Another soft moan floated through the door.

An ache filled her throat. He was in pain. Before she knew it, she slipped from her bed and moved toward the door. She stared at the handle, debating whether or not to walk in.

Was it possible he was the one calling to her?

“But that’s impossible,” she whispered. The only way a Ravenwood woman could enter another’s dream and make that kind of contact was through touch. And there was a wall separating her from Damien.

But what about the pull she felt toward Damien earlier that evening inside the healer’s room? Was it the same pull she felt right now?

She clenched her hands. I don’t know.

And she couldn’t ask her mother either.

She was on her own.

Selene took a deep breath and pressed down on the handle. She stepped inside. The palest of moonlight spilled through the windows. To her left was the great four-poster bed, with a figure on top.

Silently she slipped across the room, the action as familiar to her as the night. Damien lay on the bed, dressed in a loose tunic with a coverlet pulled up to his chest. As she approached the bed, he turned his head back and forth. “No,” he moaned, his eyes fluttering beneath his lids. It appeared he was in the thralls of a nightmare.

Selene came up to his side and reached out her hand. She brushed his hair back and pressed her palm against his forehead. So hot. Just like yesterday. The fever had not broken yet and was probably feeding into his dreams.

She bit her lip as she studied him. Her fingers moved from his face to the hand that lay on top of the blanket.

Was it possible she could help him? If she could bring forth nightmares, then she could change his dreams to more pleasant memories, right? It made sense. If nothing else, maybe it would soothe his mind.

It was worth trying.

Selene lay down on the coverlet facing Damien, her heart hammering inside her chest. She took a deep breath. I can do this. Then she closed her eyes and wrapped her fingers around his wrist.

Selene.

It was Damien’s voice inside her head.

Before she could process that, the dreamscape rushed past her as she was pulled into the fiery memories filling his heat-filled mind. Selene spread out her arms and within seconds had transformed into a raven. She recognized many of the memories playing below her: the sick couple lying in a bed, three large wooden boxes dropped into the sea, and the stormy day when Damien used his power, amongst others.

A young man with dark hair and deep blue eyes who looked similar to Damien lay in a four-poster bed, his face gaunt, almost skeletal, and glistening with sweat. “Damien,” he rasped. “Father . . . Mother . . .”

Damien sat near the bed. At his words, Damien reached over and grabbed his hand. “Shhh, Quinn. Healer Sildaern said you need to rest.”