Chapter 7
The plan they both agreed on was to eat, then say goodbye.
The library was going to be open the day after, and he was going to pick her up tomorrow and take her to dinner.
But then, she threw out there to watch Notting Hill.
Hunter had a thing for Hugh Grant and couldn’t say no to any movie with him in it, so Notting Hill turned into Love, Actually.
By then, the sky was already darkening, so why not push it to Two Weeks Notice?
Tucked at his side, cookie boxes, muffin liners, and cups of tea had piled up on the coffee table–Hunter appeared to be bottomless when it came to food.
She’d started drawing tiny nothings on his arm.
He massaged her calf, thigh, and any part of her close enough for him to touch.
Next thing they knew, they were tangled up in each other on the floor.
Then they continued to be tangled up in the shower.
And after a light dinner, they tangled up in bed.
He spent the night, and there was zero self-consciousness the morning after, when they left the house together, and she went to the library while he went wherever he had to go.
And now she was walking the aisles of her library with a smile hovering on her lips.
With half the town still drunk on eggnog and family drama, the other half off to the mountains to ski, December 27 lull left Daphne in a blissfully quiet library.
She was filing returns with a smile hovering on her lips, humming under her breath like someone who’d gotten thoroughly, gloriously fucked by a demon and was still riding the high.
She returned a stack of holiday romance novels to their rightful shelves, pausing to smirk at the cover of Santa, Baby because yeah, she now understood the appeal of a magical, overpowered boyfriend with stamina and an attitude problem.
She restocked the tea nook, refilled the cinnamon sticks, and replaced the “Quiet Please” sign that had mysteriously gained a mustache overnight.
Then she sat at the front desk and wrote out a few thank-you notes to the regulars who’d dropped off gifts–tea tins, bookmarks, a funny snow globe shaped like Bigfoot in a Santa hat.
Every now and then, she’d stop, press a hand to her chest like a total sap, and grin while very many things should have bothered her.
She didn’t fully buy the sleep therapist stuff.
Saying you were a demon was as defining as saying you were a mammal–lions, mice, sloths all were mammals, but some could kill you.
He’d never once let anything slip about his life.
Did he have a house besides the Norwegian cabin?
Hobbies that were not watching Hugh Grant or eating?
She kept breezing over the things she didn’t know, and he didn’t volunteer, and that was one hundred percent new.
Newer still? How she trusted him anyway.
Not only that he wouldn’t hurt her, but that he would totally step in front of a freaking tornado to save her.
A part of her she’d call new, if a person could develop a new part of their soul, had emerged.
That part recognized him in a way that was too deep for someone you’d known for weeks.
That part loudly told her all those things were nothing but details, and that he was her person, regardless.
There had been a crazy moment when they watched TV, when she might have sworn she knew what he was feeling.
Peace, contentment, joy. And for someone like her, it was unsettling.
Lust, even love, she understood.
This went deeper.
It should have scared her more than it did. It actually didn’t scare her at all. It was natural, it was right.
And so she would keep on going this way, with him, for as long as they both wanted it.
She needed the restroom, so she strolled to the bathroom with a sigh and locked the stall.
The moment she sat down, a sound caught her attention–because, of course, that’s when it happens.
She stilled mid-motion, her ears straining.
It sounded like something had... cracked?
The sound had a brittle finality to it, like the first hiss of breaking ice that you know won’t stop.
She finished her business and opened the stall door.
Uh.
It was a crack, splitting the bathroom mirror like lightning, cutting nearly from one edge to the other.
Daphne blew out a breath. Damn it. She’d have to log the issue and notify the county facilities manager so he could send someone out to take a look.
With a sigh, she tapped the mirror in a few spots.
It seemed stable. No loose shards, no wobble.
Just one ugly crack slicing across the glass.
She’d tape off the sink area and put up a sign not to use the sink to be extra safe.
She might also put in a request to check on the lights while she was at it, she thought as she went back to the front desk. Shadows had been playing odd the entire day, like they bent toward her. Whoever came for the mirror could check on the bulbs and stuff.
