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With a yawn, she gets under the covers. “This might actually work out. Sometimes I have trouble falling asleep.”
“Okay,” I say. “Close your eyes.”
She does.
Now what? I had no idea dreamwalkers could do what I’m about to attempt. Now that I know it’s possible, I still have no clue as to how.
I start by looking intently at Ariel and wishing her to sleep with all I’ve got.
“Is this going to take long?” she says, yawning again.
“No clue.”
Extending my hand, I picture Ariel sleeping in as much detail as I can, a bit how I initiate dreamwalking from a distance.
Nothing.
Then it hits me. Before I could make dream connections from afar, I needed skin-to-skin contact. Maybe this power works the same?
I carefully approach the bed. “Do you mind if I touch you?”
Ariel opens her eyes. “You’re lucky I’m not Kit. Or Felix, for that matter.”
Chuckling, I gently put my hand on her wrist and wish her asleep.
Nothing happens. I try an imagination exercise. I picture Ariel sleeping so vividly I could create a painting of it in my memory gallery. Still nothing. I’m about to pull away in frustration when I do something purely on instinct, calling on a strange hint of a feeling, one that reminds me of having a word on the very tip of my tongue.
It works.
Ariel is asleep. No, not just asleep. I can feel that she’s in the REM stage of sleep, which she wouldn’t be in if she just fell asleep out of boredom.
With a fist pump, I tiptoe out of the room.
Now if I only knew what I did so I could repeat it. It would mean the end of subdreams, just to name one huge benefit off the top of my head. And if I do this quickly enough, I would be like a sleep grenade myself.
Walking into my room, I catch Valerian waving his hygieia device over my bed.
Wow. And he didn’t even know I’d see him being super nice like this.
Walking over, I place the hand that touched Ariel under the sterilizing rays.
The problem is I get too close to Valerian and my treacherous heartbeat speeds up. “Thanks,” I say breathlessly, nodding at the bed.
“I’ll do the same to your clothes after you take them off,” Valerian says, his voice husky.
I step back, ignoring the flush spreading over my skin. “Nice try. Turn around.”
With a sigh, he obliges.
“Actually, leave the room.”
He walks out the door.
“How do I know this isn’t just an illusion?” I ask the empty space around me. “For all I know, you’re standing there staring at me.”
The empty air doesn’t respond, so I undress, put my clothes on Valerian’s chair, and hide under the blissfully sterilized blanket. “You can come back in.”
Valerian returns and cleans my clothes as promised, ending with my underwear.
“Perv,” I mutter when he hangs the last article—my bra—at the head of my bed. “You liked touching my undies. Admit it.”
His eyes crinkle above the mask. “I admit that and more. For instance, I’d like for my hands to do the job your bra usually does. Panties too.”
I’m speechless—and so hot I may combust on the spot.
“What would you say if I took off my clothes?” he asks softly.
The heat inside me intensifies.
“I can hygieia every single part of my body and get in there with you,” he says temptingly.
“Um, no…” I clear the hoarseness from my throat. “I don’t do that with people I barely know.”
He strides over to the chair and sits. “You know me.”
“No,” I say pointedly. “I don’t know where you grew up, or if you have siblings, for that matter. I don’t know if—”
“Nice try,” he says in a perfect imitation of my tone. “I’m not ready to speak about Soma. If that’s all you want, you should just go to sleep.”
“Fine.” I close my eyes and turn over, giving him my back.
Then something dawns on me. Did he just admit that Soma is where he was born?
I lie there, unable to sleep, my mind churning. Eventually, I feel someone in the distance go into REM sleep. Lucky for them. I want to be dreaming right now.
Since I can, I make a connection to whoever it is. Then I use Pom to visit my sleep palace and find that it’s Stanislav I’ve just connected with.
Awesome. My remote connect range is farther than I thought.
Since I’m here, might as well sneak a peek at the chort’s dream. I’ve never dreamwalked in his kind before.
Making myself invisible, I dive in.
Chapter Sixteen
Stanislav’s current dream is a memory. He’s standing in front of a round-faced woman who must be the descendant of whoever was the original model for the matryoshka dolls. In Stanislav’s hands is a tiny kitten of the Siberian variety. It’s not as cute as Pom, but extremely close.
It’s clear the chort is loath to let the little creature go, so the woman eventually snatches it away with a wide grin.
