The Night Curse (Book one)
Chapter 12 The Hunter

I wake, breathless.

She came to me.

I met her and stared into those jewel-like, violet eyes as they tried to bewitch me. I didn’t succumb to her beauty. If anything it made her even less human. No person has looked as perfect as she—or as frightening. Her ethereal skin is unbearably pale and smooth. Her face, slender with high cheekbones and a slightly pointed chin, is framed by a wild mane of unbrushed, black hair. Her large eyes, distinct with black lashes, are like cauldrons filled with potion. Wanting to drag me nearer, only to drown me with poison. Because she is an illusion. Her looks merely aim to stun an onlooker before taking them to an early grave.

I won’t be tricked. Despite her attempts at innocence and kindness, I see past her façade to the rotten core beneath—the snake waiting to strike. So, I made her think that I won’t tell anyone about her. And I won’t yet. But only because I have so much left to discover.

Why couldn’t she change my dream?

Is she sick?

Can Dreamwalkers lose their powers?

If I can replace the answers to these questions, I’d be revered as a legend, a hero. I could hold the antidote to their kind, curing the world of Dreamwalkers for good. People would hail my name like a God. With an accolade like that, I’d never need to work again.

My mouth twitches with repugnance as I suddenly realise what I need to do to uncover these truths. I had told her that we couldn’t be friends, but if I have any hope of obtaining such information then I had to. Getting closer to Amelia is the only way. At least she can’t alter my dreams.

I sit at the desk in my bedroom and dip the quill in the ink, hearing it scratch against the paper as I write my apology letter. I want to illustrate just how sorry I am, even though it’s a lie. She said that she could enter someone’s dream if she had something that they had touched. I don’t know if the letter itself qualifies, and I want to gain her trust, so I take a pair of scissors from the drawer and snip a lock off my hair. I fold the letter and my hair and insert it inside an envelope. Writing her name on the front feels treacherous, but duplicity is the only way that I will get what I need.

I head downstairs, pull my coat off the hook, and open the front door. Wind immediately blows in my face. It’s the middle of the night, and I can’t help but turn to the manor. No windows are lit with flames, so I press on.

Moments later, I’m in the clearing. She’s left the fork. Hesitantly, I kneel and pick it up, trying not to think about her fingers wrapped around its handle. In its place, I lay down the letter and secure it with a rock.

When I turn around, I swear that I see movement behind a tree.

Amelia?

I don’t want to scare her if she has followed me, so I decide to ignore the feel of eyes and retreat to the cottage, hugging my coat close to my body as I walk. If she is watching, I need to return to bed, so I can sleep and wait for her to take the bait.