Chapter Fifty-three

Libelle's eyes opened suddenly as she shot up from the bed, the blankets fluttering down towards her feet. She was drenched in a cold sweat, breathing hard and trembling. It was a dream; a terrifying and horrible dream. She flinched when a flash of lightning lit up the room, shadowing the many objects cluttered around the tabletops and floor. She rubbed the raised hairs on her arms and glanced around her surroundings as she tried to slow her breathing. Another flash of lightning, but this time she saw a pair of golden eyes staring at her through the dark. She swallowed hard, fearing that she might still be dreaming.

The gold eyes disappeared for a moment, then reappeared closer to her bedside. Another flash of lightning, and Eskil was suddenly standing right next to her bed. "You were dreaming? What of?"

She was still breathing hard and staring at him with a surprised expression. It really was only a dream, she told herself as she raised her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs with long sigh.

Eskil stared down at her, and he couldn't help but think how she seemed incredibly weak and pathetic as she curled up into a ball on the bed. She had been crying out in her sleep for the last hour or so and thrashing about in the blankets while she was dreaming. He wondered what was troubling her, yet he didn't know how best to ask her about it. Her body was trembling as if she were sitting on a snow bank in the middle of a winter storm.

Strangely, he wanted to comfort her. Seeing her trembling like this was not bringing pleasure to him. Instead, it made his chest ache and he felt angst that she appeared so inconsolable. He rubbed his brows, the conflicting emotions causing his own turmoil. Before he had been cursed by her magic, he would have gladly taken advantage of her weakness. He would have sunk his fangs into her flesh and torn her limb from limb. He would have scorched her flesh, and when her strong soul left her body, he would have taken his time to enjoy its taste.

But I don't want to do any of that right now. He slowly sat down onto the bed beside her. She didn't look up at him, but he was able to clearly see her tense up. Another flash of lightning brightened their room as a crash of thunder shook the glass window. The candle beside the bed was already half way through the wax, but the flame still provided enough light to see her.

"Slay— Libelle," he said calmly, despite emotions welling up inside him that he was unfamiliar with.

She didn't raise her head to look at him as it was still nestled on her crossed arms. "What?"

"What...what were you dreaming of?"

"Nothing."

"You were thrashing about in your sleep. You were also crying out. It can't be nothing."

"It's nothing. Really."

He snorted, "Liar."

Libelle glared at him, her eyes bloodshot and glimmering with unshed tears. "What concern is it to you, death-bringer?"

The familiar feeling of rage boiled in his stomach and tried burning its way up his throat. He grabbed hold of her arms and forcefully pulled them from around her legs, slamming them into the pillow behind her.

She fell back with the force, staring at him surprised as he glowered over her. He bared his teeth at her. "You told me to call you by your name and not your title. I will demand the same of you. You. Will. Not. Call. Me. Death-bringer! Understand?"

Hesitantly, she nodded. He sighed, lowering his head as he collected his thoughts. He could hear her rapid heartbeat over her shaky breaths as he brought his head back up to look at her.

"What were you dreaming of? It's not like you to tremble, especially when it's not me causing your fear."

"It doesn't matter. It was just a dream."

"Then why do you look like you're about to cry?"