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Then, I find myself trying one handle. It opens with a soft click, so before I can talk myself out of it, I slip inside.
?
Pollux swore the second he entered his bedroom. Of all places, why had Kassandra gone into his bedroom while he was out hunting with Andromeda? In a moment of utter nerves, he had told his beautiful soulmate to make herself at home. It didn’t matter that ever since he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been imagining this home as hers…
By stars and light, they weren’t married yet.
Having her scent in his room was cruelty of the highest degree, a taunt he did not believe he deserved even if he had yet to find the courage to tell her what she was to him.
Andromeda had not mentioned anything of soulmates to her teacher. Despite having assumptions about the fear-nullifying woman, Andromeda was either a good girl, Pollux had taught her well, or she had come to respect that the business of soulmates was sacred.
Ultimately, Andromeda’s lack of meddling meant Pollux had to take Kassandra aside on his own and tell her that he wanted her. Deeply. Intrinsically.
Perhaps a touch inappropriately.
Pollux swore again, closed his eyes, and remembered how it felt when she’d shoved him against the stairs earlier that evening. He could have kissed her then, wrapped her up and claimed her for all eternity.
Only Andromeda’s warnings when they’d discussed this entire situation stayed his hand.
He trusted his little girl’s assessment of a woman he did not know at all.
If she said that Kassandra was overly cautious and likely wouldn’t take well to their less human forms, he’d keep the ink from his eyes and his teeth dull until she was ready to handle the more monstrous pieces of him.
No matter what the ache in his chest told him, forcing a woman to accept anything—physically or emotionally—was…wrong. And wrong things were not to be entertained.
He exhaled a curse, pictured Kassandra’s raging eyes, her too-perfect smile, the heat of her hand. On him. Touching him. Fearless and hard despite the innocent brilliance she’d used to mask all her true emotions.
“Kassandra…” he whispered into this space that smelled like her.
Rolling his neck, he cut his fingers through his short dark hair and went to inspect the damage her perusal had caused.
As far as he could tell, the woman had touched everything. His drawers. His books. His bed. She’d gone into his bathroom. Looked through his towels. It was like she’d been searching for something.
But what?
She was part human. Regardless of whether or not Andromeda had mentioned the obvious fact fae blood ran through her veins, neither Kassandra nor Andromeda could know which kind. Kassandra was part human, new to the knowledge of fae. And Andromeda, despite the power Pollux had granted her, was too young to have any accurate speculations. Only Pollux—as her mate—could decode the notes in her soul. And, were he not her mate, he may never have known.
She was a creature that molded seamlessly into her environment, because she was a creature that could create her environment from the dust in her own lungs.
In all Pollux’s years as a dream eater, he had never once met his closest, somehow more frightening, seelie kin.
The dream makers.
The sandmen.
Unlike with nightmares, dreams formed naturally in human minds without the help of a faerie. Such levels of imagination were, perhaps, one of the few magics humans could perform. The sandmen were not only facilitators capable of entering and manipulating the dream plane in any way they pleased. Their powers could warp one’s perception of reality itself.
Kassandra was made of dreams. Hope. Beauty. Belief. Innocence. Seduction.
She had sandman blood. And she had access to it on some level, because it was reacting to her will, creating a bubble around her that overpowered his presence, eliminating the cloud of fear that congealed in the air around dream eaters.
She was his antithesis. His cure. His soul’s mate.
And…he was sniffing a washcloth she’d touched.
So, clearly, he was painfully at her mercy even in her absence.
Lowering the cloth, he sighed and looked at himself in the mirror. “You’re not a creep.”
