Dreams for the Dead Read Online Free Page B

brought her especially for you,” Branek said. “You did let her get away.”
    “I wanted to chase her. But thank you anyway for bringing her.”
    Tristan moved out of the doorway and slunk toward her. Branek stepped away, ceding his prey. The cold man just watched without a word. Tristan’s eyes bore into her without a flicker, and she shuddered to think of the horrible things he’d do to her.
    Dawn was beginning to feel the most desolate, hopeless kind of fear. Her instinct was to scream and bolt for the front door, but she knew she wouldn’t make it. It wouldn’t help her. Acting out would only get her hurt. She struggled to remain outwardly quiet and passive, and lowered her eyes so they wouldn’t know the depths of the fear and rage burning in them.
    Kill you now . That was what Tristan had said. And that she wouldn’t like if he took her with him.
    When he reached her, Tristan took her hand in his, large and cold, and suddenly she wished she had tried to run. He pulled her to the doorway where he’d been lounging. She tugged her hand back just enough to show resistance, but her legs moved automatically to follow him. She looked over her shoulder. Branek and the cold man had disappeared.
    “I don’t want to go with you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I want to go home.”
    He didn’t even glance back at her. “You’re not going anywhere.”
    The doorway led to two other doors, presumably bedrooms. Tristan went into the one on the left, a room with startlingly bright, acid-green walls. He stopped just inside and let Dawn walk in front of him. Then he closed the door, locking it with a key.
    Trying to prepare herself for something terrible, Dawn folded her arms over her chest and backed against the wall. Tristan didn’t even look at her. He crossed the room with long strides and crouched in front of a low, wide bookshelf. One shelf was lined entirely with records. He flipped through them, selected one, and put it in a player sitting on the next shelf up. Then he sat down in a retro teal armchair, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.
    Music Dawn had never heard before filled the room. It was obviously old, maybe some kind of early punk, wild and rough. Even if she’d cared, she couldn’t concentrate enough to really listen. She was confused. What do you want? What are you going to do to me? These were questions she wanted to ask, but didn’t. They would only draw attention to her, and she didn’t really want to know the answers.
    Keeping a wary eye on Tristan, she inched toward the door and stretched out a hand toward the knob. It was locked. She’d known it was, of course. She’d seen him do it. The key was in the pocket of his black jeans.
    She moved back to her spot by the wall. When she glanced up, she saw Tristan’s eyes were open and he was looking at her. She stiffened. Now he was going to hurt her, just like his friend Jared hurt Leila. It was crazy to think a bunch of sick fucks shared this house together, doing weird things in the various rooms … That was what Dawn pictured, anyway, without allowing her thoughts to become too specific. In actuality, she had no idea what was happening.
    He stood up and walked in her direction. She skittered to the side, afraid to look, afraid to see what was coming. But then she heard the door unlocking, opening, closing. It locked again from the outside. She tried the knob anyway and wasn’t surprised when it didn’t turn.
    Alone in the room, where the music still played, Dawn felt free to freak the hell out. She grabbed handfuls of her hair, sank into a crouch, and allowed herself to cry into her knees for a few minutes, confident the music would hide the sound of her sobs. Then she took a few deep breaths to compose herself.
    She’d been too busy watching Tristan to take much notice of the room before. It had two wi ndows, but they were both sealed shut with viscous black paint. She rose to her feet, wiping the back of one hand