Chapter 10
Hunter woke slowly, Daphne’s body pressed against his chest in a way that made him want to never move again. She stirred beside him, sighed in pleasure as she slowly woke up, but instead of pulling away, she snuggled closer. “Hunter?”
“Right here, sweetheart.”
He felt her hesitation through the bond, he’d push it far enough to call it embarrassment, but he didn’t press. It made sense. Hell, no matter how soul-shatteringly good it had been, even he was a little weirded out by what had happened. So he waited, letting her share at her pace.
“We, um, napped,” she said.
“We did. A great one, I might add.”
The chuckle was pure naughtiness. “What time is it?”
He peeked at the clock blinking from the console across the room. “Little after six.”
“Okay.” She paused, probably doing some internal time-math. “What we did... wherever we were... that wouldn’t take less than an hour.”
“Definitely not.” And just thinking about it made him hard again, but never mind that right now. “Dream timing is like dream logic.”
“Makes no sense?”
“It does. It just works whichever way the dreamer needs. Sometimes a few minutes are packed. Sometimes it’s sluggish and slow.”
She didn’t answer, kept her face tucked against him. “Where were we, Hunter? Why were you there?”
“Full of questions, are you? That was you, being a very peculiar lucid dreamer, and me, being a Dream Devil. I was there because you wanted me with you, and you called me in. And me being me, I could get in fully.” He kissed her hair, thinking of all the other times she had called him into her dreams, not in his Dream Devil capacity.
“It wasn’t the first time you’ve dragged me into your lucid dreams. I think the bond makes it so, since we’re basically two halves of the same whole. ”
“Were you guiding it?”
“Nope,” he said, popping the word. “I was but a guest. It all came from you, from what you needed most.”
“You.”
The way she said it, like it was obvious, tightened something in his chest. The admission that she needed him came easily now. “Me,” he said, “but also facing your past.”
“I’d already done that,” she grumbled. “Zero stars, not recommended.”
“You remembered it. You understood it. But I don’t think you’re at peace yet.”
I’ll never be that, she said through the bond.
“I’ll be with you anyway.”
Finally, she lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest.
His blood turned to ice.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
There, on her cheek, was a bruise. Not a full handprint, only four marks that were definitely fingers, but spaced too wide and too long to be human.
No swelling, but it was real, fresh, angry, and had absolutely not been there when they’d dozed off.
Or when they’d fucked each other’s minds and souls inside that sort-of dream.
Okay.
Okay, fine. Nothing about this situation had been normal from the start, so who the hell even knew anymore? “Ah, sweetheart... did you, like, go somewhere before we woke up together?”
“No. Where would I go?”
“I don’t know. Bathroom? Tripped? Face-planted into something?”
She pushed off his chest and sat up. “What are you talking about?”
He scanned her face again, resisting the urge to grab her and check every inch of skin. There didn’t seem to be more bruises, but that didn’t mean there weren’t. He kissed her lips softly, deliberately avoiding the bruise.
Then he stood, pulling her up with him, and took her hand. He led her to the hallway mirror and gently positioned her in front of it. “I’m talking about this.”
She caught sight of her reflection and froze. Her eyes widened. “What the fuck?”
“My thought, exactly.”
Her fingers brushed the mark, gingerly. “This is not–”
“Normal?” Hunter huffed a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Welcome to my goddamn week.”
She stared at the bruising, frowning. “Wait. I think... I think I had another dream. After us. A nightmare.”
“But I was with you the entire time.”
“Can other demons do that? Am I yours only?”
He cupped the unbruised side of her face gently. “You are mine, only.” He felt her pleasure spike through the bond even though only the corner of her mouth twitched up. “And given how things are, yeah, I would’ve been the one handling that nightmare.”
They moved to the kitchen, where she headed to the fridge and pulled out some cold cuts and bread.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked, following her.
She started laying slices of ham on toast, thinking. “I was running. I don’t know where I was, but something was after me. It grabbed my shirt, yanked me back, and I fell hard on my ass. Then it grabbed my face. And I think that’s how it ended.”
On a sigh, he stepped in close and started unbuttoning her jeans.
“I could get used to this demon stamina,” she murmured, giving him access.
He smelled the shift, the flare of her arousal, but clenched his jaw and stayed focused. He turned her around, scanning her butt. “Fuck me.”
“That was the idea.”
“No, I mean–yeah, but no. There’s more.”
