She had to be dreaming, she told herself. However, this was a very realistic dream. She could feel the dew-dampness of the grass beneath her feet, feel the soft caress of the misty night, the movement of her muscles, the chill touch of the wind…
She could hear the gasping of her breath, the rampant pounding of her heart. She could feel the burning sensation in her lungs.
Oh god, wake up.
She couldn’t wake up. It wasn’t a dream. She could hear and feel now the pounding on the earth behind her as her pursuer gained on her.
Then she stepped down upon a rock. Screamed in startled pain, staggered, fell.
It felt as if a thousand needles were ripping into her foot.
The footsteps were still coming from behind her. Coming harder.
Coming closer.
Running.
Coming after her with sheer menace.
She staggered back up, found her balance. Ran again. She had given him time, allowed him to get closer and closer. She zigzagged, realizing that she had been heading straight for the water.
A good idea, perhaps? She was an excellent swimmer. Yet, where would she swim? It was more than a mile across. Perhaps her pursuer could swim as well, swim, and drag her down…
She heard a strange rasping sound and turned back. In horror, she saw that the dark figure had drawn a sword. She gasped out again, seeing the sword glitter in the moonlight.
Then suddenly, all light was gone. A cloud had scuttled cleanly beneath the moon, and hills and valley both had been cast into total darkness. She swallowed back a cry and spun, terror filling her heart as she raced along the shoreline.
He was behind her. So close she could hear him, almost feel him, smell him. He was going to reach out, touch her. A scream rose in her throat. Exploded from it.
The cloud slipped slightly. The palest light ventured forth upon the night once again. She veered toward the water, gasping, choking…
Then suddenly, out of the strange glow and shadow of the night, a form appeared.
Tall, massive, in the near darkness.
Huge, growing…
A beast coming from the water. Nay, a man. Nay, a demon.
Rising.
A man’s form. Towering against the moonlight, dripping, broad-shouldered, formed as hard and solid as a Greek statue that might have been thrust up from the loch.
Naked—save a sword.
A massive, naked form, risen from the water.
She had lost her mind completely.
But the vision didn’t go away.
And she could not stop herself. Her momentum was such that she couldn’t stop, nor could she veer away. She saw the sudden, startling, impossible form, and then she crashed straight into the man, beast, or demon who had risen like the mist from the water’s edge.
He was real. As solid as rock.
She shrieked in terror.
Hands gripped her shoulders. Powerful, rough hands. Cold as ice from the water. Hard pressed against the figure, she could feel muscle and flesh.