Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Itest the mask for the hundredth time, my fingers attempting to slip under the edges by my temples, then probing along the perimeter for any sign of a gap, but the result is the same.
Still stuck, with no sign of budging. Even when I attempt to dig my claws into my flesh and carve it off.
It’s like it’s fused to the bone, an inextricable extension of my being.
I fucking hate it. Every time I catch a glimpse of the bone-white facade in a reflective surface, a surge of frustration has me cursing the woman who turned me into a monster.
This isn’t how things are supposed to work. Sure, dreams mold me into whatever is needed on any given night, but I always turn back to the real me once they’ve ended. Or I did until Ada forced me into this mask night after night.
Now I’m not even sure what the real me is.
My very essence is tied to the nebulous whims of dreamers, and the more I put on a mask, the harder it is to see what’s beneath.
Quite literally, in this instance.
It’s why we’re not meant to sustain ourselves on the dreams of a single human. By constantly changing what we are, nothing “sticks.”But it’s too late for me now.
Ada’s dreams were far too enticing from the moment I found her, not long after I first formed.
Filled with fantastical realms, yearning hopes, and a heart and mind that called to my own.
By the time we’d both grown up, I didn’t want to leave her because the recurring shapes she molded me into were ones I enjoyed taking.
The handsome knight riding off on an adventure with his headstrong princess.
The shy man at the coffee shop that she finally worked up the courage to approach.
The older director working with her on her favorite production, who tried to keep things professional but couldn’t resist her bold advances.
Hells, I even liked being her high school bully that she got revenge on because it made her feel better.
The occasional nightmares weren’t my favorite, but I knew they were necessary. Fear serves a purpose. Fear can spur change and growth when given in small doses. Fear can even be enjoyable under the right circumstances.
So I chose her, every night. I let her nightmares of masked attackers play out on repeat, stubbornly believing it would pass once the trauma from her mugging eased a bit. By the time I returned home from a dream and found the mask still on my face, it was too late.
I can’t move on to other dreamers to get more balance, because I’d appear not as what their dreams require but as this masked abomination.
No, the only way I can go back to my original form is Ada.
She has to take the mask off for me. She has to stop dreaming of horrors and let me be something other than a monster.
I’m fucked unless I can get her to have some godsdamned holiday cheer.
Time moves differently in the dream realm, but I can sense that I’m going to be late if I don’t head out soon.
Pulling my hands away from the mask, I smooth down my unruly waves as best I can and resist the urge to pull up the hood of my jacket to conceal my features.
It won’t make any difference, and it reminds me too much of the nightmares.
The only way I could hide my predicament would be to put a bag over my head, and that’ll raise a whole other host of questions.
The urge to stay home rises, but I’ve already canceled the last five times.
If I bail today, I wouldn't put it past my friends to bust down my door and stage an intervention. Going to see them is better than them finding out how I’ve let my typically tidy but vibrant apartment fade into a dull, gray space littered with trash I don’t even remember putting there.
Such is the way of the dream realm, my home a reflection of myself.
What was once filled with creativity and color is now lifeless and disordered.
I release a gusty sigh and focus on my destination, my messy living room fading away as Rhys’s luxe veranda comes into focus.
It’s far too bright for comfort, and I wince against the light. An immediate sweat forms on the back of my neck, the warm air thick and sticky, scented with jasmine and honey. I have barely a moment before a pair of gasps erupt from the table I’ve appeared beside as my friends take me in.
“Ahh!” Gloria almost tips over backward in her chair, her shimmering pale blue eyes widening.
Rhys’s thick black brows shoot up to his forehead and he moves to block Gloria from view, his chest puffing out protectively.
Their startled reaction would be comical under any other circumstances, but it makes my stomach lurch as I instantly regret not staying home.
“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” I try to smile apologetically, but I’m sure it doesn’t have the desired effect what with the sharp fangs and haunting mask.
“Seth?” Rhys’s brows raise even higher.
“Don’t you recognize me?” I let out a feeble laugh at the joke, trying to ease the tension and my shame at them seeing what I’ve become.
“Holy shit, you scared us,” Gloria says, springing up from her chair and rounding the table laden with sweet treats and tea to come to my side. She reaches up and raps a golden knuckle against my mask. “Why are you wearing this?”
I brush her hand away, resisting the horrible urge to grab her by the wrist and shove her back and snarl. Fuck, I guess even my temper has changed outside the dreams.
I take a deep breath to calm down, then release it with a sigh as I run a hand through my short hair. “Would you believe me if I said I have a really bad rash and wanted to hide it?”
“I would, if dreams could even get rashes,” Rhys says drolly, narrowing his fuchsia eyes at me.
“Is this why you’ve not shown up for tea in months?
We were taking bets on whether you’d fallen in love with that human of yours and decided to run off with her, or if you were just being a hermit. Looks like we were both wrong.”
“Damn, oh well,” Gloria says, shrugging. She moves back to her chair and gestures for me to sit. “Come on, have some tea before it gets cold.”
I scowl at them as they settle back in like nothing is wrong after the initial shock. Neither seems to understand the gravity of the situation I’m in, and it’s pissing me off.
“I show up a monster and you think I give a shit about tea?” I snap, internally wincing at my own words. That isn’t me. I’m not the kind of friend who gets angry. I should be smiling alongside them, unbothered.
That thought only serves to make my frustration worse, and I release an agitated sigh that sounds almost like a growl.
