Gasping for air, Jaime Macpherson sat bolt upright in her bed, her sweat-soaked shift sticking to her body. Filling her lungs with great gulps of air, she nearly wept at the wonderful sensation of breathing again.
She shuddered at the vividness of the dream, at the horror of coming face to face with Edward. At the hate that oozed from him as he strangled the life out of her. It was so much like those other dreams, the ones she had experienced as she lay in that terrifying slumber, drugged and dead to the waking world. She felt the tremors run involuntarily through her frame.
These were only dreams, she reminded herself, glancing at the open window. The moon, bathing the chamber with a pale glow, was sinking in the western sky, and darkness still reigned over the earth. Soon, though, she
