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My cheeks heat as memories of last night dance across my nerves.
But still I don’t smile.
It just figures my soulmate is a monster man who encourages pinning in my dreams. Isn’t that just fabulous?
Last night probably would have gone a lot differently had I not obliged Alana’s comment about Pollux panicking if he smelled Castor on me. I don’t know how exactly scent translates to the dream plane, but given that he could smell the salt of my tears, I’m thinking I did good by scrubbing myself to the bone before bed.
Pollux simply does not need to know I’ve met with Castor. Or that Castor touched me in any way remotely intimate. Something tells me if he knew, the conversation we entertained last night would have been a touch more monstrous.
Possibly.
Pollux does seem very calm most of the time.
And, yet, so did Zylus during movie night, and in the moments that directly followed when he was a giant shadow cat.
The man flipped a switch from Lovecraftian horror to pouting husband real fast.
Hm.
While I’m thinking about it…
Movie night.
Movie night is every Thursday.
Willow and Alana implied we would be watching Howl’s Moving Castle this upcoming movie night, which means I’m invited, but I wonder if Willow would mind an extra guest.
Zahra…
I haven’t told Zahra anything yet.
But what am I supposed to do? Interrupt the break she desperately needs in order to draw all her attention to me and how my life has exploded during the paltry five days we have off? I know she wouldn’t chalk it up to I told you so. It just seems cruel to drag her into all of this.
Her comment about how the fae like me more than her burns whenever my thoughts drift her way.
Letting my head fall back, I groan, whimper, and press my hands to my face.
Stop forcing smiles and speak your mind, huh?
Well, guess what, dreamboy?
I don’t even know how to talk to my best friend about this whole mess.
She already thinks the fae like me more! The last thing I want to do is confirm I’m something insanely powerful on top of being a very pretty dream eater’s soulmate. Slapping my best, and only, friend in the face right after break is not how I like to spend my time.
Cold fingers close softly around my throat, and my eyes snap open.
“Shh,” Castor whispers as he squeezes. “I just want to talk.”
A swallow gets stuck somewhere beneath his hand as I shove myself away from him, plant my palms against the sink counter, and stare at the narrow space between me and the firmly closed door behind him. “How did you get in here?”
“I’m full of surprises.”
Yeah, my life has been full of surprises recently. And, for the record, I don’t appreciate any of them. Except my playground. My playground is acceptable, and I love it, and I need to appropriately find a way to thank—but also not thank—Andromeda for it once I’ve gotten my head screwed on straight.
A chill works its way down my skin, raising the hairs on my arms. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You’re Pollux’s mate.”
