“And that’s what you are?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. The one who’ll never let go.” Then, with a lopsided grin, he added, “Unless we’re talking about being between your thighs. Then I absolutely plan to let go.”
She rolled her eyes, but he smelled something different. “One more thing, for honesty’s sake. I can smell everything you feel.”
That stopped her. Looked at him with eyes that were growing bigger as she realized the implication. “Everything?”
He nodded slowly. “Every. Thing.”
“I really want to punch you right now.”
“Nah, you want me naked and pounding on you, which is reasonable, since that’s what I want too. So, let’s get your stuff and go home.”
“It’s too early, I can’t...”
His retort never made it out because her voice trailed off as she stood, eyes wide and fixed somewhere far past him. Her lips moved, barely a whisper. “Hush now, darling, don’t you cry. They only come when you ask why.”
He went to stand in front of her, took her cold, clammy hands. “Daphne. Look at me. Where did you go, sweetheart?” But her eyes remained on something too far away. “Look at me. Damn it.”
Her gaze was distant, blank as frost, as that line kept falling from her mouth like a broken ballerina music box. “Hush now, darling, don’t you cry. They only come when you ask why... Hush now, darling, don’t you cry. They only come when you ask why...”
He turned into fog and then into nothing on a swear and dove into her subconscious, searching every corner of it. But there was nothing. Just a vast, echoing emptiness. He snapped out and back to human. It had all taken less than a second, but it felt like an eternity carved into his chest.
Tears ran down her pale face, her skin so bloodless. Even her lips had lost their color.
Hunter ground his teeth, his jaw locked in helpless fury. There was no reaching her through words, subconscious, or touch. Except... except maybe one way.
He pulled all his power, all his concentration, all his love into the flickering bond. It was so thin yet, so threadbare, he could barelyget a hold on it, but it was all he had left.Come back to me, sweetheart. If you hear my voice, follow it back home. I love you. Come back to me. Come back to me.
His words looped against her, a broken plea, again and again. Louder. Stronger. Fierce with love.
The bond trembled. Something on her side of it snapped like a splinter breaking free, and the connection stirred to life. Still delicate. Still a whisper. But there.
With a choked sob, Daphne crumpled, and he was close enough to catch her. “It’s okay,” he said, dropping down to the floor with her curled into his lap, holding her trembling form. His hands brushed her hair, his voice soothing. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
“What the fuck happened?” she whispered before grimacing and pressing a hand to her temple. He felt the pain crackle through her like a live wire. “My head,” she moaned.
He didn’t even have a flicker of healing power. How useless was he right now? “We’ll figure it out. Come on.” He rose, lifting her princess-style in his arms. She didn’t complain or make a joke, proof enough of how shaken she was. “Let’s get you home.”
~*~
Curled on the couch in her home, Daphne took the glass of water Hunter gave her with gratitude and swallowed the two ibuprofens like they were the Grail. Hunter sat with her, reached for her foot, and gently tugged it onto his lap before beginning to massage it in slow, soothing circles. “Do you remember anything?”
“No. Or...” she frowned. “Not a memory, just a feeling of... fear, of helplessness, like I was hanging onto nothing?” She shook her head, then immediately winced because that hurt like hell. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You were singing a nursery rhyme.Hush now, darling, don’t you cry. They only come when you ask why.”
She closed her eyes. “My mom used to sing it to me when–” Her eyelids tightened further, her fingers curled into fists in her lap. “When I was little. My father would start acting out if I were... inconveniencing him by merely existing. So she sang to me.” She sat up straighter, shifting to sit cross-legged in front of him with sudden, bracing focus. “What Dorian said, that it all started with me.Whatstarted, andhowdid I start it? And what the hell isit?”
Hunter looked away–not worried, but serious–his usual cheekiness gone. “The bullet version is this.” He started counting on his fingers. “We don’t know what it is yet. Dorian’s working on that. It popped out the night you recovered the memory about your father. And,” he raised a third finger, “you didn’t necessarily do anything to make it happen. You’ve had nightmares forever, which makes sense. There was always a blind spot in them, though, that was shown when your brain finally felt safe enough to recover the most traumatic experience of your life.”
She leaned back into the pillows.Here we go,she thought.All the truth, nothing but the truth.This was going to hurt, no matter how loudly her heart screamed that he was hers, that he was a safe space. Or how she could just tell something was messing with him, something raw. But crap needed to be talked through. “You were the one in charge of my nightmares?” she asked.
“No. Dorian assigned me to you only recently.”
“Why you?”
He shrugged. “Because I’m the best. Because you need a little something extra when you’re dealing with a lucid dreamer with such deep trauma.”
