Never Leave, A Human Mate - (Book 2 The Mist Series)

~Chapter 8 - The Persistent Nightmare~

Everyone had been so incredibly welcoming. It felt like I’d stumbled into a large, loving family, watching them interact. I listened to the easy laughter and chatter as I handed a giggling little Anya back to Kingston. The affection they all shared was a marvel, something I secretly envied. The food smelled warm and mouthwatering, like comfort on a plate. I piled roast pork, crispy vegetables, and creamy carbonara onto my plate, but just as I was about to tuck in, my body had other plans. A familiar, unwelcome wave of nausea crashed over me. My stomach clenched in protest. The day had been so good, too good, maybe. Of course, my body would pick now to remind me I’d overdone it.

Taking a shaky breath, I turned to Reece, my face probably pale as a ghost. “Reece, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I really need to be excused.”

His serene smile vanished, replaced by a furrowed brow and genuine concern. “Is everything okay, Dawn?”

“I just need a few minutes…” I pushed back from the table, the movement sending a dizzying swirl through my head. “I’ll be back shortly.”

My legs felt like water. The room tilted, and I grabbed for the edge of the table, missing it.

Reece was there in an instant, his powerful hands steadying me. A chorus of gasps rippled around the table, a wave of sudden, unwanted attention.

“I’ll take Dawn upstairs,” Reece announced, his voice firm, brooking no argument. And before I could protest, he swept me into his arms. The abrupt shift in perspective only amplified the nausea, turning my stomach into a churning sea.

I was too weak, too sick, to resist. I clung to him, burying my face against his chest, trying to focus on the steady beat of his heart.

With surprising gentleness, he carried me effortlessly up the grand staircase to the bedroom’s sanctuary. He lowered me carefully onto a plush chaise lounge, his gaze never leaving my face. He knelt before me, his hand resting lightly on my leg, a silent question in his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Dawn?” he asked, his voice laced with worry. “Do you feel sick?”

The nausea surged, a tidal wave threatening to breach the dam. “Excuse me,” I choked out, scrambling to my feet.

I bolted for the bathroom, a clumsy, desperate flight. My bag and sketchbook went flying, scattering across the floor as I lurched toward the toilet, pushing the door closed behind me, collapsing on the cold tile floor just in time to empty my stomach in violent, convulsive heaves. The taste of bile and half-digested apple burned in my throat.

Even before the diagnosis, my bouts of nausea had never been this brutal. Why now? Why did my body have to betray me at the very moment I was feeling normal?

A soft knock echoed through the bathroom. “Dawn, can I come in?” It was Reece, his voice tight with restrained anxiety.

Trembling, I flushed the toilet, the rush of water a temporary distraction. I sank back against the wall, weak and clammy. I swiped at my face with a handful of toilet paper, trying to erase the evidence of my humiliating collapse.

“You can come in…” I called out, my voice hoarse and shaky. “If you want to…”

The door creaked open, and Reece stepped inside, closing it softly behind him. He moved towards me with a hesitant grace, then knelt, mirroring my position. I saw it then, reflected in the depths of his eyes: that all-too-familiar look of pity. The look I dreaded in the weeks since the diagnosis.

He held out a small, crumpled packet, found no doubt amongst the scattered contents of my bag. “I found these on the floor…” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “What… what’s going on, Dawn? What do you have?”

“Leukemia,” I blurted out, the word a raw, ragged sound. Tears streamed down my face, hot and unwelcome. “I only found out a few weeks ago. That’s why I’m… travelling. Trying to tick things off my bucket list before I start radiation therapy.”

His shoulders sagged as if he’d been physically struck. “I…”

“It’s okay,” I interrupted, desperate to stem the tide of his sympathy. “Honestly, I’ve heard it all before. I didn’t tell anyone because I wanted to live in the moment. I wanted life to feel normal, to enjoy it while I could.”

Now, his shoulders shuddered as though he was suppressing sobs.

I reached out, my hand trembling, and placed it on his arm. He looked up at me, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, reflecting my own pain. “Hey,” I said softly, “try not to take this too hard. Once my car is fixed, I’ll be gone. This will just be a distant memory. You’ll forget all about the broken-down artist who puked in your bathroom.”

His jaw clenched. “That won’t happen.” It wasn’t a statement; it was a low growl.

Startled by the intensity of his reaction, I instinctively recoiled, pressing myself further against the wall.

He saw my fear, immediately softening his expression. He took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. Then he reached forward and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a tight, comforting hug. “I’m sorry if I scared you, Dawn,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I… I’ve grown to like you. I will never forget you.”

