The feeling of comfort I get as I take a seat at the hotel bar is unexpected, especially when combined with the thrilling sense of danger that shivers down my spine. I know I shouldn’t be here—not just in Reykjavik, but in this bar, sitting on this stool—but I didn’t know where else to go. The truth is that I’m just as nervous as I am excited.

The bartender is all the way down the other end of the bar, mixing cocktails for a group of men in suits. I’m not in a rush, though. I lean against the back of the stool, the hem of my dress rising up my thighs as I cross my legs. I glance down at the wine list again, thinking maybe I’ll try something new tonight, when I feel someone standing behind me. There’s a mirror on the other side of the bar, and when I look up, I see him just over my shoulder, his deep green eyes looking right into mine. He’s even hotter than I remembered from our one-night stand, and even though I can’t see his ripped abs or bulging biceps under his shirt, I can imagine them. His hair is lighter than I remembered, unless I’ve only been picturing him in my dimly lit hotel room.

As I turn to face him, he holds out his hand, his eyes still locked on mine. I put my hand in his and slide off of the barstool, following as he wordlessly leads me out of the bar and to the hotel elevator. I don’t know what to say, so I remain silent, figuring there’s no need for talking. We both know what we’re here for, and it’s not the conversation. The elevator doors open on my floor, but neither of us budges for a second. Finally I lunge for him, gripping his shirt in my fists and pulling him toward me for a long, hungry kiss.

We tumble out of the elevator before the doors close us in and make our way down the hallway toward my room, still kissing greedily, tugging at each other’s clothes and even sending a button on his shirt flying off. He slams me against the closed door of my room, and as he presses his body against mine, electric shocks and tremors sizzle through me. He pulls back only for a second to catch his breath before he shoves the door open.

A harsh blast of cold air catches in my lungs and causes me to shudder violently. The inside of my room is dark as midnight, and there’s snow blowing so hard in my face, I have to squint my eyes just to see. As I run my hands up and down my freezing arms, I turn back to the man in confusion, but he’s gone, as is the doorway and the hotel corridor.

A shrieking, agonizing scream suddenly fills my ears as if the person in distress were standing right next to me. Recognizing it as a scream I’ve heard before, I turn around again and see the pathway from my nightmare. My first instinct is to run as far away from the screaming as I can, but something compels me toward the source of the pain instead.

Fighting the snow and wind, straining to see through the darkness, I push forward, one step at a time. The scream gets louder as I creep closer, my heart pounding, and soon the light from a fire appears ahead of me, sinister in the way it casts a red, almost demonic glow. Turn back, I urge myself, Get out of here, but I take another step closer to the fire as I see the same figure bound to the wooden stake, flames erupting all around it, lapping viciously at its body.

At once, I try to break into a run, feeling an overwhelming need to help the woman, but no matter how fast I move my legs, I can’t seem to get anywhere. I trip and slam into the ground, face-first in the snow, and when I look up, wiping my face with my hands, I find that the hellish scene is gone. Instead of the wooden stake and the fiery glow, I see a lone cabin in the distance. Someone is standing in the shadows of the porch, watching me. I can still feel their eyes on me as I wake up with a start, shivering in my bed.

***

The screaming rings in my ears, and goose bumps dot my arms as I get ready for work. As hard as I try to put the strange nightmare behind me, I’m still thinking about it—and my awkward dinner with Gavin last night—when I get to the office. Despite the image of the woman burning in my mind, it feels good to be back at work. I sink into my desk chair and reach for my sketchbook, thinking that some drawing will clear my head. I start working on some ideas I’ve been kicking around, thinking about how I can finish up a killer design for the prospective client’s logo. I know we need to nail this if we’re going to get the job, and there’s no denying what a big client will do for our portfolio. Carrie and I have worked so hard to get this far, and I know this gig would propel us to a new level of success.

“I thought I heard you come in,” Carrie says from my doorway with a grin. “I’m so glad you’re back! How was your trip?”

“It was good,” I reply vaguely as I get up to give my friend and business partner a hug.

“I still can’t believe you actually went to Iceland without Gavin,” she says, shaking her head.

“What?” I say, pressing my hand to my chest and feigning offense. “Why wouldn’t I take the trip? It was already paid for.”

“Uh-huh,” Carrie says, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “This coming from the woman who passed up a ski trip last year because of the cold.”

I shrug. “I don’t know how to ski.”

“You never learned, because you hate the cold!” Carrie laughs. “And yet, you went to Iceland, where it’s cold and dark, like, year-round, by yourself.”

I look away, thinking about how beautiful, mysterious, and intriguing Iceland was. And, of course, I wasn’t exactly by myself. I did have a hot night with a sexy stranger.

