The Struggle by L. J. Smith Page A

fun.
    Gradually, though, his smile faded, and their dancing slowed. At last she stood unmoving in the circle of his arms. His dark eyes were not amused any longer, but fierce and heated. She looked up at him soberly, unafraid. And then for the first time she felt as if she
were
dreaming; she felt slightly dizzy and very languid and weak.
    The room around her was blurring. She could see only his eyes, and they were making her feel more and more sleepy. She allowed her own eyes to half close, her head to fall back. She sighed.
    She could
feel
his gaze now, on her lips, on her throat. She smiled to herself and let her eyes close completely.
    He was supporting her weight now, keeping her from falling down. She felt his lips on the skin of her neck, burning hot as if he had a fever. Then she felt the sting, like the jabs of two needles. It was over quickly, though, and she relaxed to the pleasure of having her blood drawn out.
    She remembered this feeling, the feeling of floating on a bed of golden light. A delicious languor stole through all her limbs. She felt drowsy, as if it were too much trouble to move. She didn’t want to move anyway; she felt too good.
    Her fingers were resting on his hair, clasping his head to her. Idly, she threaded them through the soft dark strands. His hair was like silk, warm and alive under her fingers. When she opened her eyes a slit, she saw that it reflected rainbows in the candlelight. Red and blue and purple, just like—just like the feathers …
    And then everything shattered. There was pain at her throat suddenly, as if her soul was being torn out of her. She was pushing at Damon, clawing at him, trying to force him away. Screams rang in her ears. Damon was fighting her, but it wasn’t Damon; it was a crow. Huge wings beat against her, thrashing in the air.
    Her eyes were open. She was awake and screaming. The ballroom was gone, and she was in a darkened bedroom. But the nightmare had followed her. Even as she reached for the light, it came at her again, wings thrashing in her face,sharp beak diving for her.
    Elena struck out at it, one hand flung up to protect her eyes. She was still screaming. She couldn’t get away from it, those terrible wings kept flailing frantically, with a sound like a thousand decks of cards being shuffled at once.
    The door burst open, and she heard shouts. The warm, heavy body of the crow struck her and her screams went higher. Then someone was pulling her off the bed, and she was standing protected behind Bonnie’s father. He had a broom and he was beating at the bird with it.
    Bonnie was standing in the doorway. Elena ran into her arms. Bonnie’s father was shouting, and then came the slam of a window.
    “It’s out,” Mr. McCullough said, breathing hard.
    Mary and Mrs. McCullough were just outside in the hallway, clad in bathrobes. “You’re hurt,” Mrs. McCullough said to Elena in amazement. “The nasty thing’s pecked you.”
    “I’m okay,” Elena said, brushing at a spot of blood on her face. She was so shaken that her knees were about to give out.
    “How did it get
in
?” said Bonnie.
    Mr. McCullough was inspecting the window. “You shouldn’t have left this open,” he said. “And what did you want to take the locks off for?”
    “I didn’t,” Elena cried.
    “It was unlocked and open when I heard you screaming and came in,” Bonnie’s father said. “I don’t know who else could have opened it but you.”
    Elena choked back her protests. Hesitantly, cautiously, she moved to the window. He was right; the locks had been unscrewed. And it could have been done only from the inside.
    “Maybe you were sleepwalking,” said Bonnie, leading Elena away from the window as Mr. McCullough began putting the locks back on. “We’d better get you cleaned up.”
    Sleepwalking. Suddenly the entire dream flooded back to Elena. The hall of mirrors, and the ballroom, and Damon. Dancing with Damon. She pulled out of Bonnie’s grasp.
    “I’ll do