“I will never forget your kindness,” I confessed, hugging him back with unexpected force. It was true. This quiet moment of connection, of shared vulnerability, had cut through my carefully constructed walls. It had barely been a whole day, and Reece had made me smile more than I had in years. He had done other things, but I felt too unwell to think about those darn buttons he had aroused.

He sat back on his heels, wiping the tears from his eyes. Then he leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. I closed my eyes, savouring the simple comfort of the gesture.

“I’ll run you a shower,” he said, reluctantly pulling away and standing. He retrieved the medication packet from the sink counter and placed it carefully on the corner. “Then you need to rest.”

I didn’t bother to argue with him. The idea of a shower sounded good. He turned and stepped into the shower cubical. The sound of running water echoed around the room. Once satisfied with the temperature, he walked over to a cabinet and grabbed a grey towel. He hung the towel over the rack across from me, then offered me his hand.

I took it, and he gingerly brought me to my feet. “While you shower, I’ll get the bed ready. Then I must duck out for a few hours, but I’ll be back up in a little while to check on you.”

“Thank you,” I said, wiping my eyes.

“For you, Dawn,” he said, his gaze holding mine, “I would do anything to help.” He nodded once, then turned and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

A deep sense of loneliness settled over me, a familiar ache that resonated in the pit of my stomach. It was a void I had known only once before, after losing Nate—a sudden emptiness, a yearning for connection. I longed for Reece’s presence, the sound of his voice, the comfort of his touch.

My body was trembling, weak, and sore from the violent expulsion of the only food I had eaten all day. I was ravenously hungry, yet the mere thought of food sent a fresh wave of nausea churning through me.

I peeled off my clothes and stepped into the shower, grateful for the immediate warmth of the water. I adjusted the temperature until it was almost scalding, the intense heat a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside me. The water pounded against my skin, a soothing massage that eased some of the tension in my aching muscles. For me, a shower is only good if it’s close to scorching.

As the water cascaded over me, I closed my eyes and focused on the sensation, hoping to wash away the fear and despair, even if just for a little while. After washing my hair, I turned off the water and stepped out, shivering despite the heat.

I quickly dried myself and wrapped the towel around my head. I towel-dried my hair, braided it into one side, dug out my PJs, collected my medication, and shuffled towards the bed.

The covers had been turned back, revealing smooth, cool sheets. The bed looked incredibly inviting. As I climbed in, my fingers brushed against something small and square on the pillow. My name was written on the front in elegant cursive. I opened it to find a delicate stem of lavender tucked inside. Underneath, a short note: ‘Dawn, there’s an electrolyte drink on the bedside table and a little lavender to help you relax. Rest up—Reece.’

“He’s so sweet…” I smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached my eyes. I placed the note on the bedside table, next to a tall glass filled with a fizzing orange liquid.

I drank the electrolyte drink, wincing slightly at the artificial tang. Then I pulled the covers up to my chin, snuggled into the soft pillows, and closed my eyes. As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to cuddle next to Reece, to feel his arms around me, holding me close. The thought stirred those forbidden cravings again, a dangerous temptation I knew I couldn’t afford to indulge. I pushed them aside, focusing on the lavender scent that filled my senses. It wasn’t long before I was asleep.

***

The forest loomed before me, a monochrome canvas of faded grey. Not the comforting grey of a cloudy day, but a lifeless, draining grey that sucked the joy from my very being. I felt a primal unease crawl beneath my skin, a sense of wrongness so profound it made my teeth ache. This wasn’t just a forest; it was a graveyard disguised as one.

Driven by a compulsion I didn’t understand, I reached out to touch the nearest tree. Its bark looked ashen and brittle. But as my fingers stretched towards it, the tree shimmered, the image subtly distorting, and then, with agonizing slowness, it moved. Not with the sway of wind, but with deliberate, unsettling purpose, sliding just beyond my reach.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I took another step, my boots crunching on the grey, lifeless leaves that carpeted the forest floor. The tree mirrored my movement, always just out of grasp. A frustrating, terrifying game.

Then, a figure emerged from the oppressive grey fog that clung to the forest floor. It was large, imposing, cloaked in shadows that seemed to deepen and swirl around it. An icy tendril of fear snaked down my spine. It moved with a deliberate, unsettling gait, each step measured, drawing it closer to me.

My breath hitched in my throat. I wanted to scream, to run, but my limbs felt locked in place, paralysed by the sheer dread emanating from this… thing. As it drew closer, close enough for me to discern the shadowed hollow beneath the hood of its dark cloak, I braced myself. What was it? What did it want?

