Chapter 7 #3
He moved to her side, dropped an arm on her shoulder affectionately as they walked to her apartment. “There are so many more things I can do with my mouth.”
She opened the door, got inside with him, and closed it. “You’re gonna have to demonstrate that.”
“Oh, sweetheart...”
He backed her against the wall, peeling off the scarf and the jacket with his mouth fused on hers–the knocks on the door barely registering despite growing insistent.
Until a heap of power jerked him away from her and slammed him on the other side of the hall.
“What in the actual hell?” she gasped.
He raised his index finger, asking her for a second to brace for what came next. Because there were very few beings able to pull off what had just happened. He looked at her and sighed. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“Whatever is about to happen.”
And he went to open the front door, not surprised to find Dorian and Amelia on the other side.
“See how it works?” Dorian asked. Amelia’s hand was safe in the crook of his arm, his hand covering hers.
“There’s a closed door, and I knock on it.
And if you don’t open it, then I keep on knocking. It’s civilized behaviour, Hunter.”
“You shoved me into the other side of the hall.”
“That’s because you locked your mind first, then refused to open the bloody door. I had to get your attention somehow, didn’t I?”
Daphne tapped his back from behind. When he turned, her face was not amused. “Am I going to see who’s at my door?”
Between a rock and a hard place, Hunter mused. Literally.
He raised his palms in quick surrender and moved aside. He had a gut feeling he was going to be in enough trouble soon enough.
~*~
“Can I help you?” Daphne asked the insanely good-looking man standing at her door.
He gave tall, dark, and dangerous an entire new meaning.
Hair as black as a moonless night, perfectly coiffed.
Eyes the same cold blue of a glacier. Danger followed him like a shadow, the only soft thing about him the lovely woman at his side.
A woman who looked like she’d run out of patience with her man ten minutes ago, but the smile she gave her was genuine. She had sweet eyes and hair pulled back in a tight bun that made her look serious, but in a utilitarian, no-nonsense kind of way, not stuck-up.
“Good evening, love. You must be Daphne,” the man said with an accent that came straight from Buckingham Palace.
“And you are?”
“Dorian,” he replied, as if that explained everything. “And this is my wife, Amelia.”
Ah. So this was the infamous Dorian–Hunter’s boss-slash-brother–slash–whatever. “Come in,” she said, stepping aside.
They moved down the short hallway and into the living room. Amelia nodded once, brisk and cordial, stepping in like she already knew where the living room was. Dorian gave her a wink on the way past.
Hunter stood as they entered, giving Amelia a quick, warm hug before aiming a look at Dorian that said, Behave.
“Hunter told me about you,” Daphne said, gesturing to the couch. “Please, have a seat.”
Dorian lounged with aristocratic flair, one ankle resting on a knee like he was posing for a decadent oil painting.
Amelia sat beside him, all precise lines and practical grace.
Hunter reclaimed the armchair opposite, already watching Daphne with that faint furrow in his brow he got when he was low-key worried.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” Daphne asked.
“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” Dorian said with a regal tip of his head.
Daphne nodded, heading to the kitchen.
This plot twist was so odd.
And it only got odder when, halfway through filling the kettle, she heard footsteps behind her.
Amelia.
“Do you need anything? Amelia, right? Can I call you Amelia?”
“Of course. And no, I’m okay, thank you.”
“Okay.”
Amelia smiled, sweet and knowing, which rubbed her the wrong way because she was so lost. “This is not a courtesy visit, I assume.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Then what is it? I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you guys here?”
Amelia sighed, looking for the best words. Daphne had a hint that she wasn’t the type to just run her mouth, which she appreciated. So she kept taking cups and setting them all on a tray, waiting.
“What did Hunter tell you about his job?” Amelia asked after a minute.
“That he’s a sleep therapist.”
Amelia nodded, satisfied. “That is actually rather close.”
“Close to what?” Daphne snapped. “I keep getting half explanations at best, and it’s getting really frustrating.” She closed her eyes, taking a long breath in. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it on you when it’s him.”
Amelia chuckled. “I know the feeling. When I first met Dorian, there were times where I wished I could smash a brick over his head.”
“Oh, my God, yes! It’s like giving a straight answer hurts him.”
“That’s them. And it’s why I’m here.”
“To keep me from strangling him?”
She waved the idea off with a graceful sweep of her hand. “Oh, no, no. Go ahead, he probably deserves it. No, I’m here for two reasons. To rein in Dorian’s occasional dramatic spiral, and to ask you one thing.”
“Okay.”
“Do you feel, deep inside you, that you can trust him? A trust that goes beyond logic, beyond fear. A trust that lives in your bones, not your brain?”
Daphne stared at this woman, basically a complete stranger, who’d just put into words what she’d been struggling with rationalizing.
And because of it, it didn’t matter who she was, or why she was there, or that she really was not the type to talk about her most intimate things. All she could do was nod. “Yes.”
Amelia smiled, so open and wide she found herself wanting to do the same. “You want to remember that. They have a way to test both your patience and trust and make a mess.” Her next words sounded almost ominous. “When it comes to him, always trust your heart.”
Amelia left her side just as the kettle let out a shrill scream.
Daphne turned her focus to the tea and cookies–because, of course, bottomless Hunter would still devour them, despite having eaten half the restaurant less than an hour ago.
And when she returned to the living room, tray in hand, she wasn’t carrying only drinks.
She carried the unshakable resolve to understand everything, tonight.
She passed the cups, sat in the other armchair close to Hunter’s. “Anyone care to explain what is going on?” she asked to no one in particular.
Dorian sipped his tea and nodded his approval for the brew. “An oneiric contamination had been detected in a civilian zone. Devils were dispatched. And here we are.”
To that, Hunter swore viciously.