It was three, meaning she had one hour before closure. She might as well start the incident report and fill out the maintenance request form.
~*~
Hunter reformed in his cabin, lost in the Norwegian wilderness.
It might have been small, but that place was nothing short of a shrine for sensory pleasure. Say what you want about humans, and he would have a thing or two on them after millennia in their nightmares, but when it came to physical indulgence, their bodies were simply superior.
The cabin was made with that in mind.
One massive room held it all.
A huge bed, because he loved to sleep. A TV, because he loved movies.
A huge fridge for the human food he’d get from wherever he had a taste for.
And at its center, his altar of choice: a Jacuzzi large enough to baptize all of his sins in bubbles.
He fired it up with a flick of his fingers, the jets growling awake in promise. Foam churned to the surface.
Hunter slid into it with a groan and a sigh and closed his eyes.
He’d been around for a long, long time. He’d done things, lots of them. Seen things. But never, ever, had it felt like now was the best time of his existence while shit poured from everywhere.
Obviously, the best part of his life was because of her.
Daphne was doing something to him, and whatever it was, he loved it.
He’d promised her he’d stay away from her thoughts, and he had.
Honest. At some point, he’d stopped tipping around her feelings, too, because he didn’t need it.
It was like he’d developed an extra consciousness that was linked to her.
And as for the shit... it was a lot and it stank, bad.
That memory. It felt like it had happened a lifetime ago, not just a couple of days. But it had happened, and he’d better think about it. Or, more specifically, what happened at the end of it.
Now that all the puzzle pieces had clicked into place, he could see it clearly. How that bastard’s words during the mugging had been the spark, and the Christmas song the gasoline. Together, they’d ignited the memory she’d buried so deep she hadn’t even realized it was missing.
Everything had aligned perfectly for her to break free.
That was good. Great, actually.
He sloshed out of the tub like a sea monster with zero shame, leaving a glistening trail of water across the floor as he made a beeline for the freezer. He retrieved the carton of rocky road ice cream, a spoon, and padded back, dripping and smug, to his bubbling kingdom of indulgence.
Yes, unlocking her memory was fantastic.
But.
Why was he in there? It hadn’t been a nightmare, only a memory dressed up as one. He’d been a mere spectator. Because it was not a nightmare.
So that was the first question with no answer.
That led to the second, possibly bigger problem: what had happened at the end?
When the pain and the heartbreak and the physical hit had shattered her?
Something that was neither nightmare nor memory, but somehow both, had slithered off, fast. So fast, he’d have missed it if not for the residual feeling of wrongness.
He eased the now-empty box of ice cream onto the floor.
Was the next impossible thing about to happen? Would he be ready? Because he had a very uncomfortable hunch that this thing was bigger than Daphne’s trauma and its resolution.
He closed his eyes, going back to that moment over and over again, as if he could catch a detail that would explain more. No luck. When he opened his eyes, the clock was saying it was time to get ready and go to her.
Damn, if it didn’t make him happy.
He got out of the tub, and in a blink, he was dry, ready, and reformed in front of the library.
It was dark, as expected for the end of December, but... He looked around. Sniffed the freezing air and opened his power.
Alright.
Something was up.
Awareness crawled up his spine, made him want to run inside, grab Daphne, and take her anywhere but there.
But he couldn’t go to her and explain this eerie feeling without coming totally clean, which he couldn’t.
Yet. Well, technically, he wasn’t supposed to come clean ever, not by Dreamverse rules and all that bureaucratic crap.
But he was old enough, and honest enough, to admit that if he wanted to be with her, she deserved the whole truth.
And he did want to be with her, which meant.
.. yeah. Full picture time. He was so getting decked after that conversation. She packed a hell of a punch.
But that was a tomorrow problem. Today’s plan was to walk in, play it cool, stay alert, and take her to dinner. And then get them both naked.
He stretched his neck, took a bracing breath, and stepped into the library.
Daphne sat at the front desk, typing something into the computer. She glanced up at the sound of the door, and a polite, standard-issue librarian smile started to form until she recognized him. Then it turned into a bright, happy, heart-melting grin.