Dahlia (Blood Crave Series) by Christina Channelle

or anything) she went home to a night filled with countless dreams. One dream rolled right into another, making it a restless night. She yawned then, rubbing her eyes in fatigue as if providing the evidence.
    To top things off, her dreams weren’t even of him , which she would have expected, or the usual ones involving the amber-eyed wolf and that strange desire for blood. Instead, they were of some new unknown presence.
    Yes, she knew her dreams were not something new, but it was like Green Eyes triggered something deep inside of her because they felt more than just simply dreams.
    Almost like a distant memory.
    She sighed then glanced down at the laptop as it sat on her lap and re-read the entry that she had just entered.
    I didn’t even know what was real anymore. These dreams just refused to leave me alone. They were alike to that excessive person on the other side of the door that just wouldn’t stop knocking until you let them in. That bully that kept hounding you until you gave them your lunch money. That phone call that just wouldn’t stop ringing.
    It was as if stepping into Cedar Oaks made my subconscious mind act on overdrive. As if my dream world was where my real self belonged, and my everyday life was nothing more than a dream with an alternate version of myself as its main cast. At first, I took it with a grain of salt. These dreams of wolves and blood were a form of escapism for me. A way out from the reality of being that poor, little orphan girl, all alone with no one to love her. They were an anchor of sort, keeping me afloat within a tumultuous ocean filled with things that I just didn’t understand.
    Even though they themselves I found confusing.
    They evoked so many emotions out of me that I have never felt until recently, something foreign yet familiar at the same time.
    Need.
    Want.
    Desire.
    Now they were a tormentor of sort, these dreams. They made me a slave to them, made me question my sanity. Because if everything that I had experienced in my waking life thus far was real, these strange anomalies, then what did that make of my dreams?
    What did that make of me?
    My dreams were becoming more vivid every day. That canvas which was once blank was slowly being covered by the paint of red, yellow and blue hues.
    The one I had the night before was surprising because it was new. I was alone but felt that someone was near. This formidable presence exuded so much power that it literally made me want to disappear from his view. But I couldn’t. I had to turn around and face the being that scared me more than anything in this world.
    He was an oxymoron of sort. Familiar but not. He stood before me, yet seemed so unreal. Both light and dark. Hauntingly beautiful. He was very tall with a mysterious cloak around him. His skin was very pale—too pale—almost transparent with veins easily seen underneath. His hair was long to his shoulders and as dark as night. But it was his eyes that drew me in the most. They were blacker than black and in the dream, I was unable to take my eyes away from him.
    Then I woke up and that was it.
    Why he was suddenly in my thoughts I did not know. All I knew was that before I stepped foot in Cedar Oaks I had some semblance of a normal life, albeit different.
    But I handled it.
    Now I had people hearing my thoughts, me hearing theirs, this feeling of being watched, losing time, sudden dreams of a dark-haired stranger, and Green Eyes.
    The guy who appeared then disappeared without a trace right before me.
    His presence won’t leave my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, my mind conjured him up. Then I’d ask myself, was it him that had been watching me? If in fact, someone was watching me?
    If I had to bet on it, I’d say yes.
    How did he even know my name? And that rambling about me being different and belonging with “us.” Who was “us?”
    Was I really in danger? Should I listen to the warnings of a stranger to beware of those near me? My mind constantly ran a mile a