Chapter 3 #2
It worked–barely, but still. She snorted, just once, brittle around the edges. And then, because of course she would go straight to the question he didn’t want to answer, she said, “How did you happen to be in that alley? At the perfect moment?”
He sighed. “Fate?” he offered. “Karma?”
Her chuckle defined bitterness. “More bullshit, I see. I don’t even know why I bother asking.”
And there it was again, that feeling like he was bleeding inside his own damn skin. He didn’t even have a skin, technically. Maybe he should just stay fog and be done with all this mess.
He wanted to tell her everything. He also couldn’t tell her anything.
Because of regulations and stuff.
And because if she knew what he really was, what he’d been sent for, it would unravel everything. She had to deal with whatever made her a too powerful lucid dreamer all by herself, or there was no fixing it at all, and the Dreamverse was not down with the option.
Apparently, the only way forward was through a minefield of shit.
Fine.
He would juggle some of it and see what fell out. “Look,” he said carefully, “I’ve never been in your head.”
She scoffed, tossed her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes like she couldn’t even stand to look at him. Which was fair, but also, he kind of saved her? He got no redeeming points for that?
Fine.
“For real,” he said. “I could, but I never did. There are... layers to thoughts and emotions. I only ever skimmed the surface.”
“Why?” Her voice was quiet but loaded. “Why on earth would you do that?”
He gripped the steering wheel. “Because after the first time I stepped into your library, I found it very hard to stay away from you.”
She turned her head, eyes opening. “It’s a public library. Not mine.”
“Might as well be, the way you run it.”
That earned a huff and almost a smile.
“But why did you walk in the first time?” she asked. “I might only be human, but I can read people. I know why someone’s there the second they cross the threshold. You weren’t there for books.”
And there it was. The corner he couldn’t talk his way out of. Possibly.
How did he give her a palatable version of the truth when the real version would sound something like, I was sent to study you because you’re a weirdo who may or may not become a threat.
And you make me want to bury myself in you for the remainder of time.
He’d already given her so many half-truths they were starting to sound like expired spells.
So he said, softly, weighing every word.
“I was looking for something unusual. Then you glared at me from behind that desk.” He glanced at her. “It was memorable.”
She didn’t smile. But she didn’t shut him out either.
Progress. Maybe.
He let the silence stretch between them again. Not heavy and not empty, but full of things they weren’t ready to say. Yet.
“It still doesn’t answer my question. Why did you come to the library?”
The woman could not be swayed. He cleared his throat. “Because I really am a sleep therapist, and I really was trying to understand something dream-related.”
Kind of true. If you looked at it from far enough away. And squinted.
He could live with that.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Well, no, because you kicked me out.”
She rolled her eyes, but her body was more relaxed, her thoughts less tight. He turned the radio on, put it on a soft rock station, and kept driving through the night.
She dozed off somewhere along the pass. Head tilted slightly, mouth parted just a little, hands still clenched like she didn’t fully believe she was safe.
He kept his eyes on the road, the glow of the dashboard painting shadows across his knuckles.
He drove quietly, letting the silence keep her wrapped in the closest facsimile to peace he could give her.
By the time the road narrowed and the lights of Mystic Hollow started to glow faintly ahead, he realized he had no idea where to go.
He could’ve pulled it from her mind. Personal information was stored on the surface, so a nudge, a little skim, would be enough to find her building, her front door. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d be wowed by his cleverness. She’d probably deck him again.
Being human was very complicated.
He reached over and gently touched her sleeve. “Hey.”
She stirred. “Yeah?”
“I don’t know where to go.”
She blinked, yawned, then rattled off directions, her voice groggy but present.
He followed them through a few quiet turns until they reached a two-story complex on the edge of town.
Two apartments on the ground floor, two upstairs.
Nothing fancy, but clean and quiet. He pulled up to the entrance, letting the engine idle.
“That one’s my parking spot,” she said, pointing.
He parked there.
She gathered her bags, checking nothing had shifted during the drive. Her fingers brushed his leg, her coat grazed his arm, and damn, he hated how much he noticed every second of it.
Hoping. Holding his breath, waiting for an invitation.