The bruises on her side bloomed like petals of some cruel flower, purple and marbled with red, angling from her ass to where her hip curved. There were scratches, too. Not deep, but fresh and long, like she’d been dragged across gravel by something made to hurt.
She twisted to see, her eyes going wide. “Damn.”
“You didn’t feel anything?”
“Not really. I do now, but no. No real pain. This is so weird.”
Before he could say anything more, a sound ripped through the night outside. An inhuman, raw, long, pained scream that cut through the darkness like a blade through butter.
They froze.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Then they both bolted to the nearest window.
Nothing. Just the eerie stillness of the street and the dark curve of trees beyond.
Hunter could’ve phased out, could’ve shot straight to the sound, but one look at her and that was out of the question. No way was he leaving her alone. Not now. Not with bruises still blooming fresh in his mind and on her skin. Not with whatever-the-fuck humming through the seams of the world.
Another second passed, and then sirens came. Wailing in the distance, growing louder, covering that scream.
“I need to talk to Dorian,” he muttered, but even as he turned–
The bond stuttered.
Then went quiet.
Not severed or gone, but flat in the worst possible way.
His eyes snapped to her.
Daphne was standing at the kitchen island, both hands planted on the counter, her body locked tight. Her eyes stared into a void only she could see. Her lips moved, though no words followed, her breath coming too slow.
“Daphne?”
No reaction.
He crossed to her in two strides, heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted out. “Daphne, sweetheart?” He cupped her face gently, trying to turn her toward him.
Nothing.
Her skin was warm, but her mind was silent. Until–
“Whispers in the marrow,” she chanted, low, in a soft voice. “Can’t bleed. Can’t bleed.”
“Fuck,” he whispered, ice crawling through his veins.
Panic clawed up his throat, the very human terror of watching the person you love slip out of reach. He turned to fog instantly, slipping into her subconscious again. And again it was clean. Pristine. A mind emptied of presence. Not even shadows to make it more alive. Just a vacuum. Soulless.
Hunter reformed in the kitchen with a hiss, hands shaking. He tried to shake her shoulders, first gently, then harder. “Daphne! Baby, please.”
Still no response. Only the faint murmur of her voice, soft and toneless, repeating those words over and over. “Whispers in the marrow. Can’t bleed. Can’t bleed.”
Her phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at it and saw Deputy Harper’s face.
He answered, because it was worryingly fitting that the deputy would call her now. “Yes?”
“Daphne?” Harper’s voice was serious, nearly grave.
“Hunter. Daphne is... momentarily occupied.”
A pause. “In a weird way?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“Because crazy shit is going down in Mystic Hollow. People are losing it. Sleepwalking. Seeing monsters. Attacking their families. I called her to warn her because it seems to be worse around her place.”
His fingers tightened around the phone. “Thanks. And... how are you guys planning to deal with it?”
“We’re winging it. Empaths, elves and shifters alike, they’re all on edge. Everyone’s feeling it. Even Nick hasn’t stopped pacing. It’s like the air’s too full. Like something conscious and ugly is moving where it shouldn’t, affecting emotions.” Another pause. “Do you know what’s up?”
“Maybe.” But his stomach twisted as his resolve steeled. “Keep me posted.”
“You bet.”
He ended the call and turned back to Daphne.
Still chanting. Still not there.
Another crash outside, loud, metallic this time. A car, maybe. A pole. Didn’t matter.
His voice cracked. “Damn it, Daphne.”
He couldn’t get into her mind.
Couldn’t reach her through reality.
But the bond–they’d found each other through it once. He would find her again.
He closed his eyes and reached for it, deeper than he ever had. It was there. Barely. Slippery and thin as spider silk, but there. He gripped it with everything in him, his power, his love, his fear, and pulled.
Why do you keep running from me? His voice trembled through the link. Come back, sweetheart. Come back to me. I love you.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, talking to her through clenched teeth and sheer will. Pleading. Pouring his soul down that line.
Until finally, finally, he felt her stir, a heartbeat skipping back into rhythm.
The chanting stopped.
She blinked.
Then doubled over, clutching her head in both hands. A devastating moan tore from her throat like she was being ripped back into herself.
Hunter caught her before she fell, his whole body shaking in relief as he held her. “That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s it. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He carried her to the couch, carefully laid her down, and went back to get her some water. “There. Sip some of it.”
She obeyed before letting go on the pillows. “Why does it have to hurt like a bitch,” she groaned.