Miracle in the Mist by Elizabeth Sinclair Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Sinclair
Tags: Romance, paranormal romance
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was he angry at? Her?
He took a step closer to the bed. She cringed and backed deeper into the flimsy protection of the pillows. A scream for help started building deep inside her, but her voice was choked off by the terror building in her throat. She swallowed the scream, knowing instinctively that, if she were to allow it to escape, she would be punished by the man. That those clenched fists would come down on her without regret for the pain they'd inflict.
Despite the cold fear that gripped her, she could feel her gown sticking to the sweat covering her quivering body. By now, she was shaking so hard that the bed vibrated beneath her.
"Please," she whispered. "Please don't hurt me."
When he took another step toward her, she allowed the suppressed scream to burst forth.
***
Carrie bolted upright in bed. A light sheen of sweat coated her shaking body. Her saturated gown stuck to her legs, hampering her frantic attempts to scramble from the bed. Finally free of the clinging fabric, she clambered to the floor and backed into a dark corner. Her breath tore from her lungs in short, desperate gasps.
Her gaze darted around the room, straining to find the intruder. She saw the bear talisman her grandmother had given her lying on the night table and snatched it up. Clutching it to her chest, she continued to search the room for the faceless dream man. But she found no one. She was completely alone. No would-be assailant hovered ready to attack. No one lurked in the shadows. No one was about to strike out at her. She was completely alone.
Heaving a sigh of relief, she collapsed onto the bed. She'd been dreaming. But who had that faceless man been? Was he someone from her past? Someone she couldn't remember? Or was he just a figment of her tortured imagination? Maybe the man beneath her window?
Quickly, she hurried to the open window and peered out to the gardens below. They were shadowed and quiet. The sweet fragrance of lilacs drifted up to her. She listened intently. The only sound that came to her was the gurgle of the stream, the chirp of the crickets, and the occasional hoot of an owl. Despite that, she remained at the window for a long time, watching and waiting, jumping at every rustling leaf, every flower nodding in the slight breeze. But no lone figure moved amid the snarl of flowers and bushes.
She returned to the bed and buried her face in her hands. It couldn't be the man from beneath the window. The man at her bedside had emanated pure evil, and she'd felt nothing but sadness from the man outside. If, indeed, there had been a man outside her window, and he had not been just another ghost from her tortured imagination.
Frustrated, she racked her brain to see if any of the things she recalled about the faceless man in her dream would clue her in to his identity. But nothing came. His nondescript brown hair and average build could belong to anyone. Without a face to identify him, she had no way to answer her own questions.
Even though she decided that the man was more than likely a result of something she'd eaten for supper, the terror remained. It wrapped her like a chilled blanket, the cold seeping into her very bones. Perhaps he was just a faceless dream figure. But perhaps he was a whole lot more.
***
"Good morning, my dear." Clara smiled cheerfully at her as Carrie stepped off the bottom stair into the keeping room.
"Mornin'," Carrie mumbled in response. She tried her best to add a smile, but her head throbbed, and every muscle and bone in her body loudly protested the lack of sleep.
"Bad night?"
"Hmm," Carrie mumbled in reply. Every movement, every verbalization, felt as though a thousand hammers pounded unmercifully at her temples.
"Have some coffee, dear. You'll be surprised at how much better you'll feel." Clara poured a cup of the life-giving liquid and set it in front of Carrie.
Eager for anything that would relieve the unrelenting pain slicing through her head, she took a
He took a step closer to the bed. She cringed and backed deeper into the flimsy protection of the pillows. A scream for help started building deep inside her, but her voice was choked off by the terror building in her throat. She swallowed the scream, knowing instinctively that, if she were to allow it to escape, she would be punished by the man. That those clenched fists would come down on her without regret for the pain they'd inflict.
Despite the cold fear that gripped her, she could feel her gown sticking to the sweat covering her quivering body. By now, she was shaking so hard that the bed vibrated beneath her.
"Please," she whispered. "Please don't hurt me."
When he took another step toward her, she allowed the suppressed scream to burst forth.
***
Carrie bolted upright in bed. A light sheen of sweat coated her shaking body. Her saturated gown stuck to her legs, hampering her frantic attempts to scramble from the bed. Finally free of the clinging fabric, she clambered to the floor and backed into a dark corner. Her breath tore from her lungs in short, desperate gasps.
Her gaze darted around the room, straining to find the intruder. She saw the bear talisman her grandmother had given her lying on the night table and snatched it up. Clutching it to her chest, she continued to search the room for the faceless dream man. But she found no one. She was completely alone. No would-be assailant hovered ready to attack. No one lurked in the shadows. No one was about to strike out at her. She was completely alone.
Heaving a sigh of relief, she collapsed onto the bed. She'd been dreaming. But who had that faceless man been? Was he someone from her past? Someone she couldn't remember? Or was he just a figment of her tortured imagination? Maybe the man beneath her window?
Quickly, she hurried to the open window and peered out to the gardens below. They were shadowed and quiet. The sweet fragrance of lilacs drifted up to her. She listened intently. The only sound that came to her was the gurgle of the stream, the chirp of the crickets, and the occasional hoot of an owl. Despite that, she remained at the window for a long time, watching and waiting, jumping at every rustling leaf, every flower nodding in the slight breeze. But no lone figure moved amid the snarl of flowers and bushes.
She returned to the bed and buried her face in her hands. It couldn't be the man from beneath the window. The man at her bedside had emanated pure evil, and she'd felt nothing but sadness from the man outside. If, indeed, there had been a man outside her window, and he had not been just another ghost from her tortured imagination.
Frustrated, she racked her brain to see if any of the things she recalled about the faceless man in her dream would clue her in to his identity. But nothing came. His nondescript brown hair and average build could belong to anyone. Without a face to identify him, she had no way to answer her own questions.
Even though she decided that the man was more than likely a result of something she'd eaten for supper, the terror remained. It wrapped her like a chilled blanket, the cold seeping into her very bones. Perhaps he was just a faceless dream figure. But perhaps he was a whole lot more.
***
"Good morning, my dear." Clara smiled cheerfully at her as Carrie stepped off the bottom stair into the keeping room.
"Mornin'," Carrie mumbled in response. She tried her best to add a smile, but her head throbbed, and every muscle and bone in her body loudly protested the lack of sleep.
"Bad night?"
"Hmm," Carrie mumbled in reply. Every movement, every verbalization, felt as though a thousand hammers pounded unmercifully at her temples.
"Have some coffee, dear. You'll be surprised at how much better you'll feel." Clara poured a cup of the life-giving liquid and set it in front of Carrie.
Eager for anything that would relieve the unrelenting pain slicing through her head, she took a
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