Page 54 of Blood Lovers

“It’s a long story. One I’m really not… ready to talk about.”

Ready. That wasn’t what she was going to say. She was going to say ‘allowed,’ I’m sure of it. But both versions are true, I can tell. So I skip back to the original sentiment. “And now? How are you feeling now?”

She sets her glass dish of food down on the nightstand, snuggles back down into the covers, and puts her head on my thigh. “Now?” She exhales out a yawn. “I feel like I just came home from a too-long trip and I should never leave again.”

I’m running these words over and over in my head as she drifts back to sleep. And it’s weird. Because I feel the same way. So I set my food aside, snuggle down in the covers next to her, and pull her head to my chest.

The next thing I know I’m out in the snow. Like middle-of-the-forest kind of thing. There’s a lot of lavender, so I know this is a dreamwalk. And in this dreamwalk I find Paul—a very young Paul—sitting on a fallen tree trunk in the middle of a snowy clearing.

He’s dressed in… “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“This?” He looks down. “It’s nice. Leather and fur. It’s appropriate dress for a forest in winter.”

“What are you doing with that baby?” He’s not snuggling the baby, but he is holding it, kinda like he’s not sure what he’s gonna do with it. Which is why I ask.

“Why are you so full of questions?”

“Because you’re in my fucking dreamwalk. Again. And for some reason it feels… I dunno. Like a personal attack.”

“What are you implying?”

“That you’re here to abuse me.”

“That’s not even remotely funny.”

“The last time we did this, you struck me.”

“Do you have lingering pain? A black eye? A limp?”

“No.”

He shrugs like… like he wants to ask me what’s the big deal, then? But he knows this is not the response that will get him what he wants. So he adjusts. “I’m sorry for that. You were being unreasonably irritable.” He squints his eyes. “Are you still feeling unreasonable?”

“What do you want?”

“Why do you hate me?”

“That’s why you’re haunting me? You want to know why I hate you?” I blow out a breath. “How much time do you have?”

He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes the color of ice. They match his personality. “I have all the time you need, Ryet. Let’s hear it. Tell me all the ways in which I ruined your life.”

“No. Fuck you. You’ve got me running around these cabins like I’m one of your fucking bitches and now you’re invading my dreams. What are you doing? Spying on me?”

“Spying. Why are you so dramatic? I’m checking up on you. Did you find the girl?”

“No. I haven’t. I’ve been too busy remodeling your stupid cabins. If you want me to get back to it, say the word. I’d be happy to. But I’m not gonna look for your stupid feeder while you have me on a leash.”

“Like I said, I’m checking up on you.”

“Come check up on me in person. Don’t invade my dreams. It’s a violation.”

The corner of his lip turns up, like he wants to chuckle about my choice of the word ‘violation.’ But he knows better, and decides to change the subject. “I don’t care for the girl, do you?”

“Which girl?”

Now he narrows his eyes at me. “How many girls are you dealing with at the moment?”

“Two. But if you mean Isabella? No. I can’t stand her. She orders me around—”