The Darkest Dream (The Darkest Trilogy) by Michelle Brewer Page A

knew how Darren felt about the topic—but I also knew that something about all of this seemed…it seemed right .  
    I had always felt like a bit of an outsider—for as long as I could remember.   Phe once told me it was because of what I’d seen, when I was younger.   But I remembered the feeling even before that.   Something that told me I was different from the rest of the kids.   I’d never felt as if I belonged anywhere…until now.  
    Sighing, I crossed the room and glanced out the window.   He would be returning soon, if things had gone according to plan.   I tried not to look forward to it too much, and when I found that I was, I told myself it was only because I was ready for a change of clothes and a few minutes to brush my teeth and hair.   Some of the color had returned to my face today—I was no longer deathly pale, but still, I felt I needed all the help I could get.  
    Especially if I had any hopes of winning Darren over…
    I was startled by the thought and quickly brushed it off, telling myself that I would never have a chance.   Darren had made perfectly clear his feelings on the topic.
    Something on the TV caught my attention and I turned slowly to face it.   As familiar images flashed across the screen, my legs involuntarily lowered me to the bed.   But as my attention held steady, my legs began to quiver and I slipped to the floor, staring painfully ahead of me.
    Displayed on the screen in front of me was the diner.   It was footage from the night previous, of Ryan and Ellie standing inside the diner.   Ellie looked down at the floor—and I imagined Phe’s blood, thick and red—before she began sobbing.   Her husband’s arms wrapped tightly around her wounded frame, holding her while she thrashed and sobbed.   I felt my lungs empty themselves in an effort to stall the pain.
    “There have been no leads in the Glover murders of a young waitress and cook at a local diner, but police are confident in their investigation.”   The screen flashed to a previously recorded clip of Ryan.   Brayden stood in the background, his fair-brown hair reminding me very much of Phoebe.   When I heard Ryan’s voice, I suddenly felt my heart break.  
    “If anyone has any information— any information—on the whereabouts of Lucinda Malone, or about the— ”   His voice cracked.   “About the events that took place here last night…please, contact the police.   We have already lost our daughter.   We can’t bear anything more.”  
    And I felt the tears falling now, felt the sobs beginning to wrack through my body.   It was so easy to push the pain aside when I was busy thinking about something—anything—else.   But it was undeniable now.  
    Never before had I seen them look so broken —
    It was too much.   Too much to take.
    I was hardly even aware of the door opening until he was standing in front of me, the contents he’d been holding dropped to the floor.   And suddenly I was wrapped tightly in his arms.  
    He held me while I sobbed.   He held me through my fit of rage, during which I blamed both he and myself, pounding my fists against his cold chest.  
    And he held me while I struggled to breathe—exhausted from the force of my mourning.  
    The entire time, he did nothing but whisper calming words in my ear, running his hand through my hair, using the other to rub my back.   And I clung to Darren as if my life depended on it—because in that moment of pure vulnerability, I was afraid it actually might.   Something shifted that night between the two of us, something neither could quite pinpoint.
    I drifted into sleep feeling safe and warm, even in the arms of a dangerous and cold man.  
     
     
Chapter Seven
     
     
    When I woke, I was immediately aware of the firm chest upon which my head rested.   I breathed in deeply, taking in his scent.   It was very masculine, with traces of cologne and that ever-present touch of rain—that smell that filled the air