KELLAN WARD
He dreamed about a dark-haired girl, her raven-black hair caught in a white rose bush. Thorns scratched her pale flesh, creating thin slices of red.
Her green eyes were glassy with tears, but she held back. The effort not to cry cost her. Her bleeding body trembled in her thorn-filled prison.
She didn't ask for help.
She stared him, grief-stricken and defiant.
He carefully freed her from the thorns and helped her out of the bush. Strands of her hair were left behind and so were scraps of her dress, floating like tiny flags of surrender in the dying light of sunset.
He was surprised when she collapsed against him. He sank to the ground, holding her, and then the dam holding back her sorrow and pain burst.
She grabbed his shirt and pressed her wet face against his chest and wailed like a wounded creature.
"Mommy's gone," she choked out. "Mommy's gone, and I'm scared."
"I'm here," he said softly, patting her back. "Don't be afraid."