Just coffee. Like, actual coffee, not the metaphorical one people used to hook up and pretend it was casual. The real coffee time, where two people sat across from each other and maybe talked like they weren’t strangers, deep in secrets and half-truths.
But obviously, she had other plans.
“Thank you for helping me,” she said. Her voice was soft, but there was steel behind it. “I have questions. But not tonight.”
He nodded. “Don’t sweat it.”
Please ask me to come in. Just for a minute.
He shut that thought down fast. That line of thinking needed its own containment zone.
Instead, she looked straight ahead, lips pressed into a line, and she said, “Promise me you’ll never get in my head again.”
“Done,” he said instantly. Because he absolutely assumed she meant when she was awake and sure, he could avoid her conscious mind. A little emotional ambient reading? That didn’t count. That was like checking the forecast before a picnic. He was so in the clear it was almost laughable.
She opened the door, and so did he.
“I’ll see you at the library,” she said over her shoulder. “If you haven’t fixed your issue yet.”
“I’ll be there,” he replied.
They got out, doors shut, and the sound echoed a little too loudly in his chest.
He gave her the keys, careful not to touch her.
And he watched her go, silhouetted by porch light and shadows, her shoulders still tense beneath the weight of the night.
He watched her as she reached the door on the ground floor.
As she unlocked it. Stepped inside. The light flashed from the window.
Only then did he exhale.
The warmth she’d left behind still lingered at his side, as if her presence didn’t know how to let go yet.
He walked away.
The town around him was quiet, tucked in for the night.
Christmas lights blinked faintly across rooftops.
Somewhere nearby, wind chimes clinked together.
And then, without ceremony, he let go of his form.
Skin dissolved into mist, bones into nothing.
And he was fog, sighing into the cold air like a ghost remembering its name, curling into the darkness, weightless and watching.
Hunter rose into the sky and turned toward the Dreamscape.
Time to work.
But damn if he didn’t take a long, slow path back.
Just to pass by her window one more time.
~*~
Hunter wasn’t sure where he was.
One minute, he’d been monitoring the outer edges of her sleeping mind.
Then...
He was in her dream?
Why was he in her dream, not in a Dream Devil fashion? Who brought him in?
Dream Devils and Dream Weavers alike could initiate a dream sequence.
In the easiest cases, they slipped in through the cracks, built the environment, and shaped the story.
It wasn’t standard protocol; usually, they waited for a request, a trigger, something the human soul unknowingly called for, but yes, technically, they could override it when needed.
This was not that.
This was something else.
Because okay, yes, maybe he’d been hovering around the edges of her consciousness. Just monitoring. Lightly. Nothing invasive. Definitely not in her head the way she’d define it.
But now he wasn’t outside, or skirting, or anything. He was fucking in.
Inside the dream.
Not as an agent or a nightmare guide.
No, no. He was starring in it.
And he was fucking real. He felt his limbs, his heartbeat, the drag of emotions clawing their way up his throat. This wasn’t a projection. This wasn’t her subconscious wearing his shape like a coat. This was him. As if she had called him. Commanded him. Wanted him there.
Which was not supposed to be possible.
It was every level of wrong, every protocol violation, everything impossible. Again.
And then... his heart stuttered.
Because there she was. Standing in the center of a room that hadn’t existed a second ago, one she’d crafted herself out of memory or desire or something else entirely. It was warm. Lit by candlelight, but no candle was burning. And she was wearing... fuck. No. No, nope. Absolutely not.
She was wearing a black teddy. Lace. Strategically see-through in exactly all the beautiful wrong ways. He actually forgot how to breathe. He didn’t need to anyway. He needed to stare at her nipples way, way more. Look at them, they would feel amazing in his mouth.
He’d spent so much time ignoring her in a physical way, avoiding the curve of her neck when she stretched, how she tapped her finger on her lip when she was thinking.
The way her jeans fit her perfect ass when she shelved books.
Her breasts. Those big breasts. Even the sound of her fucking voice when she got snippy with idiots in the nonfiction aisle made him salivate.
He was so careful.
He had to be careful.
But now... this?
He was already fucking up the whole operation without adding having the hots for her to the list of professional screw-ups.