Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lennon
I wake up in my bed.
For one perfect second, relief hits so hard it almost hurts.
Real sheets.
Real ceiling.
Real apartment.
I drag in a breath and stay completely still, listening to the old pipes hum somewhere in the walls and rain tapping faintly against the windows.
Oh, thank God.
I made it out.
Then I remember Tessa’s face when I let go of her, the labored breathing Lucien made me listen to, and the panic returns instantly.
I sit up too fast, my pulse hammering.
Ridge.
I need Ridge.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, barely registering the cold floor through my socks as I stand.
The apartment looks exactly the same as when I left it with open suitcases, clothes everywhere, and Mr. Muffin listing crookedly against the yellow pillow.
I snatch my cardigan off the floor and shove my arms into it while heading for the door.
Ridge is ten feet away.
I don’t care if it’s early or that he’s probably furious at me for leaving. I don’t care about any of it because Tessa can’t breathe, and I know things now that he needs to know so he can help me.
I yank the door open and walk directly into him.
I stumble back hard enough that my shoulder clips the wall.
Lucien is standing in my doorway as if he belongs there. Hands in his pockets, green eyes fixed on me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost looks sad.
My stomach drops.
No.
No, no, no.
I look down at my hands.
Breadsticks.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
“You really thought it would be that easy?” he asks softly.
“I mean,” I force myself to straighten. “Yeah.”
A faint smile pulls at his mouth.
“You’re back in your subconscious.” He steps past me into the apartment without waiting for permission. “But all you managed to do was strand yourself in the in-between.”
“No. I just have to wake up.”
His gaze slides over me slowly enough to make heat creep up the back of my neck despite the fear crawling through me.
“Go ahead then.”
I hate how calm he sounds.
I close my eyes and instinctively reach for that membrane between dreaming and waking I’ve learned to recognize. I push against it hard enough to make my chest ache.
Nothing.
I open my eyes. He’s still there. So is my apartment.
And so are my stupid breadstick fingers.
Fuck.
“Release me,” I snap.
“I’m not keeping you here.” His voice lowers slightly. “Not directly.”
He wanders farther inside, studying the apartment with unsettling focus.
The mess, the bare walls. Then he lifts one hand, and white curtains bloom into existence beside the windows.
Warm light spills across hardwood floors that weren’t there seconds ago.
A gray rug unfurls beneath my feet, then a gray couch appears there, extremely uncomfortable-looking, and white bookshelves and table.
It’s beautiful in the way of a hotel room someone paid a lot of money for.
“Stop.” I raise my hand and let it all dissolve into nothing again.
My apartment, bare, real, and mine.
Lucien looks at me over his shoulder, and there’s something unreadable in his expression now.
“This is my dreamscape. You can’t just waltz in and…”
“Your stability is impressive.” He crosses the room before I realize he moved. Close enough that I catch his scent, something dark, warm, and unfamiliar beneath the apartment’s cold air.
Close enough that my pulse betrays me.
“But you can only do this,” he says quietly. “Because I allow you to.”
His hand lifts toward my face, and instinct fires through me. Honey snaps up from the floor and around his wrist before he reaches me, hardening instantly and locking him in place inches from my skin.
“And I don’t allow you to touch me.”
For the first time, genuine surprise flickers across his face. He looks down at the honey around his wrist, pulls once experimentally, then slowly lifts his eyes back to mine, and smiles. “Impressive,” he murmurs again.
I swallow hard and tighten the honey reflexively. His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
Oh, absolutely not.
I step back immediately and release him. The honey melts away, and Lucien rubs his wrist once, watching me with infuriating patience.
“The door is still open. If you can’t sustain this, if you get frightened or you simply decide you no longer want to be alone here…” His head tilts slightly. “I’ll keep it open for you.”
“That’s supposed to comfort me?”
“No.” Another tiny smile. “It’s honesty.”
Lonely things are dangerous.
I force myself to hold his gaze. “I’m going home. With her.”
“I’m sure you’ll try very hard.”
“No.” My voice sharpens. “I’ll do it.”
“Your subconscious is remarkably stable, Lennon Maes,” he repeats. “You may last longer than I expected.” Then his eyes drag slowly over my face again. “But unlike you and Tessa.” His smile turns almost unbearably gentle. “I have time.”
Then he’s gone.
The apartment falls silent, so abruptly that it makes my ears ring.
I stand there breathing hard, staring at the empty space where he was.
Shit.
I squeeze my eyes shut immediately and reach again for that familiar membrane between dreaming and waking. The pull. The crack in the surface.
Push.
Nothing.
Panic flares hotter in my chest.
I try again, harder this time, concentrating until my head throbs. I imagine my real body in bed. The smell of my shampoo. The feeling of real blankets.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
My breathing turns uneven.
“Okay.” I laugh once, and it comes out a little shaky. “Okay, that’s fine. Totally fine.”
I pace across the apartment and grab the kitchen counter hard enough my breadstick fingers bend strangely around the edge.
I hate that.
“Fuck!”
My pulse is hammering now.
This can’t be happening.
People wake up from dreams. That’s how dreams work. You wake up.
I grab my wrist hard enough to hurt, grounding myself instinctively, but even the pain feels wrong somehow.
My eyes burn suddenly.
Oh my God.
I really can’t get out.
After another round of pacing, my knees finally give out, and I sit heavily on the edge of the bed, dragging both hands through my hair before covering my face completely.
“This is bad,” I whisper into my palms.
What the hell do I do now?