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He marches over to the fridge, opens it, points at the milk, and says something in Russian. Grinning even wider, she nods and replies placatingly in the same language. Stanislav grabs her hand and leads her to an adjacent room, where he points at an enormous box of kitty litter.
She nods solemnly, then pantomimes putting the kitten into the box.
“Molodetz,” Stanislav says. He then pecks the woman on the cheek and the kitten on the top of its head and walks out of the apartment.
I decide this is as good a moment as any to tell him he’s dreaming, so I make myself visible and do just that.
“What are you doing here?” he asks once he adjusts to the idea of talking to me in a dream.
“Wanted to ask you how you’re feeling.” I take us to a white-sand beach. “Didn’t want to put you on the spot in front of everyone.”
“I’m healthy as a bull.” He takes off his shoes and buries his feet into the sand.
“Okay then. I’ll leave you be.”
“Wait. You saw my earlier dream, right?”
I smile sheepishly. “Yep. Sorry about that.”
“Can you walk into my girlfriend’s dream? That’s who the woman was. I want to know how Murzik is doing.”
“Is Murzik the kitten?” I ask.
He nods, a tender expression stealing over his face.
“Sadly, I can’t just dreamwalk in a random person,” I say. “I have to make a connection with them first, and that requires proximity.”
“Ah,” he says, looking extremely disappointed. “Then go.”
I wave and leave his dream.
I lie in bed for a while longer, making connections with the rest of our party, just in case. I don’t invade their dreams, though. Stanislav took it well, but I’m not sure if some of the others would. Plus, Fabian, being a werewolf, would be way too difficult.
Finally, I fall asleep.
I sit on a throne made of bones. There’s an army of vampires kneeling at my feet.
“Next,” I say imperiously.
A vampire crawls over to the throne, slashes his wrists with a ceremonial dagger, and squirts blood into a glass chalice.
A servant picks up the chalice and hands it to me.
I gulp down the liquid like a Slurpee. A wave of pleasure smashes into my every nerve cell with the force of an opiate concentrate.
“Next,” I say again, my voice somehow steady despite the bliss.
Another vampire worshipper makes a donation.
I drink this too. The pleasure grows stronger. I say “next” again and again. When the pleasure blurs into pain, I notice something odd as I raise the chalice to my lips.
No furry bracelet.
No Pom.
This is a dream.
Obviously a dream, now that I think about it.
I will the pleasure away.
The pleasure doesn’t leave. If anything, it gets more intense. Less like the vampire blood effect and more like an orgasm, but not quite. It feels as though my whole body has turned into an erogenous zone, and someone is stroking me all over.
What the puck?
I exit my body the way I do when I want to heal it.
The pleasure doesn’t stop.
I duplicate myself and put my consciousness into the two bodies. Both of me feel the pleasure now, but it doesn’t stop.
Going back to a single body, I try counterbalancing the pleasure with some pain. I make a thick needle appear in my hand and stab my palm with it.
I might as well try to stop a hurricane with an umbrella.
Puck. What a weird predicament.
Can intense enough pleasure kill? And if so, could this be a very unusual form of attack from the Nutcracker?
Pom appears in front of me, his fur black and his face worried. “What’s happening?”
“I have no idea,” I try to say, but it comes out as a moan.
“Ah, you want privacy,” he mumbles and disappears.
I want to call him back, but I just moan again.
Fine. It’s not like he could’ve helped with something like this.
Impossibly, the pleasure intensifies again.
That does it. If this is a dream attack, waking up should snap me out of it.
Gritting my dream teeth, I jolt myself awake.
I’m back at the inn, but the pleasure is with me, stronger than ever. It now feels like some energy is pouring into me—an energy that brings pleasure as a side effect.
I soon discover that here in the real world, it’s harder to keep my responses under control. Case in point: A moan escapes my lips without my consent. Then another one. Then a scream.
I’m vaguely aware of Valerian rushing to my side.
Writhing, I groan louder.
Strong arms wrap around me and soothing words are whispered into my ears, but the pleasure assault continues.
“You’re going to be okay,” I hear Valerian whisper before something finally short-circuits in my brain and my consciousness winks out.
Chapter Seventeen
I come to my senses on the bed, where I’m held in a spooning position. Valerian’s arms are wrapped around me, his hands on my belly.
