Chapter Thirteen

Kaitlyn

I'm hunkered down over the toilet, my stomach constricting painfully, trying to throw up when there's nothing even left in my belly. The taste of bile in my throat is thick and my head is spinning. I woke up this morning with a sick, greasy feeling in my stomach. As I lay there, it felt like there was something squirming and twisting around in side of me.

And then came the nausea.

I felt a wave of nausea more powerful than anything I'd ever felt before. I almost didn't make it to the bathroom before I lost everything in my stomach. And here I've been for the last half an hour, dry heaving my guts out.

“Maybe you're pregnant,” Ashley says from the doorway, trying to lighten the mood.

“Shut up,” I groan. “You're not helping.”

She kneels down beside me, brushing the hair back from my sweat coated forehead.

“I'm sorry, babe,” she says. “I was just trying to make you laugh.”

“I know,” I gasp. “I'm just a little grumpy.”

“Understandable.”

She helps me to my feet and guides me back into the bedroom, laying me down on the bed. I hear the sink running in the bathroom and a moment later, Ashley comes out and lays a cool compress on my forehead. She sits down on the edge of the bed and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Can I get you anything, babe?” she asks. “I have to get to an audition, but I'll come right back home after that and take care of you.”

I shake my head. “If I put anything on my stomach, I feel like it's going to come right back up again.”

She purses her lips and gives me a sympathetic look. “Okay. But I'm going to bring some 7-Up and chicken noodle soup home for you,” she says. “And then we're going to spend the day on a hardcore Netflix binge.”

I give her a weak smile. “You're the best,” I croak. “I don't deserve you.”

She shrugs. “No, probably not,” she replies with a smile. “But, you're stuck with me anyway.”

“Love you,” I say. “Good luck.”

Ashley kisses me on the forehead and heads out. I hear the front door close behind her and then I'm left alone in my misery. I groan, roll over, and let the warm, comforting darkness of sleep pull me under.

I wake in a room so dark and silent, it's like being in a sensory deprivation tank. I turn in a circle, looking for some source of light or anything – just something that will tell me I'm alive and not just floating in the middle of space.

A sound drifts to me from out of the darkness. There is something moving furtively around me. It's an eerie, whispering sound – like a wet snake slithering through grass. It all feels so surreal and disconcerting to me.

“Hello?” I call out.

The darkness swallows my voice whole – it's like speaking into a vacuum. And then the silence descends upon me again. But just as before, that wet, whispering sound surrounds me again.

“Who's out there?” I call.

“You belong to me. You are my vessel.”

The voice is harsh and raspy, coarse and guttural – and seems to be coming from all around me. I turn in a circle, looking for the source of the voice, when I feel something brush past my leg. I let out a squeal of surprise and fear and back away from it. But the darkness is so absolute that I have no idea where I'm going. For all I know, I could be backing toward a thousand-foot drop.

So, I stop moving.

Ahead of me, I see two small points of light. I start to take a step forward and then freeze in place when I see them for what they are – eyes. Golden, shimmering eyes are staring at me from the dark. They ring a bell in the back of my mind – they look familiar for some odd reason. But my mind is so hazy, I don't know why.

A halo of light lances down from above and reveals the man standing in the darkness before me and I have to stifle a scream. Nyro, in a dark suit, black shirt, and tie the color of blood, stands within the halo of light, his white hair shimmering brightly. And those eyes – those golden eyes – boring straight into me.

“I have given you the great honor of being my vessel.”

I hear Nyro's voice in my head, but never see his mouth moving. It's like he's communicating with me telepathically or something. He just stands there, his body rigid, his eyes locked onto me.

“I – I don't know what that means,” I say.

“You carry my seed,” he says without opening his mouth. “You will aid me in becoming.”

I shake my head, still not understanding. “Becoming what?”

“You bear the seed that will help me ascend.”

“Ascend to what?” I ask, my confusion only deepening.

“In becoming more than I am,” he says.

“What are you?” I ask. “What are you becoming?”

“You are not to see the Dragonborn again.”

I cock my head and look at him. “The Dragonborn? What is that?”

“You will never see him again,” he says. “Or face my wrath.”

“I don't know what you're talking about –”

“You have been warned.”

His eyes seem to glow brighter for a moment and his gaze grows more intense. Confusion wraps its thick tendrils around me. I have no idea what he's talking about. I don't understand. Vessel? Dragonborn? What does any of that mean?

He closes his eyes and the halo of light goes out, plunging me back into absolute darkness. I turn in a circle, looking for a way out. I've never been more confused or more terrified in my life. I have no idea what Nyro was talking about.

I turn and let out a scream when I find myself standing face to face with him, his glowing, golden eyes locked on to mine. His face remains in shadowy murk, but I can see enough to know that he's not pleased. He looks wrathful. Vengeful. He looks like somebody who can kill me and not lose a moment's sleep over it.

He puts his hand against my cheek, stroking it. His fingers are cold and his touch leaves me feeling greasy. Dirty. Nyro grabs my chin hard and forces my head up, forces me to look into those glowing, gold orbs.

“You have been cautioned,” he says. “Do not see the Dragonborn again.”

He pushes me backward and I feel like the sensation of freefalling comes over me. My stomach is in my throat and my head is spinning as I fall, fall, fall...

... and wake up on my couch screaming. I sit up quickly, my heart thundering in my chest and the adrenaline coursing through me. I look around the empty living room, not sure how I'd gotten there. My breath is coming out in short, ragged bursts and I feel like I'm on the verge of hyperventilating.

I close my eyes and concentrate on taking slow, deep, deliberate breaths. That dark, greasy feeling still roils around in my belly and I feel like I'm going to throw up again. But after a few moments of deep breathing, I feel myself start to relax. The grip of nausea loosens and my head begins to clear.

