That wasn’t what I had meant to say. I knew he wasn’t dead. His terror and pain assaulted me every moment through the blood tie. It had been so overwhelming I’d had to pull to the side of the highway and concentrate on blocking his voice from my head. Then I’d driven the rest of the night in tears, praying he didn’t think I’d abandoned him.

In my dream, he smiled. “I’m not dead. I’m right here.”

His voice echoed in my brain, pleading for help. It had a weird, stereo effect, and the sound waves visibly distorted the air around us. “Did you hear that?”

Of course he heard it. He’d said it.

But Nathan just smiled, oblivious to my distress. “Where are you running?”

The tortured screams rent the air again. “I know I’m not dreaming that.”

I wasn’t sure he’d heard me, so I tried repeating the words, only to find the screams now came from my own mouth.

Nathan pulled me into his arms, and he felt exactly the way he would have in real life, solid and cold.

“You don’t have to run,” he whispered against my hair. “Please, don’t run from me.”

A drop of crimson splashed against the pale sheets.

“You’re bleeding.” I noted the detail with disinterest. The whole scene was boring and loud and annoying. I sat up. Nathan flopped on the mattress, now soaked with red as he bled from the arcane symbols carved into his flesh.

“Carrie, please.”

I turned away. Through the magic of dreaming, I was on my feet. A single step carried me far enough from the bed that I couldn’t hear Nathan and could barely see him. Cyrus waited for me at the other side of the impossibly long room, and I went to him.

“He needs you,” my former sire said without the usual mocking in his tone. “Are you going to go to him?”

I shook my head. “It’s out of my hands now.”

Cyrus’s arms enfolded me, but his hands turned to claws that tore my flesh. I looked into his eyes, and his face transformed grotesquely, then shifted into Nathan’s. He screamed, so loudly and long I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand it.

When I feared I’d go mad from the sound, I woke. My cell phone rang at my side. Still drunk with sleep, I reached for it.

“We should pull into Nevada tonight.”

Byron. “Thank you for the update.”

He chuckled. “I thought you might like to know, so you can get a jump on us. Show up before we get your man.”

“He’s not my man.” The denial escaped before I could stop it. Wincing, I cleared my parched throat. “I mean, I’m looking for him, but—”

“I don’t care, either way.” Byron sniffed. “Have you fed?”