The Night Curse (Book one)

It’s been too long.

Harlow’s black hair has grown slick with moisture from my constricted grip. Two days have passed since he left for The Dawnforge, and I’ve yet to hear word.

“I think I’ll try and sleep again,” I tell Clemmy, who is fighting to keep her eyes open. “Go to bed. I’ll tell you if I hear something.”

Clemmy unpredictably agrees and patters out of the room. She’s been by my side since my return. When I told her that Harlow’s brother had been kidnapped and what happened when I entered Austin’s dream, she was on tenterhooks—only speaking when I showed her the pendant I had used to make the connection. I’d confessed how familiar the symbol was, and how convinced I felt that Mr Fletcher had shared the same motif with a plaque by his fireplace. I wasn’t prepared for Clemmy to recognise it, too. She told me that Marquess Elliot bore the same design on his cufflinks.

I still didn’t know what to make of it all. Something didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t allow myself to dwell on the strangeness, or how unsettled it made me when Harlow had yet to make contact.

I press the precious strand to my heart and clear my mind. Soon, I plummet into a deep sleep.

The same impassible walls block my way.

Please, Harlow. Please.

I push against the façade, willing it to open.

Suddenly, it bends—like pressing into a goose-down pillow. Harlow’s doughy mind stretches until it’s paper-thin. I rip through, landing on the other side with a thump.

I dust myself off and absorb my surroundings. It’s dark and small—claustrophobic. There are no windows, no door, and the only furniture is a thin mattress on the floor where Harlow sits. No cowers.

He’s facing the wall of the hollow cube, and I run to him, calling his name until his frantic eyes are on mine.

“I sensed you coming,” he says. “I tried to block you, but you fought through.”

I tilt my head and peer intently at Harlow’s weathered expression. “Why would you stop me? What happened?”

“We found Austin. He’s safe and well.”

Austin is saved. Yet Harlow is on the brink of tears. This doesn’t make any sense. “So why do you look so sad?”

Harlow glances around him, motioning to the landscape he has created. “This is more than a dream, Mia. These are my real confinements.”

Real. Then that means… It can’t be. “You’re in prison?”

Harlow nods solemnly. “They think I’m a traitor. I’m to be judged for treason, and if found guilty, I’ll be sentenced to death.”

This can’t be happening. “Why?”

“I’m suspected of conspiring with a Dreamwalker. With you. You need to be careful, Mia. I don’t know if we’ve been seen together, but Clemmy’s fiancé has something to do with it.”

The kidnapping, the symbol… it is all connected.

As a stream of tears trickles down my cheeks, a burning need to feel and hold Harlow overrides my sorrow. “I thought we had more time,” I whisper to the darkness.

“Me, too.” Harlow kneads my hair and skin. “If I had known that I wouldn’t get to hold you again at the farm, I’d have never left.”

How has it come to this?

Harlow imprisoned…unable to ever see me again.

I don’t want to think about tomorrow or the next day, or the day after that. I want to stay here, in this moment, entangled with the man that I love. “You have me now.” I guide Harlow’s hand to my breast and dive my tongue into his mouth.

His fingers graze my legs, edging my nightgown towards my hips. He traces the trim of my underwear and the sensitive dip of my thigh, sending shivers to my core. The roughness of his hands, moving excruciatingly slow, leaves me panting for air. Wetness pools between my legs and I can’t tell if it’s a sensation exclusive to my dream as his hand finds the ache at the apex of my thigh. He circles the sensitive bud with his finger, barely applying pressure. My back arches, pushing into his touch, yearning for more.

Harder.

Faster.

He responds with a deepening kiss. Our tongues clash with passion and pain, both battling to be sated. I cling to his broad shoulders as if they are a lifeboat, and I am lost at sea. I might as well be. Everything else feels inconsequential compared to the feel of him.

But then I realise. This is just a dream, and none of this is truly happening. The thought dispels my desire and I see the register on Harlow’s face.

“What’s the matter?” he whispers, like he’s afraid to ask.

“When we…” I search for the word, wondering whether Harlow understands without me having to explain. “When we… do this.” He nods but doesn’t speak. “I want it to be for real. I don’t want it to be in a dream. I want to feel you with my own hands. Kiss you with my own mouth.”

His eyes tighten. His chin dips. “You know that may never happen?”

Although it breaks me, we pull away from one another, but I keep a palm against his cheek.

Harlow plants a kiss upon my lips and lingers, breathing heavily. “Sleep with me.”

My forehead creases, not quite understanding. He turns on his side and pulls me towards his chest, interlacing his fingers with mine. He’s summoned a bed, plush with velvet pillows and the room surrounding it looks like my own. It’s dark, apart from the luminous constellations that hang overhead in place of a ceiling. With my face turned from his, I don’t know if Harlow sees, but I sense his muscles relax, his breathing heavy. I wrap him so tightly against me and let myself dream a dreamless sleep, praying that upon waking, Harlow still remains locked in my arms.