White Dreams: Book Eight of Susan Edwards' White Series [NOOK Book]

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Late summer 1856, Nebraska Territory

Insidious, like a snake slithering through the tall prairie grass toward its unwary prey, the vision came in the dark of night when her mind was at its most vulnerable. It hovered at the edge of consciousness: a swirl of color, a whisper in the mind, a thread of awareness. Without further warning, images of events to come struck, obliterating her peaceful sleep.

Star Dreamer moaned and thrashed, trying to wake and ward off the unwanted vision. But it seized her mind and will with swift savagery. Across the back of her closed eyes, the kaleidoscope spun, bringing with it a familiar sense of nausea until, with crystal clarity, a scene formed.

She stood in the middle of a battlefield.

The night sky glowed with yellow, orange and red flames. Smoke filled the air, making her gasp even in her sleep. Her hands rose to cover her ears in a vain attempt to blot out the war cries as warriors battled to the death. On and on the scene raged, until just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The eerie silence frightened her more than the battle cries and left her shaking. She backed away and tripped over the fallen body of a warrior.

She scrambled to her feet as the ground turned red. Bloodred. All else faded but the red sky, red dirt and the pale body of the fallen warrior whose life's blood drained from his body. Crimson pooled on the soil and flowed away from her, a dark, glossy river absorbed by the maka, from which all life sprang. Moving in slow motion, she reached down and touched him, felt his coldness. Felt death.

In the night sky, the bright, round face of Hanwi slid from behind a cloud and sent a beam of white light to illuminate the fallen warrior. Vulnerable, unable to fight what she did not want to see, Star bolted upright on her pallet of furs, her eyes wide open yet unseeing, hands in front of her as she struggled to free herself from the grip of the frightening vision. Hunching over, knees drawn to her chest, she covered her head with her arms. "No," she whimpered, her fingers pulling and clawing through her hair.

Look, the traitorous voice in her vision commanded. See the face of the newly dead.

"No!" The sound of her own hoarse shout tore Star from the clutches of the nightmarish vision. She woke bathed in sweat. Frantically, she reached out beside her, needing the comforting reassurance of Two-Ree, her husband.

He wasn't there. The mound of furs beside her was empty and cold—as cold as that lifeless warrior in her vision. The last vestige of the vision fled, leaving her wide awake, shivering and apprehensive. Her chest constricted, her throat tightened. "No," she moaned, over and over, denying what she knew to be true. She'd seen her own husband's death.

Her gaze swept the tipi, hoping it wasn't too late to warn him, but it was. His weapons were gone. With frenzied movements, Star untangled herself from her bedding and dashed out into the predawn light. She ran between tipis, past solemn warriors and weeping women, searching frantically.

Near the edge of camp, a handful of warriors gathered on horseback, the paint on their bare torsos and faces standing out in the faint light. Relief that the war party hadn't left yet spurred her forward. It wasn't too late.