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A dryad arrives with a tray and puts a beaker of tea next to me, then sets down two identical fruit bowls.
Valerian grins. “We got the same thing. Great minds think alike.”
I wait for the dryad to leave and for my heart to recover from the hormone-induced spike. Talk about a killer grin—if I were elderly and frail, I might’ve keeled over already. “So am I right about your plans?” I press when my voice is steady enough.
“More or less.” He takes a round fruit that looks like Earth’s guava and bites into it with gusto.
I fight an uncharacteristic urge to lick up the fruit juices from around his mouth. “In that case, I want in,” I say and grab my own version of the same fruit before I can do something totally unprofessional, not to mention unsanitary.
Biting into the fruit, I taste its sweet, yet somehow savory goodness, and my heart resumes racing as I notice him eyeing the juices around my mouth with a hungry expression.
My licking-things-up idea must be contagious.
“What do you mean?” he murmurs, his attention still on my lips.
I pick up my tea beaker with unsteady hands. “I want to grow my powers with the help of your VR company.” I take a deep breath as his gaze snaps to mine and sharpens. “Your plan is to become associated with the illusory worlds of VR so that you become, in a way, a lord of illusions in human minds. I want you to let me do the same. Virtual reality can be dreamlike, so with the right game or app, I can be seen as a mistress of dreams—and therefore, my powers should grow. In theory.”
I half expect him to laugh in my face and walk away, but he looks thoughtful instead. “One of the games we’re developing features an illusionist hero,” he says slowly. “Given how similar our powers are, that means the nuts and bolts for a dreamwalker character already exist. If we added some dream-related levels and your likeness as an alternate character…”
Oh, puck. I almost jump up in excitement. “You’ll do it?”
His eyes gleam like blue diamonds. “I could—but it is a big ask. As beautiful as you are, I’ll need something in return.”
Chapter Five
I blink at him, shell-shocked. He, this gorgeous creature, thinks I’m beautiful? Me?
The glow from the compliment almost obscures the other part of his statement: that I’d have to pay for my request. Now that I’m thinking about it, though, is it wrong that I hope he asks for something inappropriate as payment—say, my body?
“The Senate asked me to look into a certain classified matter for them,” he continues, “and I could use someone with your investigative skills to help me out.”
My horny bubble bursts. The Senate is the main governmental body on Gomorrah—which, unlike the Councils elsewhere, is elected by a democratic process. Going by what I’ve heard in the media, a classified investigation for the Senate might be an extremely dangerous undertaking.
I take a sip of my tea to calm myself. “I’ve just barely survived one investigation. What do they want you to figure out? I can’t help my mom if I’m dead.”
He frowns. “What’s wrong with your mom?”
I put down the beaker. “It’s a long story.”
“Tell me.” He grabs a blue fruit reminiscent of an orange and peels it.
I hesitate for a second, then tell him everything: how Mom got into the accident and how the medical bills drove me to accept jobs of dubious legality, including his. I also explain that the healing Isis performed was incomplete and that I now need to get more power so I can wake Mom from inside her dreams.
As I speak, Valerian’s chiseled features soften, and as I’m wrapping up my explanation, he covers my hand with his big, warm palm. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m glad those jobs I gave you helped out.”
I resist the urge to pull my hand away—in part because I like his touch and in part because he’s being nice and I don’t want to insult him by implying he has cooties. Though he totally does. In his case, though, I weirdly don’t mind it too much.
I bet even his cooties are hot.
I clear my throat. “This investigation, how long do you think it’ll take?”
Before he can reply, the dryad comes back with two plates and what must be the second part of his order—a selection of vegetables in nut-based sauces.
Valerian deftly divides the food between our two plates and tastes a mushroom-like morsel. “Delicious,” he breathes, his eyes closing in ecstasy.
The dryad beams at him. “Erato will be pleased with your praise.”
I feel a sudden urge to choke an innocent server, for no reason at all. I mean, all she did was smile at Valerian. Would I rather women be depressed around him?
