“I don’t know what to say.”
“Eh, what can you say. It’s who I am. Dorian, I, and other demons did our things for a while. Then the magiks came out, and the world slowly adapted to it. The Dreamscape was created, and Dorian, logically, was asked to lead it. He formed the Dream Devils, and now we get paid to do what we were created for. Pretty sweet deal, actually.”
“They, um, pay you.”
“They do. I have a proper bank account and shit.” He leaned in a bit, one blond brow arched. “You must know, Miss Daphne, I am what you might call loaded.”
“Oh my God.”
“I don’t need much, and the government is very generous.” He frowned for a moment. “I think part of that is because they are scared of Dorian and me.” Another shrug. “Go figure.”
Out of words, out of even thoughts, Daphne blurted out the first dumb question her brain vomited. “Do you have a last name?”
“Nah. Don’t need that. We’re too rare for it. The name I use is actually the nickname the Devils gave me because I was exceptionally good at dealing with assholes and driving them insane.”
“Oh. That’s, um, cool.”
“Right?” He was about to add something she would probably have trouble processing, too, but he looked to the other side of the room. “Company is coming.”
And for the second time that day, a fog, black as coal this time, started forming in front of the desk, and it solidified into Dorian. He straightened the knot of his black tie, and he strode to them. “The Dreamscape is compromised.”
Chapter 9
Hunter stared at his boss and brother with a sickening churn where his stomach was. Worth noting, the wrongest part wasn’t that the Dreamscape had been breached, somehow. No, it was the look on Dorian’s face. It was fury, controlled, terrifying, and aimed at whatever had dared to violate his dominion.
And that meant there was going to be some serious ass-whupping.
Hunter was so here for that.
He gave Daphne’s hand a squeeze and stood. “Elaborate on that, boss?”
Dorian slowly adjusted the lapel of his coat, his voice mild. His eyes, however, were anything but. “Something is slithering in,” he said. “The bugger is... how can I put this? It’s overwriting itself within the threads of the Dreamscape.”
He didn’t pace–Dorian would never do something as undignified as milling around–but his coat flared dramatically as he turned, spine straight as a gallows, and wiped a smudge of nothing from a shelf. “I’ve authorized both the Devils and the Shadows Keepers to neutralize any and all manifestations, but there’s not much they seem to be able to do. This thing doesn’t follow dream rules; it’s not a nightmare. It’s anchored to the Dreamscape, or something’s anchoring it to it, but it’s notofit. It’s separate. Bloody parasite.”
Hunter nodded. “Let me get her home, then I’ll join the Devils.”
He had already turned, already reaching for Daphne’s hand when Dorian’s voice stopped him cold. “No. You stay with her.”
Dorian’s expression shifted fractionally, but that small, almost gentle smile he offered Daphne made something ugly twist in Hunter’s chest.
“Whatever this thing is,” Dorian went on, “it started with her dream-memory, and it’s still gravitating toward her proximity.”
Hunter’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her behind him, fear seizing his chest. “She might be in danger.”
“I don’t know. Yet.” Dorian’s gaze sharpened; glacier-blue eyes bored into Daphne like he could find answers in her. “The nightmares are spreading in pockets no longer near her, which means it’s gaining strength.” He looked at her like a puzzle he was going to solve no matter what, and murmured, “She might be the key to stopping it.” Then, as if dismissing the heaviness with a flick, he brushed at an invisible thread on his immaculate sleeve. “Stay with her. I’ll be in touch.”
And with that, he vanished into thick, black fog.
She wrapped an arm around him, settling at his side. He kissed her hair as, despite everything, this all felt every shade of right.
“Nothing of what he said sounded good,” she commented blandly.
“Nothing of what he said was good.” He took her hand and started guiding her to the office. “You’ll be safe, regardless.”
She pulled at his hand to stop him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t,” he said, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You don’t thank gravity for holding you down. You just trust it’s there.”
