Nikolai was having a nightmare.
The whimpers and moans woke me, sounds so raw it was like they were pulled from deep inside his chest. I rolled over and found his body covered in sweat as he twitched and thrashed.
His lips moved like he was speaking but no sound came out, only these pitiful cries that tore at my heart.
Was he remembering the dungeon?
Without thinking, I reached over and touched his face. He was so warm, the scratch of his whiskers rough against my palm. "Nikolai, you're dreaming."
He jerked his head away from my hand, like my touch burned. "Pozhaluysta, ne nado," he whispered, eyes screwed tight.
Okay, so no touching. I hovered near his face and increased the volume of my voice. "Wake up. You're having a bad dream."
He didn't hear me, too deep in his own personal hell. His lips twisted, and he rasped a steady stream of Russian. The meaning was lost on me, but I could hear the agony behind the words.