Rhys rolls his eyes at my outburst, and points with a pale pink finger toward a plate stacked with pastries. “Not just tea.”
I scowl as I look between him and the pastries.
The bastard knows I can’t resist a good pain au chocolat.
With a huff, I slump down into the chair and grab one, shoving it into my mouth.
The moment the buttery dough and dark chocolate hit my tastebuds, some of the tension roiling through me eases.
The memory of visiting a cafe in Paris during one of Ada’s dreams washes over me.
I’d never tried the treat before, and she insisted I—or rather, her dream colleague who she’d had a huge crush on—take a bite.
My eyes close as I sink into that moment, clinging to it like a lifeline. She was happy in her dreams before. There has to be a way for her to be happy again.
“Better?” Rhys asks, the corner of his ruby lips tilting up with smug satisfaction, revealing a sharp fang.
“Yesh,” I grumble through another mouthful of pastry. I’m not even mad that he was able to calm me down so easily. I’m mad at myself for staying away from my friends this long.
“Do you want us to guess what happened? Or will you explain it?” Gloria’s shrewd gaze makes me think her guess is probably spot on.
“Nightmares,” I say, going to scrub a hand across my face but stopping the moment my fingers touch the cool ceramic. I run my fingers through my hair instead. “Too many of them.”
“Ah,” Gloria doesn’t sound surprised. “So I take it you’ve been sticking with your pretty human instead of having a balanced diet?”
I nod, hating how my pulse spikes at the mention of my tormentor and my obsession. How even now, when I’m not in her dreams, my fingers ache with the need to sink into her supple curves.
“Wow, you’re even more of a hopeless romantic than I am, and I’m a damn love spirit,” Rhys chuckles, shaking his head at me.
“I’m not in love with her. Her dreams just taste better than anyone else's. Or they did.” I groan and shove another pastry in my mouth to try to get back that momentary feeling of lightness.
I don’t love Ada. You can’t love someone who hurts you again and again, can you? No, if anything, I hate her. As soon as I figure out how to get her dreams back to normal, I’ll do what I should’ve done from the start—find other dreamers. Take back control and be myself again.
If I can figure out how to get her dreams back to normal. The past few nights have been different, but not enough. I’m still in the mask. I’m still a monster. Her monster.
“So what are you going to do?” Gloria asks, taking a sip of her tea like we’re talking about the weather and not the fate of my entire being.
Not that I should be surprised. As a spirit of luck, it’s impossible for fortune not to turn in her favor, even if things look like they’ve taken a turn for the worse.
“I’ve been trying to alter the dreams in small ways. And it’s working…sort of. Now instead of ripping her throat out, I’m…” My skin heats as I trail off.
“You’re…?” Rhys prompts. When I don’t speak, shifting uncomfortably in my seat as my damn cock starts to swell at the memory of what happened in last night’s dream, understanding lights up his face. “You dirty dream, you’re fucking her! Damn, that’s hot.”
I shake my head. “Maybe it is, but I’m still this.” I point at my face with a clawed finger.
Gloria taps her chin. “Hmm, she must have a mask kink. Probably a fear kink, too. Making things sexy isn’t enough.”
“I’ve tried getting her into the holiday spirit, too. She used to have the happiest dreams about Christmas, so I thought maybe if I could remind her of how much she loves the holiday, they might come back. But so far, I’m still a monster, just now with a festive flavor.”
“What are you doing to remind her?” Rhys asks, brow furrowing. “I was under the impression that you had little control over dreaming. That you’re more like an actor in a play, allowed to maybe improv a line or two but not able to deviate from the overall narrative.”
Shit. One of the biggest risks a dream spirit can take is manifesting in the mortal realm, yet I’ve been going there to try to get Ada into the Christmas spirit. It’s like spending night after night living out the same dream. The more you do it, the more immutable your form becomes.
“Well, uh…I’ve been texting her to put up her lights and doing little things around the house to make it more festive, and sending her presents.”
“Fuck, you really have it bad,” Rhys says, shaking his head at me with a rueful smile. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
I frown. “No, but what else am I supposed to do? I can’t stay like this. I need to fix it.” My voice raises as I start to panic a bit.
Gloria rests a hand on top of mine. “You will. Everything will work out as it should.”
I know she’s trying to help, but I hate it when she says shit like that. Not everyone can rely on luck to sort out their lives.
“As I see it, there’s only one course of action.” Rhys leans back in his chair.
From the weird, excited look he’s giving me, I’m reluctant to ask, but I do, since I’m desperate. He’s had a lot more experience with being in the mortal realm, so maybe he has some tips to keep it from affecting me. “What’s that?”
His grin broadens, showing off his razor-sharp teeth. “You’ve got to woo the shit out of her. Do all the sweet, romantic Christmas things you can during the day, then be her sexy masked dream man at night until she’s so in love that she won’t have any more nightmares.”
I should’ve known his answer would be romance.
I want to protest, but there’s a strange flutter in my chest thinking about actually being able to be a bigger part of Ada’s life outside of her dreams and the brief moments I creep around her house in the dark while her dog trails behind me begging for pets.
I shove the sensation down. I don’t care about what happens to her, only that I find a way to fix things. If that means manipulating her and using everything I have to make her want me as more than her masked tormentor, so be it.
I’ll be gone the moment the nightmares subside. She won’t matter anymore.
There won’t be a romantic, happy ending to my time with Ada. I’m not a creature of love. I’m a creature of dreams—of a million possibilities, not one. No matter how tempting that one possibility is.