He knocked again.
And again, this time just to be petty, because Dorian was in bed with his woman, and Hunter still had blue balls from his.
Damn it.
Daphne was far from his.
He heard movement from the bed, so he went back to the living room and dropped onto the couch.
Dorian appeared in a silk black robe and absolutely no chill on his face. “This had better be of the utmost importance,” he said, his British accent making shards of each over-spelled word. Hunter rolled his eyes.
“What if I felt lonely and needed the company?”
Dorian sighed like the weight of the universe was his alone to carry. “Gods preserve me from dramatics.” He walked around the couch, robe swaying, and sat on the armchair. He didn’t offer tea, which, for him, equated to war. He tilted his head as he looked at Hunter. “You’ve chosen the deranged vagrant’s aesthetic tonight. Charming.”
Hunter scrubbed a hand down his face. “I was taken into her dream. Unwillingly.” Hunter stopped one second before correcting himself. He’d beensowilling... “Unknowingly.”
Dorian went very still. “Excuse me?”
“I was hovering. Monitoring. Next thing I knew, I was inside it. Real as I am right now, but in her dream.” Dorian’s expression didn’t change, so Hunter kept going. “And it was a, um, a normal dream. The one I was in. A good one at that. Then it flipped. Just turned into a nightmare. Of a sort. But I wasn’t the one guiding it. She wasn’t either.”
“She was in a lucid dream, dragged you in it, then it switched, and neither of you was guiding it.” Dorian sighed. “I would have said it’s not possible. Apparently, it is.”
“Exactly.”
Hunter leaned forward, elbows on his knees, every word scraping out like it hurt to say. “There was something there, Dorian. Something other than her and me. And I know–Iknow–it’s something she buried. There’s a blind spot in her nightmares, something she can’t uncover because she doesn’t even know it’s there.”
Dorian’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak.
“This entire mess?” Hunter said. “It’s tied to her remembering. I can help her. Somehow. I can guide her toward it in her sleep. Lure her. But tonight was... I don’t know what it was.”
Dorian studied him, eyes like frost. “Why were you in the dream again?”
Hunter blinked. “I told you. I was hovering. Monitoring. You know, the usual.”
“Yes, yes. What I’m asking is, what triggered the pull?”
Hunter shifted on the couch. “I wouldn’t know.”
Dorian sighed again. “If you’re going to lie to me, Hunter, at least make it artful. I didn’t basically invent the practice just to endure such an amateur attempt at it.”
“I’mguessing,” he said tightly. “There’s a difference.”
“Semantics are for lawyers, not demons.” Dorian leaned back, lacing his fingers. “You were pulled into the dream. She wanted you there badly enough that you became embodied. What did you do in there?”
Hunter stared at the sleeping hearth and didn’t answer.
Dorian’s gaze sharpened. “Hunter.”
“Look, I didn’tmeanto be there, alright? One second, I was keeping my distance like a good little demon, the next–boom. In her dream. Fully realized. No control or cues.”
Dorian tilted his head. “And what was she dreaming, this innocent summoner of my best Devil?”
Hunter coughed. “She was just chilling.”
Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “Hunter,” he repeated, and the warning was loud enough that he couldn’t ignore it or play around it.
“Alright. Okay. She was dressed, um... not much dressed.” Hunter winced. “Almost naked.”
