The night had promised a quiet reprieve, perhaps a bedtime story as Isolde promised or stories from Selene she had planned on persuading her to say. Instead, it was draped in the gloom of a bad nightmare. Selene, deeply shaken by the lingering terror, barely touched her dinner. Isolde couldn't stay long, but before she left, she squeezed Selene's hand with a warmth that sought to banish the chill of fear
"You'll be fine, I know it," she assured her, her voice a soft balm. Then, with an intentional look that spoke volumes, she added, "Please call him. He's your mate, and he will respond." Her words were a gentle push, a reminder.
Left alone in the echoing silence of her room, Selene found herself consumed by the very thing she wished to escape: the nightmare. Her lips began to tremble, a visible manifestation of the fear that gripped her, as she replayed the horror in her head.
