Solita by Vivien Rainn

Author:Vivien Rainn [Rainn, Vivien]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

12

Silas’ fingers wound around hers in the darkness is her only guiding light through the abyss of his memory. A light she knows comes from a fire stoked deep within him, an inferno that hungers eternally for human suffering, her suffering—no matter how placid the exterior, no matter how gentle his touch.

They walk through the darkness for what seems like forever in a blink of an eye, the only indication they’ve reached their destination is when he stops in his tracks, a distant wind blowing in from a plane unseen.

Suppressing her fear as he relinquishes her hand, he leaves her with nothing but the phantom of his warmth. “Silas?” she asks, her voice an echo of confusion in this abyss, a moment of fear in his absence. The horrors of his past, the blood wrought from his hands swirl around her thoughts with all the bitterness of that blood-stained sea. An ocean of sin drips from his fingertips, yet if a monster is what he truly is—then why does she miss his absence at her side?

“Close your eyes.” His voice is near, yet the shadows billow over his figure, concealing all but for his face.

The voice of reason deep within urges her to search his eyes for any trace of ill-intent, but her heart answers for her, surrendering to his command.

Her gaze meets his one more time before she obeys, closing her eyes, welcoming the cool breeze that tousles her hair and kisses her skin. Silas’ presence is swept away by the wind, leaving Sadie to her own devices as the gust overtakes her, swaying her where she stands—but the wind dies down and her senses awaken with the murmur of rushing water.

Pinpricks of strange familiarity ripple over her skin, and this time she opens her eyes without needing his voice to coax her. Her heart rises as she lifts her gaze upwards, staring wide-eyed at the sight before her as she realizes: this isn’t his past.

It’s a dream—my dream.

Rising tall in columns of stone stands the Trevi Fountain stretching out before her in all its ornate splendor. She’s in Italy, in Rome, standing in a dream she’s held close to her chest for countless years before the death of her father, obliterated completely the day her mother abandoned her. Yet here it is, a dream raised from the dead.

But it’s not the Italy she’s seen in photos, not quite the Rome she’s seen in films. The Trevi’s elegant stone sculptures twist and writhe in unnatural shapes. The soft glow of the fountain lights are dominated instead by a crimson haze, the teal blue waters cast in a blood-dark hue. The faces of the Tritons and the horses stare back at her in demonic jest; as if they know they exist only as a cruel inversion of something that simply cannot be.

“This isn’t right…” She stares at the mesmeric nightmare before her, letting herself walk over to the fountain’s edge, the rush of falling water filling her ears. Peering over

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