Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles by Caedis Knight (hardest books to read .txt) 📗

a T-shirt. I don’t even bother with underwear. My sheets stink from sweat, and my phone is glowing angrily with missed calls from my mother. Peering closer at the time, I see I’ve slept for a night and most of a day.

What the fuck?

The promise of dreams of Mikayla kept me rooted to the bed, making me return to sleep again and again. But an entire day?

Whatever. I don’t care. I got to be with my sister, even if just for a moment. Every time I closed my eyes, she was there. Her hand in mine, her voice, her smile. I’ve been able to hug her, smell the scent of her favorite shampoo and the way she says my name. It’s been beautiful, serene, precious.

Until this last one.

You can’t reach me.

What does it mean? Where did Mikayla go? Is she…? I can’t bring myself to say it.

The image won’t leave me — the splintering cracks across her skin like angry black veins and the way she fell bit by bit into the dark water.

I wipe away my tears with the back of my clammy hand. I need to calm down, but I can’t. My chest is tight, and heaving, and I’m gasping for air. Acrid saliva fills my mouth and chokes me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I need help.

I grab my keys and run out the door.

It’s nearing midnight, but the streets are strangely empty. At first, I don’t know where I’m going but then I realize where my feet are taking me.

I was at Beatriz and Luisa’s apartment until late last night. We drank cocktails that Rafi embellished with edible flowers and extra bubbles. By the end of the evening, Luisa and I were back to normal. More or less.

I need to speak to Beatriz. Whatever she’s done is giving me nightmares, and I need her to undo it. She has to help me understand what Mikayla’s trying to say to me.

My feet pound the sidewalk as I weave down the narrow roads. All the streets of Barcelona look the fucking same! Doubling up on myself and trying to make sense of the grid system, all I see is tall building after bland tall building.

I cut down a narrow side street, past busy bars smelling of chorizo and cigar smoke, giving no thought to dirty Vampires or the mopeds I’m dodging. Colorful laundry sways in the breeze above me, clothes like cloth lanterns shading me from the glow of a nearly-full moon.

The warm air whips against my shoulders, but I can’t manage to gulp any of it down. I can’t breathe. By the time I reach Luisa’s front door, I’m damp with sweat, my heart pounding so much I think I might be having a heart attack.

Also, my chest hurts — because who the fuck runs that fast without a bra on?

I slam my fist on the door, and ring their buzzer, before collapsing. And that’s how Luisa finds me, crumpled on her doorstep like a discarded stuffed toy thrown out for the trash.

She blinks in surprise and sinks down until we’re face to face.

“Saskia? Where have you been? We tried calling you today and… What’s wrong?”

I’m crying, big heaving sobs, my greasy hair hanging over my face and my arms hugging my knees.

“Come, let’s get you inside.” She helps me to my feet and guides me up the first flight of stairs to her apartment. I’m hyperventilating, trying to swallow air that won’t make its way down. My vision is blurry, and my hands are shaking, so it takes me a while to realize the soft thump of music is coming from her living room. I blink once, twice, until the scene before me clears. Beatriz and Rafi are sharing a spliff and looking at me like I’m a stray cat Luisa just found.

 “You,” I hiss, pointing at Beatriz. “You fucked up my dreams.”

“Dreams? Plural?” she says, her voice calm. “I gave you one dream, Saskia.”

Luisa guides me to an armchair, and hands me a glass of water, but my hands are too shaky to grip it. I put my head between my knees, trying to gather my thoughts and breath. I’m dying, growing more certain of that with every passing second.

“I’ve had more than one dream,” I croak. “I’ve had at least five.”

I rub my face, recalling how wonderfully they started. The first dream was pure magic, me and Mikayla laughing, sitting on the beach for hours gossiping, the sun warming our skin.

“The first one was from me,” Beatriz says, taking a drag of the spliff. “But whatever came next is your subconscious.”

“It doesn’t make sense. They started off nice but… and now…”

It’s back again. That infernal tightness that makes my chest feel like stretched canvas. I can’t breathe. I think of the waves. I think of Mikayla drowning.

“Relax.” Luisa looks up at me, her voice laced with concern. “You have to breathe, Saskia.” She reaches out her hand, then pauses mid-air. “Can I help you? Is it OK if I use my power on you?”

I nod. Touchmage or not, I don’t care. It feels like I’m going to die.

Tentatively, she places her hand on mine. I don’t notice anything at first, then a soft dewy calmness spreads through me like warm milk. I feel my body relax; shoulders roll back, my gaze steadies. Finally, the warmth reaches my chest, and the panting slows, lulls, then stops altogether.

I take a deep breath for the first time since waking up. An odd sense of ease washes over me. I’m virtually giddy with relief, like the moment a migraine finally fades.

I stretch and look at Luisa in awe. “That… That was kind of cool.”

“Walk us through the dreams,” she says softly, her hand still on mine. “What happened?”

Beatriz crouches beside me, Rafi edging closer, and I tell them everything. I tell them what it was like to see and hear and touch my missing sister again. How bitter it was to wake and realize she was still