My stomach flutters at the thought of bringing Damon around more often. Usually, I keep my alternative reality closer to actual reality. It makes me feel normal.
But I could definitely consider adding a faerie king to the mix.
“You don’t dream?” I want to keep him talking, because I need a distraction from my surroundings. “Ever?”
“Ever. I can enter someone else’s dreams, but I don’t have my own. I’m a Dream Walker. It’s my fae power.”
Damon says really weird shit, but he’s so pretty I don’t care. As I look at him now, his hands gripping the roof of the car above his head, I admire the bulge of his biceps, his defined pecs, and the indents of his abs.
My imagination is serving me well this time. I’ve seen lots of shirtless guys at the pool, but none of them measure up to Damon.
A location change would be nice right about now. It’s disturbing to be carrying on a conversation as if my parents aren’t still in the car, crumpled and lifeless.
Not real.
“Where are you from?” I ask, shifting in the seat so I can focus solely on Damon. “England? Your accent is interesting.”
“I come from Valora.”
I rack my brain for any knowledge of a country or city with that name, but I come up with nothing. “In Europe?”
“Not even close.” A huge grin spreads over his face.
I’ve never seen a more attractive smile, even if he might be laughing at me. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Because if we’re carrying on a conversation, it means you have brain activity.”
Confused, I let his words sink in. Brain activity? “I don’t know what that has to do with anything…?”
His grin fades. “Whitley, you were in an accident.”
“Yeah.” My gaze flits around the car. “Obviously.”
He slowly shakes his head. “No, I mean, this actually happened. All this—” he gestures up toward the road “—must be built on a memory.”
As soon as he says it, I know in my heart it’s true. There was too much detail here—elements of a crash I never could’ve known unless I’d experienced it.
My panic rushes back as I look at the scene with new understanding. This snapshot must’ve been something I saw before I lost consciousness. I might be passed out in this car right now.
Taking stock of my own injuries, I rub my fingers together. They’re slick and sticky with blood.
“Am I going to die? Are my parents okay?” I don’t expect a figment of my imagination to respond, but he does anyway.
“Whitley, I’m going to make sure you survive. But first, I need you to concentrate on changing the dream. Can you do that? I don’t want to leave you here like this.”
“Leave?” I vigorously shake my head. Damon’s the only thing keeping me sane. “No. Stay with me.”
“I wish I could. I’ll follow you anywhere, and that’s why I have to go. I need to find you.”
“You mean, the physical me? My body?”
The seriousness of the situation becomes apparent. Whatever Damon is—a manifestation of my subconscious, a hallucination, or if he is who he says he is—it’s obvious I’m in danger.
“Yes. I can’t help you here. You’re on … Oh, what’s it called?” Damon pauses to think. “Life support?”
I swallow hard. “That’s not good.”
The car groans and twigs snap when Damon climbs into the back seat. His wings seem to shrink as he fits himself into the vehicle, almost like they just absorb into his body.
He lifts a hand to touch me, but he hesitates like he’s reaching for a wounded animal.
This time, I don’t back away from him.
I need comfort.
Forgetting I’m all bloody, I graze the back of his fingers. When I make contact, he gasps, closes his eyes, and exhales a sigh of utter contentment.
His reaction is puzzling. I’ve never seen someone look so rapturous from a simple caress. All I’m doing is touching his knuckles, but he’s acting like it’s a lot more than that.
When he opens his eyes, I suck in a breath. Up close, the green appears lighter. More vibrant. Not human.
His lips are full and perfect. He has a strong jaw and a straight nose.
He’s unbelievably beautiful.
I’ve never been a fan of men with long hair, but Damon isn’t like any guy I’ve ever met before.
Slowly, his hand comes up to cup my face. “I never imagined I’d be able to talk to you here, let alone feel you. It’s a miracle.”
With a small smile, he rubs his thumb over the indent in my chin. His fingertips trail over my cheek. He touches my lips, my nose, my hair.
No one has ever made me feel this important.
When Damon’s finished with his attention to my face, he goes back to my chin, gripping me gently there. “I wish, more than anything, that I could take you away from this. That you could be with me now.”
Ignoring the red smears I’m leaving on his skin, I wrap my fingers around three of his, gripping him tight. “You made the looping stop. What if it starts up again when you leave?” Concentrating, I try to change the circumstances of the dream, but the mental fog rolls back in. I huff, frustrated. “I’m stuck, Damon.”
“There’s something we could try,” he says reluctantly. “But it could be dangerous.”
“More dangerous than where I’m already at?”
“Possibly.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
Moving to a more comfortable position, he sits next to me and angles his body in my direction. “I can lull people into slumber. There are different levels of sleep. Right now, you’re on the top near the surface.”
“But you can put me under?” Excited about getting away from this hell, I squeeze him. “Do it. Knock me out.”
He’s already shaking his head before I’m done with my request. “I don’t know, Whitley. A dream within a dream… I have no idea what that would do to your brain. You’re in a coma, for stars’ sake. It could put you too deep. Besides, I’ve never done that to anyone on purpose before, and I’m not about to use you as my gerbil pig.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t you mean guinea pig?”
“What?”
“It’s a way of saying test subject or experiment.”
“Oh.” Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he seems embarrassed for a second. “Yeah. Sometimes I get humanisms wrong.”
There’s something incredibly endearing about seeing this guy get all bashful. Letting go of his hand, I reach up to touch his face. He leans into my hand, and I end up leaving a red streak on his jaw.
“I’m getting blood all over you. Sorry.”
“Don’t ever be sorry for touching me.” Damon nuzzles my palm. His face scruff is rough against my skin, and I like the way it tickles. “You could be covered in manure from head to toe, and I’d still want this.”
That’s gross. “Why do I find that so romantic?”
“Probably for the same reason it’s so hard to deny you.”
“Does that mean you’ll put me to sleep?”