“It was a dream,” I say aloud. “Nothing but a dream. Get a grip on yourself, Kaitlyn.”

I'm just about back in control of myself again when a hard, heavy knock at the door echoes through my apartment. I cry out and feel my pulse jump off the charts again.

“Kaitlyn,” I hear a muffled voice through the door. “Are you okay?”

The doorknob rattles and I fear that the next noise I'm going to hear is whoever is on the other side of that door come crashing through it – which would make my landlord none too pleased.

“C – coming,” I call, my voice hoarse. “I'm coming. Hold on a moment.”

I look down at myself and grimace. Yoga pants and an old, battered t-shirt from my old high school. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and my grimace only deepens. I'm pale – the point of looking sickly. And my hair has fallen out of the ponytail I'd pulled it back into earlier and stuck out in a million different directions.

The knocking on my door renews. “Kaitlyn?” the voice calls again.

I don't have time to make myself presentable, so I go to the door and open it. My eyes widen in surprise – and mortification – when I see Wyn standing in the hallway. He's got a look of concern on his face as he stares back at me.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I heard you scream.”

I shake my head. “I'm fine,” I say. “An idiot really. I fell asleep on the couch and had a bad dream. That's all.”

He eyes me for a moment, his lips compressed into a tight line. “May I come in?”

I consider my appearance again and think about making him wait in the hall until I can make myself look halfway decent. But hell, he's already seen me at my worst, so I shrug and stand aside, letting him into my place.

Wyn steps through the door and looks around, his eyes darting everywhere, surveying the place. I can tell that it's not out of curiosity to see how I live. The tightness around his eyes and mouth tell me that he's looking for threats. I close the door and lock it, stepping into the living room.

“I swear to you, there's nobody here but me,” I say. “I'm sick, fell asleep on the couch, and had a bad dream. That's it. I promise you. I appreciate your concern though. What are you doing here?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was just in the neighborhood?”

Wyn seems to relax a little bit as he turns to me, a small smile on his face. The fog in my head continues to clear and as I look at him, a question occurs to me.

“How do you even know where I live?” I ask.

He shrugs, his smile widening. “I'm resourceful.”

“Clearly,” I say. “I wish you would have called. I look like hell.”

“I can't say you'll be walking any red carpets anytime today.”

I give him the finger, but can't help but laugh. Wyn turns to me and his smile and the expression on his face change. It's hard to explain, but it's different and yet somehow no less warm or genuine.

“Honestly, you still look absolutely stunning to me,” he says, his voice soft.

I look away from him, feeling the heat rushing to my cheeks. From most guys, that line would have sounded corny. Insincere. But coming from Wyn, it sounds absolutely genuine. We share an awkward moment of silence before he clears his throat.

“You're not feeling well, huh?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I feel like death warmed over,” I say. “I can't keep anything down today.”

“Huh,” he says.

Wyn walks over to me, that look of concern back on his face again.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

My laugh is a little wry. “I barely know you,” I say and then after a moment, add, “but for some reason, yeah I do.”

“Good,” he says. “Okay then, I need you to relax.”

“Why? What are you going to do to me?”

“That's not relaxing.”

“And you're still not answering my question.”

“This is where that whole trust thing comes into play,” he says.

I let out a breath and grin. “Fine,” I say. “Work your magic.”

“Funny you should say that,” he says. “Now, close your eyes. And keep them closed.”

I look at him for a long moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing through me. But it passes quickly and I do as he asks, tipping my head back and closing my eyes. Wyn places one hand on my forehead and the other on my belly. I fight the temptation to open my eyes and look at him, to see what he's doing.

But as I stand there, I feel a heat upon my skin where he's touching me. It's a warmth that builds slowly and as it builds, I feel a tingling that starts in my skin and then begins to spread throughout my body. As that sensation washes through me, a feeling of peace and calm descend over me – and all of those dark, greasy feelings are washed away. After a few moments, I feel like brand new. Maybe even better than new.

“Okay,” he says. “You can open your eyes.”

I stand there, taking stock of myself for a moment, and then turn my eyes to him. I feel good. Really good. No nausea. No sick, greasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's all just – gone. And I feel fantastic.

“What did you do to me?” I ask. “Are you some kind of reiki yoga healer or something?”

He laughs softly. “Something like that,” he says. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing. I seriously feel amazing,” I say. “Seriously, what did you do?”

He shrugs. “Took your mind off things.”

Still as evasive as ever. “One of these days, we're going to sit down and you're going to tell me everything I want to know.”

“We can do that,” he says.

“So really, what's up?” I ask. “What brings you by?”

“Uh, just checking on you,” he says. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“And you couldn't have called or texted?”

“And miss a chance to see your beautiful face?” he asks.

“Oh, now you're just trying to butter me up.”

He shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “Actually – I just wanted to see you.”

“You could have picked a better time,” I say. “Like when I'm actually presentable.”

“You look fantastic to me,” he says.

And before I know it, Wyn has closed the distance between us and pulled me to him. My heart speeds up as he looks down at me with eyes that glimmer and sparkle like the Caribbean Sea on a Summer day.

There's a moment between us that's filled with anticipation. With yearning. And with something more – something I can't put my finger on, but something I can feel. And I can see by the look in Wyn's eyes that he feels it too.

He leans down and presses his lips to mine, sending a jolt of electricity along my every nerve ending. As his tongue slips into my mouth and I feel the fires of passion ignite within me, a snippet of my dream flashes into my mind – Nyro's face and those glowing golden eyes along with his words.

Stay away from the Dragonborn.

I push it away, so caught up in the sensation of Wyn's hands on my body and his mouth pressed to mine.