Dreamer (The Dream World Chronicles Book 1) by Camille Peters (thriller books to read .txt) 📕

Fields, but lately they’re popping up all over the place. The Cultivators are at a loss, as nightmare flowers can only be grown by Nightmare Cultivators in Nightmare soil. The Council is in an uproar.”

My heart pounded frantically as my fingers curled around the prickly stem of the nightmare flower I’d created, burning guiltily in my bag despite my knowing the others couldn’t possibly have been my fault.

Stardust turned to a fresh page in her notebook and kept scribbling. “For three nightmare flowers to appear in the same place…whatever is happening, it’s getting bigger. No wonder the Cultivators are frightened.”

I remembered Iris’s palpable nervousness when Stardust had left to investigate. “But Iris hasn’t said—”

“All Cultivators are keeping quiet under the Council’s orders. They don’t want to start a panic about what this could potentially mean.”

A shiver curled up my spine as icy fear filled my throat. “We need to leave.”

“But I haven’t finished—” She snapped her mouth shut at my pointed glare and obediently scooped me up to take me to the Weaving.

Stardust rambled off every possible far-fetched theory about the nightmare flower investigation during our flight, but I didn’t hear a word of it. I clenched my bag strap so tightly I was certain my knuckles would break as I recalled a single phrase Stardust had said earlier: Only Nightmare Cultivators are able to create nightmare flowers.

The nightmare flower’s presence sizzled within my bag.

Chapter 23

My hands shook as I examined the nightmare flower from every angle. Goosebumps prickled my skin just from touching it, but I couldn’t pull away, as if despite my repulsion a part of me was drawn to it. I traced its inky black stem with my fingertip, along its dark petals, and around every jagged leaf, all while my heart continued to pound wildly in my chest.

The longer I examined it, the more the flower’s essence seemed to burrow within me, as if trying to excavate something buried deep, a foreign yet familiar part of me I didn’t want to find. I ached to share this burden with someone, but it was impossible. If this hidden part of myself was what I feared…I’d lose all the friendships I’d formed.

You’re a Dreamer, I reminded myself over and over against the darkness my fear caused to overshadow me. You’re not a Nightmare.

But if I was a Dreamer, how had I created a nightmare flower?

Suddenly I couldn’t bear to hold it a moment longer. I hastily shoved it in my bag, but even without touching it I could still feel its shadow on my hand. I tried to wipe the feeling away but it lingered, coldness pinpricking my skin.

I wearily leaned back against the silver-leafed tree I sat beneath in a secluded section of the park where I’d taken refuge nearly every day in the week since I’d inadvertently created the nightmare flower. I’d been here for hours, yet the beauty and solace of my surroundings had done little to quell the fear cinching my chest, the dark feelings filling my heart, and the negative thoughts invading my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut as if the gesture could block it all out, but my apprehension remained, relentless in its taunts.

I’m not a Nightmare, I repeated firmly. I’m a Dreamer. I have to be. But no matter how many times I tried to reassure myself, my unease lingered, haunting my thoughts without relief.

“Eden?”

I snapped my eyes open with a sharp gasp and I discovered Darius crouching in front of me, his green eyes lined with worry. I hastily straightened. “Darius? What are you doing in the Dream Realm?”

His concern remained, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly in my favorite crooked grin. “Looking for you. Our Weaving started two hours ago.”

My stomach jolted as my gaze lifted to the darkened sky, swallowed in stars and night. I groaned. “Oh, no.” I tried to scramble to my feet but froze as Darius rested a firm but gentle hand on my shoulder. He studied me for a long moment, his frown deepening with his perusal.

“What’s wrong, Eden?”

“Nothing,” I said hastily, but the word was nothing more than a lie.

“I know something is bothering you; despite your attempts to hide it during our weavings, I’ve sensed your being out of sorts all week.” His fingertip lightly traced around my puffy eyes, causing me to shiver. “You’ve been crying.” A look that almost seemed like pain overcame him, a reminder of the unconventional friendship we’d slowly built, which only increased my need to confide in someone. My secret struggled to escape, but I tried to contain it. If I couldn’t tell Stardust or my best friends, surely I couldn’t tell my weaving partner.

But Darius had become more than my weaving partner. There was a connection between us that I still couldn’t understand, a warmth deeper than friendship, feelings I was afraid to examine closely but which urged me to turn to him. My heart whispered not only that my secret would be safe with him, but that he’d be able to help.

I tried to speak but couldn’t find the words, yet somehow he understood what I couldn’t say. “Something has happened,” he said. “Would you like to talk about it?”

My terror at the prospect was nowhere near my desperation to understand this new, frightening part of myself, to turn to him. Yet still I hesitated.

“But we haven’t time,” I protested. “The Weaving—”

“—will wait,” he said. “Our Mortals don’t need to dream the moment they fall asleep. We have all night. So please, confide in me.”

He stood and offered his hand, an invitation to trust him. Despite my longing to, a part of me still held back. Accepting his hand would acknowledge that what was developing between us was something different than what was expected for our world. Dreamers and Nightmares were the gravest of enemies; they didn’t help one another with Weavings, go to tea shops together, or confide their deepest fears.

But for the first time in my life