Carla Trystan is a half-breed vampire who has spent her entire life running from powerful Hunters—aliens from another world. She is also plagued by nightmares, hearing the same deep, dark voice say night after night, ‘If you wish to live, child, take my hand.’
When she finally meets the man behind the terrifying voice, it is to discover he is one of the aliens she has spent her life running from.
Carla Trystan tried to claw her way up from the darkness, fighting the urge to suck in a breath, her lungs on fire. She felt lost in the dark, ice-cold water. It had started at her feet, then slowly risen over her legs, her hips, her chest, her head. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, no escape from this watery grave. She kicked out with her legs, arms paddling frantically, but she couldn’t reach the surface no matter how hard she tried.
“You’ve done your best, child,” a rich, deep voice called out in her mind. “If you wish to live, take my hand.”
She opened her eyes with a desperate gasp, still lost in the inky darkness. For a moment, confused, Carla wondered if she might still be trapped in the nightmare, the same one she’d suffered with for years. She reached for the lamp switch on her nightstand, blinking several times when the room became bathed in a bright light.
“I need to get a night light,” she whispered, feeling silly, like a little kid afraid of the boogeyman in the dark.
Tired to the bone and emotionally drained, she flopped back on the mattress, the sheets damp with sweat. Was this another premonition? It had happened before. Was it time to move again? She could never stay in one place for more than a few years. The nightmares always found her, though they’d never been quite this vivid before. She could still feel the icy cold water closing over her head. Still feel the panic when she couldn’t breathe.
‘If you wish to live, take my hand.’
She covered her ears and groaned. He’d haunted her for over a hundred years. That deep voice called to her, spoke to her heart. Carla feared what would happen if she ever ran into him because he couldn’t be human. And so she ran.
Always running. Always scared.
The clock by the side of her bed read five-fifteen. Almost time to get up anyway. She walked over to the window and raised the heavy blind, letting the sunlight in. She would give notice after she finished her shift as a fry cook tonight. A week should be enough. She hoped.
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