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Pollux swears as he collides in my consciousness. Whipping around on the shore of my island, he finds me and stares. “Dearest…”
I march across the sand, which is swiftly turning gray beneath his bare feet. “I looked up the video footage.”
“The…video footage…”
“Of the school yard last night.”
His sharp teeth click before he says, “Ah.”
“It doesn’t make any sense. None. Magic isn’t real.”
Swiping his hand to the back of his neck, he grumbles, “Well, not with that attitude.”
A deranged laugh spills from my chest, and I rake my fingers through my curls while I pace on the beach. “I mean, if magic were real, and if you were really Pollux, how come I controlled the fact you’re here right now? Hm? It’s super early because I am utterly exhausted. I doubt you’re already out gallivanting and doing whatever it is dream eaters do.”
“To say I’m surprised you could summon me from the physical realm to the dream plane would be a lie, so I’ll just say I hope the reagent I was testing is not overly flammable.” He flexes his fingers, takes a step forward, and stops my frantic pacing. Arms braced at my elbows, he murmurs, “Focus on me.”
I lift my attention and feel a palpable ease melt into my flesh. If magic is real, this is real. He is real. And…
Nope.
Actually, that ease was panic in disguise.
I rub my knuckles together so fast it’s shocking they don’t catch flame.
If this is real, this man thinks we’re married and soulmates. He’s knelt at my feet and done things that haunt me constantly. He haunts me constantly. I’ll never find rest again if a supernatural monster creature wants me for some reason.
Lowering his face to my neck, he plants a dreadful kiss against my skin. “Take a breath.”
I let air fill my lungs and grow dazed with the way the tip of his nose grazes my throat.
“Good girl.” His voice rumbles.
My stomach dips, and there it is…my good girl. More proof I’m somehow in control of this, even though it doesn’t feel like I am at all.
He wraps me up in his arms. “You told me last night you wished these things were real. What’s wrong now?”
“They just can’t be.”
“Why?”
“Because.” I press my face against his chest and break my hands apart so I can cling, absorbing his warmth. “If it is, everything I’ve been taught to know is wrong. If it is, I’ve spent decades fitting myself into something I don’t…I don’t think I am. If it is, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, who I’m supposed to be, how I’m supposed to continue being mature and responsible and right. Not when everything has changed. How will I keep being a teacher? How will I get up every morning and drive to school and teach kids about science and math and grammar and not about an entire world just out of sight?”
“You can teach them about it.”
I grip his shirt in my fists. “Right. Sure. Because their parents would like that. Faerie doesn’t seem to be common knowledge among humans, and one can assume there’s a reason for that. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Faerie isn’t about magical forests or unusual creatures. It’s not about spells or powers or unique abilities. It’s a land as vast as imagination and belief, full of diversity and emotions so condensed they birthed living beings. You teach Faerie whenever you teach kindness, respect, and consideration for the oddities that are present in your world. You teach Faerie whenever you let a child know they aren’t too much. You teach Faerie with encouragement and gentleness, when you let the wild and free spirit be.”
A tear slips down my cheek and soaks into his shirt. “I wish…someone had taught me Faerie. I’ve spent my entire life stuffing myself into the expected boxes, monitoring the correct responses to every line, practicing expressions in the mirror, stopping myself from being too hyper or too talkative. It’s the female experience. I’ve written it all off as the lot many women are just born with. It’s the role I have to play to keep the peace in my life. But now I don’t know who I am, Pollux.” I lift my face to find his. “Do you?”
Cupping my cheek, he swipes a tear away with his thumb. “Yes. You are mine.”
“That doesn’t really help me with my whole identity crisis here, dreamboy. I cannot find myself if myself is reliant on you.”
He chuckles. “Being mine means you must undoubtedly be a terror to behold, a strength unlike any other, a majestic, untamed creature of unfathomable beauty.”
