#SpotlightSaturday: The Dead Don't Dream by Anne Russo (Dead Generations #3)


The dead may not dream, but for #SpotlightSaturday, we've dreamed up a wonderful excerpt from Anne Russo's The Dead Don't Dream, book three in the Dead Generations series. 

From the Blurb:

Sequel to The Dead Don’t Mourn

After Katherine foils Ian and Adam’s plans, Ian self-destructs, drowning himself in alcohol and murder while Adam fights to stay sane under Katherine’s watchful eye, biding his time as he plots his revenge. Determined to keep them apart for good, Katherine takes her evil schemes one step further, leaving Ian and Adam unable to separate reality from fiction, friend from foe.

Still seeking answers to who betrayed them, Ian’s quest for vengeance puts him on a brutal path of destruction, setting off a devastating chain of events that changes everything for the group and leaving him more alone than ever. Broken and losing hope, Adam deals with a vengeful face from the past, one who will stop at nothing to claim Ian for himself. Locked in a battle for survival, Adam must do everything in his power to stay alive.

Their precarious situation takes an even more dangerous turn when Adam runs off and Katherine tasks Ian with bringing him back. It is a journey that will lead both men on a collision course with the ghosts of their shared and twisted past, and ultimately, each other, as they struggle to protect a future worth fighting for.

NOTE: This story contains scenes of torture, violence, death, substance abuse, suicidal ideation, and a brief scene of bullying and hate speech. This book ends on a “happy for now” ending with the promise of more to come.


Time slowed to a crawl as the world behind him slipped out of his reach, losing all meaning. Subzero temperatures seeped under his coat, leaving every limb a heavy burden. But Ian trudged on, driven by his need, even as his heart pounded a steady roar in his ears. Ian remained determined now to reach Adam before the sun disappeared. And with it came the last shreds of hope as he went on, step by brutal step. Through the swirl of snow and wind, he spied smoke and caught the scent of burning wood. Ian pushed himself over the last hill, desperate to find Adam on the other side but terrified he'd meet more of the same. A cold forever, an endless eternity for him to wander alone.

But then a tiny ramshackle cabin rose before him like a shimmering mirage. He waited for it to disappear from his sight. Yet it remained, drawing into focus. It’s red paint, the crooked porch, and standing there as if waiting for him, his reason for all things.

Adam stood bundled against the elements in a bright blue parka. He held a rifle pointed at Ian’s head.

Ian’s legs weakened as he struggled to hold himself upright. Relief washed over him in waves, and his heart skipped a beat.

Adam didn’t lower the rifle when he spotted him. Eyes wide, not with surprise but with tears, worry, and fear, even from this distance.

“Are you here to kill me?”

Ian shook his head. Once, no. Never. His legs gave way, buckling under him as he sank into the snow.

“Ian? Oh my God --”

Adam rested the rifle against the railing and dashed to Ian’s side. He kneeled before him, winding his arms around his neck as he attempted to hoist him back to his feet.

“Come on, a few steps farther. You can do this.”

Ian rose with every ounce of strength he could muster. Ahead, snow swirled around the light from the porch -- a small kerosene lamp. And from the tiny window was the warm glow of a roaring fireplace: the promise of welcome heat and the feel of Adam by his side.

Adam somehow got them to the door through sheer force of will, helping him inside. He propped Ian against the wall while fighting to close the door. Meanwhile, the fierce winds whipped around them, howling into the tiny space. The sky disappeared over Adam’s shoulder as the day faded into night.

“Jesus, Ian. You walked all the way here?”

He couldn’t speak.

Inside, the cabin was warm, a fire blazing in the fireplace. The room was small and primitive, with a bed, a desk, a chair, and a table. Ian registered these details but couldn’t focus. His limbs refused to cooperate. His head was fuzzy, his thoughts difficult to put together. Outside, the storm continued to rage, growing in ferocity.

Adam led him to the fireplace, where it was warmest. There, he peeled the frozen layers of clothing from Ian’s body. His face was mask-like, unreadable, but his eyes were shiny with tears. Ian couldn’t bear to look at him, even though it was all he wanted to do. Adam sat him on a chair, kneeling to remove his ice-crusted boots. He grunted from the effort as he pulled them from Ian’s feet.

Ian groaned, wincing as the heat sought its way inside, warming him slowly. And with it waking up, his numbed toes, first tingling and soon screaming with agony.

Adam inspected his feet. He glanced up at Ian with worry in his eyes. “I don’t think you’ll lose any of them. But it was close. What the hell were you thinking?”

Ian lowered his head, unable to hold it in; a sob let loose from his throat. Shocked, he put his hands to his mouth, choking back the emotion.

Adam pulled himself up to his side, still on his knees. He reached for Ian, drawing him close. With a broken cry, Ian pressed his frozen face into the side of his neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Adam’s fingers threaded through his wet hair as the snow melted, leaving puddles by their feet. Together, they huddled in front of the fire, holding one another.

“It’s okay, Ian, it’s okay,” Adam said, pressing tiny kisses to the side of his jaw, behind his ear. “We’re together now. It’s going to be okay.” But Ian heard the fear and uncertainty in this voice, deepening his pain.

The Dead Don't Dream is available for purchase on Amazon.