Fever Dream Book Novels & Stories

"It's nothing, just a scratch—" But before I could finish my words, my vision went black. Days of exhaustion and running around had finally caught up with me, and I fainted. When I woke, I was lying in Wayne's private lounge. My wound had already been bandaged, but he was nowhere to be found. I sat up to grab my phone, and my eyes fell on a notebook on his desk. Curiosity made me flip it open. Every page was filled with Wayne's handwriting. 'Naomi likes sour food. After meals, take her for a walk to help with digestion.'

“The moment her craving for my blood returns, she’ll come crawling back. She can’t last long without me.” I started the engine and floored it. He was dreaming. This time, it was goodbye for good. There was no turning back.

"Silvia, did you have a nightmare? Did you dream of Young Master Kyle?" "Dream? So it was just a dream?" It turned out that the person lying beside her was not Jayden. Silvia was dejected. But when Audrey told her that it was just a dream, she started to feel a little better, because Jayden was not actually having a high fever. "What's wrong?" Audrey asked worriedly. Silvia's heart was still palpitating with fear as she said, "I dreamt of Jayden. I dreamt that his old illness had relapsed and he's having a high fever. He's refusing the doctor's treatment and he's not taking his medicine too..."

Those dreams, those memories, came with flits of feverish sweats and thumping temples. But my first dreams in Wayfinder’s camp were full on infernos. Fever dreams accompanied by genuine fevers. The flickering, fading consciousness that blends the real and surreal into a slurry of nonsense that is impossible to decipher while you’re in it. I dreamt of Snow Pointe. I dreamt of the Snow Fork Mountains. I dreamt of the Lycan capital and the prince. I’d never seen either, but I knew in my soul who and what they were. My dreams revealed my time in isolation. The days I spent unconscious. The way the imposter hovered over me, draining me, taking notes. I saw the notes.

The room spun around me; the walls closed in as the fever took hold and dragged me down into a fitful sleep. The next few days passed in a haze of fever dreams and restless half-sleep. Every time I opened my eyes, Noah was there; his face was a constant presence in my feverish world. Tequilasoaked images of him talking to the doctor, issuing orders to the house staff and putting cold compresses on my forehead all blurred together into one infinite, swirling loop. My body ached from the effort to fight the fever off, my mind too cloudy to pay attention to anything other than the heat that consumed me.

Eva was still telling the story with anxiety on her face as if it weren't a dream. "I think it's because of the drug, Eva. Sometimes, when we are sick, we can dream strange things," Emilia answered, giving her opinion. Even though she was doubtful, Emilia didn't want to scare Eva even more. "Is it true?" Emilia smiled once again and nodded. "I often experience it when I have a high fever. Having nightmares when you are sick is normal. Don't think about it until you get stressed." Emilia calmed down again. Eva grimaced slightly again, then nodded.

Chapter 90: Fever Dreams Avyaane pov I awakened to the sound of coughing. Coughs were harsh and wracking, as if shaking the small walls of our room. For a time, I was disoriented. The strange bed, the faded flowered wallpaper, and the constant banging of rain on the window. Then everything came pouring back. The storm. Blair showed unexpected kindness. The odd, tense moment before we fell asleep. I sat up, pulling tangled hair away from my face. Blair was a lump beneath the covers of the other bed, still coughing. In the gloomy light streaming through the drapes, he appeared little. Vulnerable. It was unsettling to see him like way. "Blair?" I called quietly. "Are you okay?" The coughing ha

The fever returned that night, but not in heat. It came in voices. Not from the trees. Not from the wolves. From beneath. From the part of her that had grown quiet ever since the blood ritual at the tree. The part that now whispered behind her teeth. She thrashed in her bed, quilts soaked through. Her skin glistened with sweat, cold as river stones. Her body writhed without command, pulled by invisible threads. And then she dreamed... But not the kind of dream one wakes from.

Said quietly and with the particular certainty of someone who had always known it. She sat with that for a moment. Then she shook her head. No. She'd been running a fever. The tea had done something thorough to her ability to process reality and she'd been half-unconscious and what she remembered was the specific convincing wrongness of a very vivid dream, the kind that left marks on your body that took hours to fade. She'd had one of those before....she knew what they felt like. She knew the specific quality of a dream that felt real. This had felt real.

She asked him shutting him off, from across she heard him chuckle, but he didn’t look up at her. “Asshole” She spit out in annoyance as she shut her phone and dropped it on the bed beside her, she closed her eyes and what she saw was the eyes following her in the darkness of her dream she snapped her eyes opened again. Who knows maybe if she sleeps again she would have the same or more horrible dream. She was feeling restless already. She stood up went to the table side the vase and picked up a book there titled “Hurting the Hunters” She shook her head and went back to her bed, she could keep us with the book for a while. She started on the book, it was interesting right from the start and u