Chapter 8
Hunter thanked the heavens for the cold and breathed out a soft cloud of vapor.
As he’d expected, Dorian was waiting close to Amelia’s car in a corner of the parking lot, and he made his way to them.
Amelia offered him a hand, and he took it with gratitude and squeezed.
Exhausted, he leaned against the car. Dorian straightened the lapels of his black coat. They were already perfect.
Hunter sighed, dragging the words out. “What’s up, boss?”
“Once again, I detected oneiric contamination in a civilian zone.”
“And you dispatched the Devils I heard.”
“Grumpy, aren’t we? We’ll get to that in a minute.” He hooked Amelia’s hand in the bend of his elbow. “Would you like to guess where the contaminated area was?”
“Daphne’s library?”
“You are my best Devil and smart on top of it, but,” Dorian tilted his head, looking at him, “that was an aggressively precise guess.”
Hunter scrubbed his face with his hands. “A mirror cracked close to her. Shadows are weird. And a lady was out for a good moment, telling her creepy nonsense. I figured shit was up. And before you say anything,” he added, “I was going to come to you and talk about all this.”
“And just what, pray tell, does all this actually mean?”
With another sigh, Hunter started recounting all that had happened from the moment she’d heard the damn song that broke her memory open.
“I’ve never felt anything like that,” Hunter finished, hiding his fists in his pockets.
“It was part of the nightmare and not at the same time. It came from her, but it wasn’t her anymore.
And it was fast; it slithered away before I even had the time to think about what to do.
And what in the actual fuck was I doing in her memory?
In her dreams, when I’m not there to control them?
” Frustration built up and was out before he could do anything to contain it.
A flare of power blazed from him and blew up a garbage can nearby.
He looked at it, wishing he could destroy something way bigger.
A stadium would probably do, but Lachlan would be a nightmare to deal with, and he didn’t need that extra stress right now.
“I’m sorry,” he also said, turning to Amelia.
Used to flares of temper and power, she simply nodded. “Don’t worry. I understand.”
“Can you explain it to me, then? Because I’m all out of explanations. I’ve been a Devil for millennia, and I’m all out of crap.”
Just to add to his general sense of frustrated rage and self-deprecation, Dorian and Amelia shared a look, possibly while having a full conversation in their heads. “Go ahead, darling. You’re better than me at this,” Dorian said after a moment.
Amelia prepared in the same way, he figured, she would do before grilling a witness. She straightened and started pacing slowly around. “I need you to concentrate,” she started. “And tell me what she’s feeling right now.”
Odd. He looked at Dorian, who just lifted a shoulder, clearly deferring to the woman running the room, or parking lot, now. “Ah. She’s pissed, obviously.”
“Noted. Now take me beyond the obvious.”
“I can’t get into her head.”
“Then don’t.”
He shook his head, but tapped into that sixth sense he’d seemed to develop after being with her for not that long.
“She’s hurt because I lied to her. She’s confused.
She wants to trust me, and that makes her even madder.
” Damn it, this was making him feel even shittier than he already was.
Because he wasn’t just guessing. He was feeling her pain. “I don’t see how any of this helps.”
Like the shrewd lawyer she was, she ignored him and carried on. “How do you know?”
“I guess after all this time with her, I just feel her?”
Amelia raised a brown eyebrow. “You said you feel her pain. Not guess. Not infer. Feel.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Nodded.
She took another measured step, heels clicking softly on the snowy road. “Would you say it’s been that way for a while?”
“Yeah.”
“Has it gotten stronger?”
An invisible hand wrapped around his lung and squeezed. “Yes.”
“And does it stop when she’s not around?”
“No,” he admitted, trying to calm his thundering heart. How did she know? He barely did. “It’s worse when she’s gone.”
Amelia tilted her head, gave him a look that said you know exactly what this is, but asked, “Tell me what you feel when she’s in your arms.”
He didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t.
Amelia stopped pacing. “Hunter?”
He blew out a breath. “Like my existence finally makes sense.”
A soft hum of approval came from Amelia’s throat. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Dorian clicked his tongue, pushed off the hood of the car he was leaning on, and crossed the short distance to him, coat flaring just slightly with each stride.
“You feel her pain, feel every pulse of her heart like your own, and you’re still standing here, dithering?
