? You were dreaming quite loudly.” He tried for a joking tone.
Amelia’s next breath shook, blinking rapidly. “I was inthatplace,” she said weakly, eyes darting between his. “You…”
“I, what?”
“I couldn’t find you.” She swallowed, shifting her body slightly to face away from him. He could see her withdrawing, shielding herself. “There were shadows everywhere, trying to get to me, and you were missing—”
“I’m here now.”
She said nothing, staring despondently into the fire. Her head tilted back to peer at the clock. “It’s almost midnight.”
“Mm-hm,” was all he managed in the wake of her dream and her flat tone.
They both stood, Silas moving away awkwardly, uncertain.
Helpless, his eyes drifted back to her, his hand gripping the edge of the fireplace. Amelia shifted her shoulders with a wince, a lance of pain sneaking across Silas’ spine through the bond before it disappeared again. Her expression smoothed out when she caught his stare.
“The chair isn’t so great for sleeping.”
He frowned. The words were casual, though her voice was strained.
They stood quietly for a moment, the only sounds were the crackling fire, the whistling wind, and the soft ticking from the clock above the mantel.
Silas waited, tracking the moving hands of the clock. With seconds to spare, they grasped each other’s forearms.
She finally met his eyes, but all he found was a concerning dullness.
Her skin was soft and warm where he held her, their eyes on each other as the midnight hour approached.
In a startling moment, today turned into tomorrow.
His cut burned briefly, and he hissed. Amelia’s fingers contracted around his arm.
A dragging sensation tugged, and he stumbled forwards a step. Forcibly drawn to one another, their bodies collided. The burning dissipated, the pulling sensation gone.
Over.
Her hand rested against his chest as they breathed. Silas looked down to it, hating how his heart stuttered beneath her fingers at the touch.