“Don’t even get me started on how long the flight is,” Carrie continues. “You’re terrified of flying. You’ve never gone on a vacation anywhere that takes longer than two hours on a plane. In fact, you rarely ever take a vacation at all. You didn’t magically cure yourself of your fear of flying, did you?”

I sigh. “The flight was rough, I’ll give you that much. But I needed to get away from everything. It just felt…right.”

“What’s going on with you?” Carrie asks, switching from mocking to concerned.

“I can see how this might seem a little out of character for me,” I say, still annoyed by Gavin’s observation that I’m predictable—or how did he put it? Consistent? “But it was something I just did without thinking. And I’m so sorry if I left you with the heavy lifting on trying to nail down this new account. I promise that I will be laser-focused on the proposal.”

“Anna, I’m not mad,” Carrie says, offering me a smile. “I’m shocked as hell, but I think it’s great that you finally did something like this. Besides, when are either of us going to have a chance to go anywhere? Once we land this huge-ass account, we’re both going to be too busy doing what we love—making big bucks and changing the advertising world one client at a time—to have a chance to head off to some foreign country.”

“Well, it won’t happen again,” I assure her. “I’m here to work.”

“So,” Carrie says, changing the subject. “What happens now with you and Gavin?”

I turn and walk away from Carrie for a moment, gathering my thoughts as I sit back down at my desk. Kicking off my shoes, I tuck my legs underneath me and let out a breath.

“Anna?” Carrie prompts me.

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “He picked me up from the airport, and we had dinner last night. I don’t really know what our current status is.”

Carrie nods as she takes a seat in one of the chairs across from me.

“Can I be honest with you?” she asks.

“Um, you’re my best friend,” I tell her. “I would hope you’re always open and honest with me.”

“I am,” she insists right away, “but when it comes to boyfriends, I tend to be a little more cautious. If I’m too critical of someone's partner, I know from experience that it can come back to haunt me. You never know when two people are going to get back together, and then I’m the bad guy who was talking shit about the love of your life, and now you resent me for it.”

“Wait a second,” I say, sitting up and putting my feet back on the floor. “Have you been holding back about how much you hate Gavin this whole time?”

“No, it isn’t like that,” she tells me. “I actually think Gavin is basically a good guy. He’s obviously crazy about you.”

“Uh-huh.” I nod, bracing myself and waiting for the inevitable but.

“Let me put it this way,” Carrie says. “Gavin is like comfort food. He’s hot, he has a good job, and he seems to truly care about you.”

“He loves me,” I feel compelled to correct her. “And I love him.”

Carrie is silent for a moment as she gives me a skeptical look.

“What do you think love is?” she asks, watching me carefully.

“Well, it’s when two people get along and treat each other well. They have similar interests and can spend a lot of time together. I mean, he proposed to me—if that’s not love, then what is?”

“Those things are all nice,” Carrie says, “but that’s not what love is all about. Love is like a lightning bolt—it changes everything. It should rock your world and leave you breathless. I don’t see Gavin rocking much of anything. I kind of think Gavin is an enabler.”

“Um, excuse me?” I ask. “How so?”

“He lets you play it safe. Too safe.”

I wince slightly at this, knowing right away what Carrie is talking about. It goes along with being predictable, with choosing the well-known path instead of seeking new adventures.

“Look, I know you’ve never been much of a risk-taker, which is fine,” Carrie continues. “Hell, the amount of market research and informational interviews you did just to start this business was crazy. But at some point, the only way you’re going to be happy is if you roll the dice and jump into the unknown with wild abandon.”

“I might have done all the research, and I might have talked to anyone in the industry who would let me ask them questions, but I did leave my well-paying, insurance-offering job to do this with you, and I’ve never looked back,” I tell her.

“And I love you for it.” Carrie grins. “Just think about what I’m saying.”

“I will, I promise,” I reply. “But in the meantime, we need to nail this proposal.”

“Agreed—so what’ve you got?” she asks, glancing down at my sketch pad. “Anything we can use?”

I quickly close the pad and hold it to my chest, not ready to share my work.

“I’m still working on it,” I mumble.

“Anna, I’ve known you forever,” Carrie says, shaking her head. “You don’t have to feel insecure. Let me see what you’ve got.”

I reluctantly hand the pad over and then watch with bated breath as Carrie flips slowly through the pages, nodding as she takes in each sketch. Suddenly she stops and sits up straight, her eyes widening with alarm.

“What the…” she mutters as she flips a few pages in rapid succession before turning the pad around for me to see.

I look down at the series of sketches of the cabin from my dream last night.

“Anna—what the hell is this?”