Black Blood (Series of Blood Book 4) by Emma Hamm (scary books to read .TXT) 📕

wanted to keep the dreamer in a cage, to prevent them from realizing that none of this was real. In that way, they were similar to Juice. Both gave experiences the human might never feel in reality.

Lydia puffed out a breath, making the hair in front of her face dance. “I don’t have time for this. I need to find Wren and explain. Let me go!”

The bubble stretched. She pushed harder, feeling the edge of the dream give under the weight of her will.

“Let me go!” she cried out.

An audible pop made her ears ring, and the dream fell away. sea-foam faded into twinkling stars, the sea dragon roared from the depths which dissolved into shadows. The sand turned to glass and melted into a sturdy bridge.

The Dream World revealed itself.

Bubbles floated as far as her eye could see. And further, she assumed, considering that every living creature had a Dream World. Some were surprisingly small, perhaps the dreams of children who didn’t need a large space to roam. Others were so large she worried they might bump into others.

They did not drift very far from each other. Lydia watched as one dream collided into another, melding a small section of dreams. She could see the faint outline of people walking toward each other inside the combined bubbles.

“Very strange,” she said. “This place is far different than I expected.”

She stepped forward, hesitating when she reached the edge of the glass bridge. She flexed her hand at her side.

“How much control do I have here?” Experimentally, she held her hand palm down over the remaining glass. “Will you come with me? To guide my way?”

The glass bridge obliged. The back end heated, melted, and rolled across the bottom of her bridge. It solidified on the other end and cooled quick enough for her to walk across it.

She meandered through the Dreaming World, taking a moment to acclimate herself. And there was a lot to take in. Each dream, although appearing at first glance to be very similar, was unique in its own way.

Some were made of glass, like hers. These seemed to be owned by the more powerful creatures. A Phoenix stretched its wings in one, brushing past the glass as though it recognized her. An Ent unfurled leaves so large they pressed against the glass of its dream.

Other dreams were made of rubber, paper, or the finest silk. She could only see shadows or warped visions in these. The people they protected did not have the awareness to press against their cage, to break out of the dream and wander through the world beyond it. For that, Lydia was grateful. The cold press of magic and the never ending dream bubbles would have overwhelmed many.

She held out her hand and a thin pillar of glass rose to touch her gently.

“I need to find Wren and the Legion. Would you be able to direct me?”

She wasn’t certain what the glass was. She suspected it was the remains of her own dream bubble she had shattered. If so, then she hoped it would listen to her request and give her some sense of direction.

This place wasn’t unthinking. Power radiated from each bubble, and it wasn’t from the creatures inside them. The dreams were sentient.

Glass stretched thin as she fell behind. Cracking sounds echoed longer than they should have in this place that was real and not. Lydia sped up, just in case the bridge shattered. She wasn’t certain where she would go, but she didn’t want to find out.

Her dream bridge was careful not to touch any other dreams. It lost bits of itself as one of the other dreams nearly collided with it.

“You don’t want me to step into the wrong dream, do you?” she asked. “I wonder what would happen if I did?”

She also didn’t want to find out. Curiosity was a kind of virtue, but it also could get her killed.

Finally, her dream bridge stopped in front of another glass bubble. She could see through it as though she were looking through a window. Wren sat on a dock in the center of a field. Wildflowers spilled all around her, and fish jumped out of the small pond.

It was quaint. Simple, but effective. Much like what she had learned of the woman who held Legion at bay.

“Thank you,” Lydia said. “I don’t know what to do with you while I’m in there. Do you want to wait or do you want to join me?”

The glass rolled, thrusting her into Wren’s dream. Lydia turned just in time to see it merge with the other dream bubble. It floated just above the other, like a leaf in a stream.

“Stranger and stranger,” she muttered.

Bees buzzed from flower to flower. The petals were outrageously large, pollen dripping off them in gold flakes. The ground was soft beneath her bare feet. All she could smell was the overwhelming sweet scent of lilacs.

It was a little more than she wanted to be around. Wren was all the colors of the rainbow and every emotion ever felt. This dream was perfect for the vibrant woman, but nauseating for Lydia.

She very much wanted to be back in the shadows of Pitch’s home. The screaming faces, the purgatory, even the solemn loneliness of his stately manor had become her symbol for happiness. This place only made that all the more clear.

Still, she had something to say. And though her mouth was now dry, it was something which had to be said.

She walked toward the pond, only to pause as a dark cloud lifted from Wren’s shoulders. It billowed in the air like ink dropped in a clear glass of water. Perhaps she had not been as sneaky as she thought. The ink began to sluggishly drift closer to her.

Lydia paused and waited. Though it was unusual to see fine black dust moving through the air without a wind, she should have known this would happen.

E was very protective of its human host.

It settled before her, faceless, ageless, sexless.