But before I could see, before I could even scream, it vanished. One moment, a looming presence, the next, just thin air.

“Hello?” I croaked, my voice a pathetic whisper that barely broke the oppressive stillness. I expected an echo, a confirmation that I wasn’t entirely alone in this horrifying place. But there was nothing. Only the unnerving silence and the feeling of being utterly, irrevocably alone.

The stillness was then broken by a faint sound, a soft, almost imperceptible rustling behind me. Footsteps. My blood ran cold. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

A rush of cold air hit me, raising goosebumps on my arms. I felt someone’s breath, shallow and ragged, ghosting across my hair. My heart leaped into my throat, threatening to choke me.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I turned my head. But there was nothing there. Just the grey trees, the grey fog, and the gnawing, paralysing fear.

The footsteps came again, closer this time, more distinct. They were definitely behind me. Someone, something, was stalking me.

Adrenaline surged through my veins. I bolted. Pushing through the dense undergrowth, dodging gnarled roots and grasping branches. After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled to a halt. I whirled around, my eyes scanning the shadows, desperately searching for any sign of my pursuer.

A figure stood a few feet away, cloaked and hooded, a dark silhouette against the grey landscape. It hadn’t made a sound. It just stood there, watching me.

The figure stepped forward, the movement slow, deliberate, sending a fresh wave of terror washing over me. My legs trembled, threatening to buckle beneath me.

The hooded figure paused, its head tilted slightly, as if studying me. For what felt like an eternity, it simply stared. Then, slowly, deliberately, it reached up and lowered its hood.

My breath hitched. I braced myself for the face of a monster, a demon, something born from the depths of my darkest nightmares.

And then I saw him.

“Nate!” I cried, my voice cracking with disbelief and a strange, conflicting mixture of relief and horror. His dark eyes, normally full of life and laughter, were now dull, vacant.

He looked… broken. His face was a grotesque mess of blood and bruises. A deep gash ran across his forehead, crusted with dried blood. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a purple and black mass that made me want to vomit.

“Dawn…” he whispered, his voice a ragged rasp dribbling blood from the corner of his mouth. “Help me…”

“No! No!” I screamed, backing away from him, my hands raised to ward him off. This couldn’t be Nate. My Nate. Not like this.

Then, with a sickening lurch, the vivid image of Nate dissolved, the forest around him fading into nothingness. One second I was staring into his ravaged face, the next I was standing in the middle of a freeway, surrounded by endless stretches of grey asphalt.

The transition was so abrupt, so jarring, that I stumbled, nearly falling to my knees. The ground beneath me trembled. A low rumble vibrated through my bones. The distant sound of a truck approaching grew louder, faster, a mechanical predator stalking me in this concrete wilderness.

“No!” I screamed internally, bringing my arms up to shield my face, a pathetic, futile gesture against the tons of metal hurtling towards me.

There was a deafening roar, a bone-jarring impact, and then… darkness. Utter, absolute, suffocating darkness.

***

“Arrgh!” I screamed, bolting upright. Sweat plastered my pyjamas to my back, an icy river tracing the curve of my spine. My hairline was damp, each strand of hair clinging to my forehead like a desperate vine. My heart hammered against my ribs. A frantic drummer trapped in a cage, threatening to burst free. Air hitched in my throat—I was drowning in a nightmare, even awake. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. Just panic.

“Dawn!” Reece gasped. The bed dipped as he scrambled to my side, his legs tangling with the duvet. He pulled me against his chest, his arms a solid, grounding force around my shuddering frame. I clung to him, desperate for the warmth and solidity he offered.

“What happened to me?” I panted, each sob a ragged, painful thing. The words felt thick and clumsy in my mouth.

“You had a nightmare,” Reece murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. He leaned his chin on my head, his fingers gently stroking my hair. “I’ve got you…”

But did he? The images, sharp and brutal, flickered behind my eyelids. It wasn’t just a nightmare. It was the nightmare. The same nightmare I had after Nate died. I was reliving his death, trapped in a gruesome loop, forced to watch him die over and over again. The guilt, a constant companion, clawed at me. Why?

“Reece, don’t leave me,” I pleaded, peering up at him with watery eyes. The moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains illuminated the concern etched on his face. “Stay with me, please?” The vulnerability in my voice surprised even me. I was usually so strong, so in control. But Nate’s death had cracked me open, leaving a raw, aching wound that never truly healed.

“I’ll stay,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering. He pulled back the duvet, inviting me back into the haven of the bed. He climbed in beside me, pulled me against him, and held me close. “I promise I won’t leave you.”