The Fae King's Dream (Between Dawn and Dusk #2) - Jamie Schlosser Page 0,8
you? I might be able to since it’s different with you.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “What’s different with me? What’s going on?”
“Your dream was looping,” Damon fills in. “Very annoying, but surprisingly common.”
“Right.” Nodding, I perk up because he just confirmed that I am, in fact, asleep. Which is good news. “That used to happen all the time, but I’ve gotten so good at making sure it doesn’t anymore.”
Cocking his head to the side, he gives me a confused look. “You do what, now?”
“Lucid dreaming,” I explain. “It’s when someone realizes they’re asleep while they’re asleep. If they’re aware, they can make things happen—anything they want.”
“I know what lucid dreaming is.” Skeptical, he narrows his eyes. “You mean to tell me you can do it?”
“Every night. Well, usually. I’m having a hard time today, I guess.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “A Dream Weaver. You’re literally my dream girl. What a pair we make.”
“We’re a pair?” Why did I just sound so breathless when I asked that? And did I hear him right? I’m his dream girl?
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he responds cryptically. “Maybe you could take me on an adventure sometime. Unfortunately, I don’t dream, so you’ll have to do it for me.”
My stomach flutters at the thought of bringing Damon around more often. Usually, I keep my alternative reality closer to actual reality. It makes me feel normal.
But I could definitely consider adding a faerie king to the mix.
“You don’t dream?” I want to keep him talking, because I need a distraction from my surroundings. “Ever?”
“Ever. I can enter someone else’s dreams, but I don’t have my own. I’m a Dream Walker. It’s my fae power.”
Damon says really weird shit, but he’s so pretty I don’t care. As I look at him now, his hands gripping the roof of the car above his head, I admire the bulge of his biceps, his defined pecs, and the indents of his abs.
My imagination is serving me well this time. I’ve seen lots of shirtless guys at the pool, but none of them measure up to Damon.
A location change would be nice right about now. It’s disturbing to be carrying on a conversation as if my parents aren’t still in the car, crumpled and lifeless.
Not real.
“Where are you from?” I ask, shifting in the seat so I can focus solely on Damon. “England? Your accent is interesting.”
“I come from Valora.”
I rack my brain for any knowledge of a country or city with that name, but I come up with nothing. “In Europe?”
“Not even close.” A huge grin spreads over his face.
I’ve never seen a more attractive smile, even if he might be laughing at me. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Because if we’re carrying on a conversation, it means you have brain activity.”
Confused, I let his words sink in. Brain activity? “I don’t know what that has to do with anything…?”
His grin fades. “Whitley, you were in an accident.”
“Yeah.” My gaze flits around the car. “Obviously.”
He slowly shakes his head. “No, I mean, this actually happened. All this—” he gestures up toward the road “—must be built on a memory.”
As soon as he says it, I know in my heart it’s true. There was too much detail here—elements of a crash I never could’ve known unless I’d experienced it.
My panic rushes back as I look at the scene with new understanding. This snapshot must’ve been something I saw before I lost consciousness. I might be passed out in this car right now.
Taking stock of my own injuries, I rub my fingers together. They’re slick and sticky with blood.
“Am I going to die? Are my parents okay?” I don’t expect a figment of my imagination to respond, but he does anyway.
“Whitley, I’m going to make sure you survive. But first, I need you to concentrate on changing the dream. Can you do that? I don’t want to leave you here like this.”
“Leave?” I vigorously shake my head. Damon’s the only thing keeping me sane. “No. Stay with me.”
“I wish I could. I’ll follow you anywhere, and that’s why I have to go. I need to find you.”
“You mean, the physical me? My body?”
The seriousness of the situation becomes apparent. Whatever Damon is—a manifestation of my subconscious, a hallucination, or if he is who he says he is—it’s obvious I’m in danger.
“Yes. I can’t help you here. You’re on … Oh, what’s it called?” Damon pauses to think. “Life support?”