Her brain raced. There was a safety protocol associated with this, wasn’t there? Something Rafe had once mentioned to her in passing, neither of them ever imagining she’d be in this situation. And that included not waking him whilst he was in this state. At least, not by shaking him awake.
God, what must he be going through? Her chest tightened, and she had to fight every instinct to go to him, to wake up. To stop this nightmare for him.
But that wouldn’t work.
Besides, hadn’t Rafe once said that some doctors advocated letting the nightmares play out, just managing their effect? Wasn’t there a line of thought that suggested that, as long as the individual wasn’t a danger to themselves or others, it could be beneficial to allow sleep to play out the fears, to allow the brain to process whatever traumatic event had occurred? Especially if a conscious Myles wouldn’t talk about what had happened?
But she needed to get out of the bed. Out of his range. Right now, it seemed, she was too close. He could actually touch her. Had touched her, not that he would have realised it. But by being in contact with him she was putting herself slap-bang in the middle of whatever trauma he was reliving right at this moment. And that was pretty much the last place anybody should be.
Carefully, gently, she slid out of the bed and moved away from him. The loss of contact immediately seemed to take the edge away from Myles’ actions, although it was clear he was still in some horrible, terrifying world. Her stomach clenched for him.
Would he hear her if she talked to him? Could that help to remind him of where he was? Or at least that he was no longer wherever his mind had taken him?
‘Myles,’ she murmured quietly. ‘Myles, can you hear me?’
She watched the figure but there was no indication that her voice was having any effect. Still, she couldn’t leave him like this, not when he was so clearly troubled. She sucked in a steadying breath.
‘Myles, it’s Rae. Raevenne. Can you hear me? We’re at Camp Sceralenar. We’re volunteers at a hospital for pregnant women.’ Still there was no response. ‘You’re dreaming. You’re safe. Myles, everything is going to be okay.’
She had no idea how long she kept talking, repeating the same things over and over, her voice as quiet and steady and soft as she could make it. Tweaking here, adding there. And slowly, bit by bit, it began to take effect.
Finally—she couldn’t have said how much later it was—Myles settled, his sleep becoming more regulated. More relaxed. Deeper. She stopped talking but sat still on her chair in the corner, allowing him to rest. Then, eventually, she stood up, padding slowly around the room as she located her discarded clothing from earlier.
She didn’t realise he was awake until she heard him sit up.
‘Raevenne?’
She spun around with relief.
‘You’re okay?’
‘Say again?’
He sounded curt. Almost forbidding.
‘You were dreaming.’ Why was she the one sounding apologetic? ‘Well, having a nightmare.’
‘Did I hurt you?’ He was out of bed and across the room before she could move.
She hated that she couldn’t stop herself from taking a step back. Trying to keep some distance between them.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
He stopped abruptly. Hands that had been reaching out to her dropped to the side with a heavy sound. His expression was heart-rending.
‘I hurt you.’
‘What were you dreaming about?’ she asked.
She knew it was a mistake the moment the question fell from her lips. Even before his body shuttered down.
‘I don’t remember.’
She should stop now. No good could come from pushing it.
‘I think you do,’ she said softly. ‘And I think you need to talk. Bottling it up can’t be helping you.’
‘I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.’