“Lucid dreamer?”
“You can steer a dream. Or a nightmare.” He gave a half-crooked smile. “The first time I dropped into your subconscious, you punched me. Or, well, the image of me you needed, which was your father. That never happens. And this–” he gestured to himself, “–this isn’t even my real form. I’m that fog you saw. Things got complicated from there. The night you remembered... something happened. Something was born. I was there, I felt it. But it was too fast for me to understand or stop.”
She stared at him, hating the tension that suddenly came back on her shoulders. “I don’t know how to feel about that. About you, being in my subconscious, in my nightmares. Knowing things about me that are supposed to be mine only.”
His smile turned soft, heartbreakingly sweet. “You know how to feel about it. You just don’t like it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “See, that’s another thing. You say you’re not in my head, but you read me like I’m shouting my thoughts out loud. Are you lying? Because something in me says you’re not, but... trust isn’t my better trait.” She exhaled, long and heavy. “There’s this part of me, and it’s getting louder, more insistent by the minute. It’s screaming at me that I’m safe with you. That it’s okay to give you what’s left of my heart.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over her chest, as if trying to soothe a bruise. “It scares me. Because if I give it to you and you break it, then what?”
He went still. Like a warm statue carved from everything he felt. “You know, I’m not the only one who can read someone’s feelings.”
“I guess Dorian can too?” she muttered. “Magiks are always screwing around in people’s minds.”
He chuckled, but didn’t move closer and didn’t break the mood. “Notallmagiks, and that’s not what I meant.Youcan read feelings. Withme.”
“I’m not magick.”
“Alright. Close your eyes.”
She rolled her eyes, but did it. “Now what?”
“Feel me.”
“I told you, Hunter. I have no magic whatsoever.”
Frustration laced his voice. “Would you stop thinking and just feel for one damn second, Daphne?”
“Okay, okay, Jesus.” She exhaled hard through her nose. “How am I supposed tonotthink?”
“Think about me.About what you feel when you’re with me.”
“That’s still thinking, though.”
He didn’t answer, and when she cracked an eye open, he was looking at her, motionless and furious. “When this is done and you get what’s happening,” he said evenly, “I willI-told-you-soyour ass into next Christmas. Think about me,” he over-spelled. “What you feel. Let that lead you.”
She tried, because he’d never looked at her with that longing before, and it tugged at something deep. She let herself lean into the memories. His hand brushing hers. The way his voice dipped low when he was being sincere. The ridiculous way her body hummed when he got close. The ease, the rightness of being near him.
And something flickered. Stirred. She couldn’t name it, but it felt like going back home. And its brightness, its fullness, its beauty, stole her breath.
“Feel that?” he asked.
“Yes, but... how do you know?”
“Because that’s me, sweetheart.”
She went back to it, let herself fall into that thread of emotion. It was joy, and strength, and God, it was love.Radiant and stupidly honest and all for her. “What is happening, Hunter?” she breathed, nearly choking on the rightness of it.
“It’s the bond.”
Her eyes flew open. “Thewhat?” And she would’ve kept asking, but... his face. That smile. Like he’d just seen heaven walk into the room.
“I’m your fated mate,” he said, voice gentle and sure. “If you’ll have me.”
And that was when everything went black.
~*~
Daphne opened her eyes to Hunter’s face, a mix of irony and worry. “Welcome back, sweetheart.”
