However, it was in this very inconvenient moment that parts of the dream suddenly slammed back into me. Meaning that for half a second, the image flashed of the throne, the web, his arms closing around me. The certainty in his voice… Goddess, and there went my stomach again, fluttering so hard it made me a little nauseous.
“It wasn’t important,” I said quickly, far too quickly, as I waved a dismissive hand and I swung my legs out of bed.
“Just stress. You know. Work. Life. Accidentally attracting the attention of a terrifying, half-Fae, half-demon judge of hell, who also happens to be the most powerful sorcerer in this realm… did I cover everything?” I asked sarcastically.
“Yeah, that about covers most of it, and for the record, I did try to warn you, girly,” Bo unhelpfully reminded me before humming thoughtfully, his gaze flicking over me in a way that suggested he wanted to say more.
“Drop it,” I warned before he could say it, shooting him a look as I stood, tugging my oversized sleep shirt down and trying very hard not to think about why my heart was still pounding like Oblivion was here.
“And how long have you been in here anyway?” I asked, knowing I should have done a better job scanning my room when I first opened my eyes.
He shrugged, grinning in a way that immediately set my teeth on edge.
“Long enough to confirm that you talk in your sleep.”
My groan wasn’t at all subtle as I scrubbed my hands over my face, already regretting every one of my life choices that had led me to this exact moment.
Bo’s attention shifted almost immediately once I started moving. His sharp little eyes tracking the room with renewed interest. As if the near-death-by-heart-attack incident was already filed away as ancient history. I should have known better than to assume he’d stay focused on me for longer than five seconds. Especially once he slid off the bed and padded across the room like he owned the place.
“What is with all the frogs anyway?” he said slowly, suspiciously, stopping short near my dresser, before flicking one with a springy head.
I tensed before groaning, knowing what he saw now was far from the décor throughout the rest of my apartment. One that was all clean lines and modern, neutral colors. The kind of space that looked like it belonged to a sensible adult woman with a serious job and a mortgage-sized fear of instability. My bedroom, however, told a slightly different story.
Frogs perched everywhere.
On shelves, on my windowsill, clustered together on the top of my dresser like a small, judgmental council. Ceramic ones, glass ones, plush ones in various stages of wear. A couple of badly painted souvenirs that probably should have stayed in gift shops. There was even a stuffed frog tucked against my pillows, its fabric faded soft from years of being squeezed during bad nights.
Bo stepped closer to the dresser, squinting at a small green figurine with a chipped foot.
“This some kind of ward?” he asked, poking it experimentally.
“Protection charm?”
“No,” I said quickly, reaching out to take it from him before he decided to lick it or something equally horrifying.
“It’s just… a frog.”
He looked at me, looked back at the multitude of my froggy collection, then looked around the room again, his mouth curling into something far too knowing.
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“And you didn’t stop at one, why?”
I rolled my eyes again at his obnoxious question.
“They’re decorative,” I insisted weakly, placing the figurine back exactly where it belonged, angled just so.
“People collect things.”
“People collect stamps,” he countered.
“You’ve got enough amphibians in here to start a swamp.”
I groaned, rubbing at my temple as heat crept up my neck.
“Can you not psychoanalyze my bedroom before I’ve even had coffee?”
He snickered, hopping up onto the edge of my dresser and swinging his legs again, head tilted as he studied me.
