Hex seems to understand. He chuckles. The sound is low and rumbling and does absolutely nothing to help my current state of panic.
“I know you have questions,” he says. “And I promise, I’ll answer them. But first, I need you to do something for me.”
Here we go. This is where the dream is going to get really weird.
“I need you to invite me in.”
I blink. Wait. What?
“Into your bed,” Hex clarifies. As if that helps.
Into my bed. He wants me to invite him into my bed.
This is absolutely a sex dream. It has to be. There is no other explanation. My subconscious has taken my childhood fears and turned them into some kind of twisted fantasy.
I really, really need therapy.
“I can’t touch you unless you invite me,” Hex says. He sounds almost apologetic. “It’s a rule. A frustrating one, but there it is.”
A rule. My dream has rules. Of course it does. I like rules, so my dream likes them too.
“So what do you say, Adam?” Hex leans down again. Close enough that I can feel a chill radiating from him. “Will you let me in?”
No. Absolutely not. Despite the fact he’s weirdly sexy, I am not inviting a shadow creature into my bed. Even if it is just a dream. I have some standards.
Hex waits. Patient and still. Those red eyes never leave mine.
I don’t say anything. Mostly because I can’t. But also because even if I could, the answer would be a hard no.
After a long moment, Hex sighs. “Stubborn,” he murmurs. “I forgot how stubborn you are.”
He straightens up and steps back. For a moment, I think he is going to leave. Just turn around and walk out of my dream and let me wake up in peace.
But of course, that would be too easy.
“I will return,” Hex says. There is a promise in his voice. A certainty that makes my stomach flip. “And I’ll keep coming back until you say yes.”
Great. So this is going to be a recurring nightmare. Just what I needed.
“I know you don’t believe me,” Hex continues. “You think this is just a dream. A hallucination. Something your mind is making up.”
Well, yes. Obviously.
“But it’s not,” Hex says softly. “I’m real, Adam. And I’m not going anywhere.”
He reaches into the shadows. Or maybe he is reaching into himself. It’s hard to tell. But when he pulls his hand back, there is something glinting in his palm.
A ring.
It’s gold. Simple and elegant. The kind of ring you might see in a jewellery store window. Nothing fancy. Nothing ostentatious. Just a plain gold band.
Hex holds it out. “A token,” he says. “A promise that I mean you no harm.”
I want to scoff, to scrunch up my nose in disbelief.
He tilts his head to the side. “And proof that I’m real. That this isn’t just in your head.”
He places the ring on my nightstand. Right next to my phone. Then he steps back and grins. I can see the flash of white teeth against the shadows.