Amelia rolled her eyes.
And Dorian remained the incarnation of relaxed.
“But Amelia, darling, it was the fastest way to explain. It saved us all a tedious buildup,” Dorian reasoned.
“Of course I could have phrased it differently,” he said, answering to something only he heard.
“But now everything is out in the open, and we can discuss it. Fast, because time’s not exactly in abundance. ”
And as for her... Daphne set the cup on the table.
Rested her palms neatly on her knees to avoid hitting someone.
And looked at Dorian straight in the eyes.
“If someone doesn’t give me a buildup, tedious or otherwise, you,” she said to Dorian, “and you,” to Hunter, “need to start walking out of here real fast.”
“Ah, that’s the spirit,” Dorian said with a slow nod, his tone as smooth as clotted cream, looking highly entertained and not even a little worried. Which made her all kinds of pissy.
“Alright, alright.” Hunter shot to his feet, ran his fingers through his hair, and then wiped a hand on his face. “Look. You know I told you I am a sleep consultant.”
“I knew it was bullshit,” she accused.
“It’s not. Exactly.” He turned to Dorian. “The protocol can go fuck itself.”
“By all means,” Dorian said, gesturing with his teacup like a benevolent monarch.
Hunter nodded, then kneeled in between her legs, one arm on each of her knees. “I am a Tulpa demon. The only other Tulpa demon other than him,” he said, tilting his head toward Dorian.
“Okay.”
“We are created by human nightmares. Human fears.”
She frowned. “So your job is nightmares?”
“We are nightmares, Daphne. And fear, and the deepest horrors the mind can conjure at night when the heart is at its most vulnerable and honest.”
It was very hard to keep up. It was very easy, actually, but she was having trouble processing all this.
Thinking about what it meant for her and for them.
She looked at his face, earnest and worried, and she hated how badly she wanted to believe it.
Because, apparently, everything had been a lie so. ..
“Ask me,” he told her. “Ask me and I’ll give you nothing but the truth this time. Not that it was a lie before, technically, but–”
Dorian stopped him mid-tirade. “I’d stop talking and let the lady ask, mate.”
“Right, right.” Hunter tapped her knees. “Ask away.”
So, so many questions whirlpooled in her head until a couple of points started aligning. He was nightmare. She had those her entire life. And if he managed those.... “Did you get in my head?”
He started talking, closed his mouth. Swallowed. “Define getting in your head.”
“You son of a bitch.” She was ready to jump to her feet and kick him, literally and out of her house, but his hands rose.
“Not when you’re awake. Not after you told me not to.”
“What the fuck does it mean? All the nightmares I had, all these years... are you saying that was you?”
He had the nerve to scoff. “I don’t make up nightmares, Daphne.
That’s all you. What we do most of the time is to guide the dreamer through it as a way to deal with anxiety, fear, or trauma.
” There was a pause. “Other times, it’s just us, crushing some bastard that deserves to experience the worst fear.
Driving them to madness is fun–but I’m digressing. ”
And that’s when another connection came up. “Why did you come to the library that day? The first time. I knew you weren’t there for books. Why did you?”
His face turned serious, almost solemn. “Because you’re a lucid dreamer, and during a nightmare, you punched me. Only, the hit carried onto me in this reality and on this body. Both things couldn’t happen. It needed investigating.”
“I was an assignment,” she whispered, gingerly realizing that despite all she’d suffered, this moment, his words, were what destroyed her. Her heart had been broken before. This was worse.
“Yes,” he said. But then his hand brushed hers in a soft stroke.
“But then it changed.” He shook his head.
“I came to you because you were an anomaly, the system pinged your case, and I’m the best Dream Devil to deal with those.
I came back for you. Only you. I stayed–for you.
” His grip tightened. “I’m here for you, and you only. ”
She should’ve been done. That should’ve been the end of it. She’d known there were things he wasn’t telling her, but this was... enormous. He’d lied to her. Betrayed her. Walked into her life wearing a mask, speaking half-truths wrapped in charm.
But as bad as it was, that was not what made her want to scream. It was the fact that even now, with her heart cracking down the middle, she trusted him. Her instincts weren’t screaming to run; they were screaming to stay, to forgive.
That made her furious.
Furious at him for making her feel safe; at herself for wanting to cling to him even as the truth bled out between them.
And that made her pathetic.
Because he’d broken her trust, but he hadn’t broken her faith in him, and she didn’t know how to deal with that.
Speechless, thoughtless, empty and hurt, she set her eyes on the night outside. “Leave. All of you.”
Dorian started to say something, but his eyes turned sharply on Amelia. Then he sighed and nodded. “Thank you for the tea, love,” he said, offering his hand to Amelia, who took it while giving her a sympathetic smile. They left without a word.
Hunter didn’t move. He stayed there, hurt etched in the deep blue of his eyes.
She could feel the tensed pressure of his hands on her as he tried to keep the touch light.
Could see the words he was swallowing down to respect her need for time and space.
And she couldn’t, just couldn’t, give into the visceral and fierce need to take his hand, to touch him. “Leave, Hunter.”
His mouth opened like he was about to say something, then closed again, lips pressed into a tight line.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He dragged a hand through his hair, hard enough to hurt.
His eyes stayed on her as if she were what kept him together, regardless.
Then he gave her a stiff nod, stood. Turned around and walked out.
Fast, like if he slowed down, grief would catch up and finish what she started.
The front door opened, closed.
Daphne walked to the bathroom. Showered.
Got in bed.
And as she lay there, she wondered how she could feel so empty. How, by sending him away, she’d cut off a vital part of herself.
Amelia’s words, when it comes to him, trust your heart, screamed in her mind, and when she surrendered to exhaustion, she wished for nightmares.