You’re orbiting, Hunter. Pick a bloody direction. The only smart one.”
Every pulse of her heart like his own.
How he felt her inside of him, that odd extra conscience he’d chalked up to all the time they’d spent together.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.
“Behold, the penny hath dropped,” Dorian said with something very close to sympathy. “Your edges are blurring, mate.”
Hunter dropped onto the cold, wet concrete, his jeans soaking in snow and his mind blank. “She’s my mate,” he murmured. “Mine.” And in a snap, a few pieces of the puzzle dropped in place. “It’s why I was in her dreams, in her memory. Not as a Devil. As her mate.”
“You are linked in the most essential way. You were there to help her, protect her. You were there because she needed you, even though she had no idea who or what you were,” Dorian told him with a soft gentleness that was so unlike him it was scary.
“Go back to her. Because without her, there’s nothing of worth left of you.
” He walked to Amelia, took her hand to drop a soft kiss on her gloved fingers.
“We’ve worn a thousand masks,” he murmured.
“And the only one that ever fit is the one they carve out of us.” Then, with a quirk of his hand, “I’ll try to understand what is happening to the Dreamverse, and in the meantime, don’t cock it up. This is nothing like we’ve ever faced.”
He opened the car door for Amelia, let her in, strode to his side, and drove away.
Hunter didn’t know how long he remained there. It had started snowing at some point, and a layer of it had piled on him, so it must have been a while.
He was nothing but fog and fear. Sentient vapor with one reason to exist. His heart, the figurative one because, technically, he didn’t even have one, had never been involved in whatever he’d done. Only fun and carelessly enjoying the world.
He’d never had anything his own.
Had never wanted anything to be his.
Until now.
Until she made blossom this thing inside of him. It was beautiful and humbling–which was a hell of an inconvenience. He wasn’t used to being humble, or patient, or terrified in a way that didn’t end in laughter and a clever escape.
But here he was.
His body was stiff and cold, his hair and clothes drenched in melted snow, his pride messed up like badly scrambled eggs. And he was... settled. Because what he felt for her was the one thing most removed from his ego, which made it resplendent with meaning.
And suddenly, for the first time in his long, chaotic, smoke-and-shadow existence, Hunter didn’t want to burn or seduce or haunt. He wanted to build. A space where she’d feel safe, a future where she wouldn’t doubt, a truth that wouldn’t flinch under pressure.
He stood up, the snow falling from him like old weight.
No more orbiting. No more bullshit. He would go to her, and he would be worthy.
Even if it ended him.
He walked to her front door, sat on the hard ground, rested his back against the wall of her house, and waited.
Waited until the sky, heavy with clouds, brightened up.
The sun wouldn’t come out today, and it was okay; he didn’t need it.
He had it inside of him, along with all that mushy stuff that suddenly made a hell of a lot of sense.
Finally, the door started to open.
He shot to his feet and brushed off his t-shirt like that would tidy the mess of feelings, too.
Muttered, “idiot,” and in the next blink, he was perfectly clean.
Then he flicked himself back to wet and rumpled–looking like a bum was solid, visual evidence that he’d camped outside her door all night like a guilt-ridden stray.
It might earn him a sympathy point or two.
But no. Damn it, he’d just sworn to be a better demon for her, and manipulating her into pitying him was probably not it.
With a sigh, he shifted back to clean again.
Still a guilt-ridden bastard, but less dirty.
The door opened.
She stepped out, half-turned and distracted, then jerked back with a startled gasp, nearly slamming into the doorframe. One hand flew to her chest, the other gripped the knob like she was ready to use it as a weapon.
Her eyes met his.
She froze.
So did he.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “For everything.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been here?”
“All night.” He pushed his fist into his pockets so he wouldn’t yield to the temptation to touch her. He didn’t even touch the link to her for fear she might catch him and get pissed. Or more pissed. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Can we talk for a second?”
She crossed her arms. “So you can feed me more bullshit?”
“No. So I can explain a little better. You didn’t really give me time to do that last night.”
Her lips thinned out, a muscle in her jaw started twitching, and her eyes flared with temper. He backpaddled hard and fast. “Which was totally fine and understandable and valid. I’m just saying, there’s more to it, and I’d like to have a chance to explain it to you.”