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A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “That outfit is more sexy than cool, you know.”
He grins back at me. “As long as it’s distracting you from germ worries, who cares?”
To my surprise, it is distracting me. His face has been covered by the mask for so long, I’d forgotten the effect it has on me. Now it’s all coming back with a vengeance.
Wait, what am I thinking? Is my body going into some kind of “procreation before death” mode? Clearly, being as sex deprived as I am is throwing my priorities out of whack.
“There’s more we can do to distract you,” he says, as if reading my mind.
I stare at his lips, then slowly lick mine.
His gaze darkens, and he clasps my hand, pulling me closer.
Gazing up at him, I trace my finger over his sensuous lips. “Is this the real you?”
“An illusion,” he says hoarsely. “Despite what Dylan said, there’s always a small chance I’m sick and you’re not. I’d never forgive myself if I infected you.”
I’m perversely disappointed.
He leans down and kisses me. Hard.
All my troubling thoughts evaporate as I return the kiss, my core turning into a geothermal spring as his tongue brushes over my lips.
Panting, I make my tongue dance with his.
Or do I?
I pull away. “You’re not really feeling this, are you?”
His sexy lips curve. “It’s fun to make you feel things. Besides, if I got to really taste you, my ability to maintain the illusion might be compromised.”
Is that a compliment? It sure feels like one.
“Why don’t we take this into the dream world?” I bite my lower lip. “I want you to feel things too.”
His nostrils flare. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
I freeze, having forgotten all about the grudge until now.
Have I forgiven him? I guess I have. It seems petty to hold on to anger given the danger our lives are in right now—and everything he’s done to keep me safe. Actually, if I’m honest, I probably forgave him the very first time he used that hygieia device on my behalf.
Another thought occurs to me. Have I been using my grudge to avoid thinking about my feelings for him? And what exactly are those feelings?
No, I’m too overwhelmed to think about that pesky question.
Realizing he’s waiting for my answer, I say quietly, “I think I have forgiven you.” Seeing his cocky smile, I quickly add, “But I still want to learn about Soma, especially given—”
“That child of Soma bit Keyser spouted?” His face is serious now. “I’ve been pondering that too.”
“And did you figure it out?” I ask, not bothering to hide the eagerness in my voice.
“I was allowed to keep very few of my memories.” He looks like it pains him to utter every word. “Everything to do with Soma is secret, so if one wishes to leave it and go to the Otherlands, the way I did, the price is the very memory of Soma. Only a powerful dreamwalker can break a black window, and the most powerful of your kind live on Soma, making this a perfect security system.” He pauses, looking at me. “Well, almost.”
“So one of the windows is all your memories of Soma?” I ask, aghast. “As in, your whole childhood?”
“Young adulthood too,” he says with a wince. “But think about how effective the system is. Even if tortured, I wouldn’t be able to reveal anything about my home—not that I would. I’m allowed to remember how much I loved it… and how much I want to keep it safe.”
He looks like he’s in pain, so I squeeze his hand—that is, until I realize he can’t feel that either.
“I saw two black windows,” I say softly. “If one is Soma, what about the other?”
He pulls his hand away. “I don’t know. Obviously, it’s an important secret, but I wasn’t left any hints as to what it is.”
“Maybe you’d know more if you got your Soma memories back?”
“Possibly. I genuinely have no clue.”
I touch him—or his illusionary form—again. “How about you remove the illusion, and I touch you for real, putting you in REM sleep?”
He sighs. “You need to rest. So why don’t we agree to this: I go to sleep, and you do as well. Then, when you dream naturally, we break the Soma window.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to fall asleep with everything that’s happened,” I say.
He smiles ruefully. “Which is why I wanted to properly motivate you to rest.”
“Evil. Where’s my bed?”
“There.”
The bed materializes in the middle of a flower meadow, surrounded by forty-two different species of dahlias. I tiptoe over the flowers as though I could actually break them. When I lie down on the bed and close my eyes, the sound of a gentle ocean surf caresses my ears.
“What if the Nutcracker comes and kills me this time?” I ask without opening my eyes.
