Page 16 of Dreamscape Therapies

I struggle to pull free, but the loops tighten. They're wrapping around my calves now, creeping higher.

"Help!" I shout, but everyone is gone. Swallowed by different versions of the same lawn.

The yarn reaches my knees.

At the end of the cul-de-sac stands a monster, its needles clicking steadily as it knits me into the ground.

Chapter Eight

Vincent

The Fae workers have stripped half the exterior of Jay’s house. The old siding is gone from one side, exposing layers of weathered wood beneath it. New boards are stacked neatly along the porch, and the windows are all covered in plastic. Somewhere around the back of the house, a power tool screams to life.

Two Fae are working on the second story.

And by working, I mean one is standing on the roof without a harness while the other floats several feet above the ground, holding a plank in place with one hand because apparently gravity is just a suggestion to these people.

They’re both so stupidly gorgeous it almost hurts to look directly at them.

Are Fae not allowed to be ugly, or is being beautiful part of the employee requirements for ECC?

The blond one catches me staring and gives me a friendly wave, which has me turning away.

Nope. Not dealing with that before coffee.

Jay opens the front door before I even reach the porch. He beams at me and waves excitedly. “Vincent!”

“Morning,” I grumble, his enthusiasm taking me by surprise.

He gestures for me to come inside, and I step through the doorway. My nose wrinkles from the mildewy smell.

“Geez. I forgot how raggedy the inside is,” I tease, nudging his arm as I pass.

Jay laughs a little self-consciously and blushes a lovely pink. “You don’t have to remind me. I live here, remember.”

I glance over at him and promptly forget what I was going to say.

He’s wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt instead of the khakis and sweater vest combination from my first visit.

The shirt fits him ridiculously well. His arms are slim but toned, the sleeves clinging to his biceps just enough to make me wonder what other muscles are hiding underneath those sweater vests.

Then he turns, and my eyes catch on his ass perfectly cupped in old, faded jeans.

Hades and Persephone, that ass.

I drag my gaze upward before he can catch me staring.

“I know it’s not much to look at right now,” he says, gesturing around the house, “but when it’s finished, it’ll be amazing.”

“Mmm,” I hum, my mind still firmly on his ass.

He steps aside, and I finally see the living room/ temporary office space.

The familiar green-yellow wingback chair is still there, along with the ornate rug and massive couch, but everything else has been transformed.

The fireplace has been restored, the old layers of paint stripped away to reveal beautiful carved stone underneath. A large fire crackles inside it, filling the room with warmth. The walls are painted a deep, moody blue. Not quite navy, but a little darker. The kind of blue that makes the room feel like you're sitting at the bottom of the ocean.

Framed paintings of oceans and stormy coastlines cover the walls. Built-in bookshelves stretch from floor to ceiling along one side of the room, filled with books, little plants, candles, and an assortment of strange objects I can't identify.