Greyson awoke in the middle of the night.
He sat straight up in bed, his nightshirt damp on his skin. The nightmare clung to him, his chest billowing as he sought to catch is breath.
It was as if the fire was still around him, burning his skin and leaving bubbles under his flesh. It sizzled in his ears. His chest compressed, smoke clogging his nostrils and settling into his lungs - raw and dry as he swallowed harshly.
He closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair that had clumped from his ceaseless shifting, his coverlet wrapping around his ankles.
Greyson could see her.
She had been running from him, a lady cloaked in a silk gown. Her hips swayed enticingly, making his mouth water as she laughed. The woman glanced over her shoulder, eyes flirting beneath her eyelashes, her hair a mass of brunette curls that he longed to wrap around his fingers.
But she, dancing in his vision, was much too fast.
Greyson stumbled after her, bypassing bushels of fire that appeared every few seconds between him and her. No matter how fast he sprinted behind her, how high he jumped or how sweet her laughter, Greyson could not catch her - could not resist the lure of the fire as it fluttered about the delicate hem of her gown.
At one point, Greyson had stretched out an arm, her skirts brushing across his fingertips, but it slid from him like smoke.
Her laughter tinkled, her head fallen back upon her alabaster shoulders.
And then the dream changed.
The black recesses turned into the brimstone of the stables as they burned, and in the middle, her head tilted back as the first crack of a wooden beam sounded menacingly, she glanced at Greyson, caught his eye, her mouth an "o" of surprise.
The structure collapsed and he lost sight of her. Her screams echoed shrilly - fresh and sharp - begging him to run faster, to touch the burning beams and reach her.
But Greyson couldn't - always a hand print away, a bevy of foosteps.
Elusive.
Taunting.
Her name tumbled from his lips.
God, why couldn't he catch her? Greyson asked, frantic, his voice distant to his own ears as he screamed for help.
And then the scene vanished, sucked into a hole beneath his feet and he went tumbling head over heels, arms flung out as if to catch himself.
That was when the growls began and he had found himself on solid ground only to peer behind him. In a flash of red eyes, a body lunged for him, teeth snapping at his neck and tearing his shirt. Gray fur was clenched in his fists, as he pushed the creature an arm's length away. The fur clumped in his hands - stiff, matted with blood.
A sound almost like a whimper escaped him. Greyson grasped his chest. His heart thudded beneath the fist of his hand and he trembled, detesting the weakness.
It was as if he had been staked clean through. His body broken and his spirit nothing more than a memory as the wind howled through the windowpanes, rattling like bars that imprisoned him.
Bitter smells assaulted him.
Wood and smoke and sweat.
Is she safe?
Words scratched his skin, an irritant that urged him to move. Greyson pushed his body to the end of the green coverlet, descending the two steps that were build into his raised bed.
Make sure she's safe.
His eyes fell outside, the air thick and gray. The rubble of the stables met him as he gazed out the window.
What was left of them.
What if you are too late?
Greyson found his feet moving of their own accord, following a sense of dread. He shuffled into a pair of slippers, warming his toes that had become ice shards, his hand grasping the green satin robe he had tossed over his chair. He belted the fabric as he walked from his chambers.
A draft pimpled his skin, but he paid little heed as he descended his staircase. The confines of the manor were dark, the candles snuffed for the evening. The house slept undisturbed having no idea of the monster that lurked within its papered hallways, the portrait of his great grandfather looming in the entryway.
As the cold of the evening air nipped at him, Greyson kept hearing that musical laughter - a sweet dangling before his eyes. Such a delicate aroma but one that blinded him to all else but to achieve a taste.
For that was where he was headed, Greyson knew. It wasn't to the comforts of a glass of liquor, buzzing in his hands. It wasn't the crackling of a fire to warm his insides as much as his outside.
It was Charlie's face he saw on his eyelids. He was determined to find her, know that she hadn't been dragged into the blackness that seemed to reside within him.
It was a need.
A necessity.
One he feared would tear him apart if he didn't heed it.
A particularly cloying wind nipped at his exposed ankles and calves. He stumbled into the stables, his slippers scraping against the debris ridden ally - even if this part of his one expansive stables had remained intact.
He knew from his interview with Williams before he had retired that Charlie had been given the stable master's chambers.
"Do ye know then, milord, that the lad is in fact a woman?" William had asked earlier, his steps weary as they walked the property. He had been settling everything to rights for the evening, thanking the staff who had come to help extinguish the flames and making sure the stock had been seen to.
He had breathed a sigh of relief at Williams' words, knowing that he wouldn't have to keep up a facade for his observant stable master.
Williams had noticed the look, giving Greyson a smile.
"I may be old, milord, but even I know a lass when I see one." Williams had smiled, turning towards the kitchens where he would break his own fast. Greyson moved with him, falling behind enough that he couldn't be sure Williams had said what Greyson thought he heard.
"Especially one giving calf eyes to the master."
By the time Greyson had caught up the man, he was mumbling about cook's cherry pie. Greyson had left the man after making sure Williams would care for his imposter.
"I promise ye to keep an eye on her, milord. But do ye mind if I ask ye a question?"
Greyson had merely raised an eyebrow, knowing his silence was answer enough when the old man - one of his most trusted servants who had served beneath his father - continued on, unheeded.
"Why do ye let the lass continue with her disguise, then? What is she to you?
Greyson had opened his mouth to answer, but nothing had come out.
What was the lady to him?
He refused to delve deeper into what he suspected.
What he feared.
He inhaled deeply now, his steps leading him to the far corners of the stable hand's quarters. The door was at the end of the passageway, half hidden behind a tack room on the right and a stall on the left.
His feet seemed to have a mind of their own. Greyson knew he was being ridiculous, indeed. But he couldn't shake the remnants of his nightmare, the need to see Charlie for himself.
To see her sleeping safe and sound in her bed.
A surge of possession licked through his veins at the thought of seeing her so. He imagined walking into the room and watching the moonlight caress Charlie's cheek.
He licked his lips, suddenly dry, as he came to the door. He leaned his head against the surface, his hands pressed into the ungiving wood.
What was Charlie?
He laughed low in his throat, lifting his head and glaring at the door as if it would hold answers.
Part of him thought she might be his downfall, a siren luring him to despair.
And the other?
It whispered that she just might be his salvation.
For whatever she was - whatever she would be to him - at this point and time, Charlie was his everything.
Greyson didn't knock.
He let himself in, the door shuddering with a groan as he entered the darkness.
^^^^
**Author's Note: It's a short chapter, but I am splitting it up into two parts.
I WILL post the continuation tomorrow morning (it'll be about the same length).
VOTE! VOTE! VOTE!**