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He doesn’t believe it yet. Years have been spent living this way, accepting the nightmares. We’ve talked about the possibilities of dream-walking together, but obviously, he hasn’t truly realized what's possible. He’s stuck in a loop of guilt and pain. The only thing he can see is his dad’s angry face.

Standing, I face his memory of his dad. I inhale deeply and call on my spells. Raising my hands, I place them on his chest.

“This man isn’t real. Make him go away, and replace him with light.” My magic swirls around the figure, slowly making him fade away. “Go away. You will no longer appear in Archer’s dreams.”

In the next second, he’s gone.

I widen my arms and knock down the walls. The forest appears around us, and flowers bloom, their fragrance filling the dream with sweetness. I add a stream in the distance, and sunshine beams through the tall trees. I add some birds, their song bringing life to the scene. I smile; the beauty is captivating.

“Momma.”

I twirl around, startled, and Archer stands. His focus is on a woman digging in the ground.

“My boy,” she sings, her eyes twinkling.

I swallow hard as he runs to her, and she hugs him tight. When she releases him, she encourages him to help her plant a flower. I didn’t spell an image of his mother; he did. I had no idea what she looked like. Archer must have known this was an environment she would thrive in, and I guess I did, too.

Sitting in the grass, I watch them interact, knowing this is also his memory. He needed a push to remember the good instead of the bad. She laughs and pats his head, dirt drifting down. I want to cry. My bond feels ashamed whether he's awake or asleep. As much as he tries, he can’t escape the nightmares from coming. I want to show him that he can. We can work together to change his dreams.

They continue, and I know it’s time to go. There isn’t a way to tell how much time I spend in a dream. Yet, my body knows when it’s too long.

Out.

As I’m simmering, his mom looks at me, and I inhale sharply. She shouldn’t be able to do that.

“You can heal him,” she whispers.

Her lips didn’t move, and her voice resonated inside my head.

Before I can respond, I’m back in my bedroom. I gasp and look at Archer sleeping beside me. He looks peaceful. I hope he will sleep well while visiting his mom. I glance at the clock. Three in the morning. I know I won’t sleep anymore. My body is tingling from the experience, and I’m a little flustered by what I saw.

I roll to my side and stare at my soul bond. He gave me the best sexual experience I’ve ever had. He was considerate, yet commanding, and I couldn’t have loved it more. I’m not afraid of my sexuality, but he brings out another side of myself. I'll never get tired of being with him. His care is in every touch and every word. Yes, I’m very physically attracted to him, yet I’m even more attracted to what’s inside. I can feel his magic. It seems to reach out to me, wanting to connect with mine, and be free. He’s not afraid to show his emotions with Rome, perhaps not verbally, but with his body language. He trusts his brother, and I want him to do the same with me.

Knowing he'll sleep soundly, I turn and slowly ease off the mattress. I grab my phone and tiptoe away. Bending at the bottom of the bed, I pick up my shirt and quickly slip it over my head. Moving toward the door, I look at Archer before stepping out of the room. I leave the door open slightly and walk to the kitchen. I open the freezer and dig for my emergency cookie dough. Sometimes a girl needs some sugar when she can’t sleep.

Grabbing a knife, I set it on the counter and hop onto the surface. I engage my phone, call the number Aria has been updating me with, and hold it in the crook of my neck. As I wait for her to answer, I twist, bend my knee, and call on my fire spell to warm my hand so I can cut through the hard tube of dough.

“Did you slide into a bad dream?” she answers.

“Did I wake you?” I ask instead of answering.

“The walls of the hotel are thin, and my neighbors are watching a very enthusiastic porn,” she snorts. “I woke up when the woman screamed put it there.”

“Yuck.” I put down the knife and unwrap a chunk.

“I was contemplating leaving early and getting there sooner.”

“Good plan,” I mumble, chewing slowly.

“Are you eating cookie dough?” she asks.

“How did you know?”

“I know you,” she says dryly. “What’s going on?”

I sigh. “Do you resent me?”

“What? Why the hell would I?”