Jocelynn woke with blood on her hands.
It wasn't real blood, she knew that even before her eyes opened, before the remnants of the nightmare released their grip on her chest and let her draw a proper breath. But knowing it wasn't real didn't help, just like it didn't help the day before, or when she woke in the middle of the night.
The sensation clung to her fingers like something sticky and warm, and for several horrible heartbeats she lay perfectly still beneath the heavy furrs. She balled her hands into fists and held them against her chest, feeling her heartbeat slowing down and waiting for the feeling to pass.
It didn't pass. It never truly passed, not since that night in the dungeons just days ago when Owain had pressed the knife into her trembling hand and guided her fingers around the hilt.
