Page 24 of Realm of Dreams & Shadows

He’s wearing a dark green hoodie that accentuates the gold of his eyes. He looks exhausted too, his dark circles matching my own.

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other, and in that moment, I realize I’m searching his right cheek for a scar that isn’t there. Then something flickers across his face—something that seems like a bizarre combination of pleasure and irritation.

Before I can ponder that, his expression closes off, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “It’s great to see you,” he says, his voice flat. “How are your classes going?”

“Good,” I say, cringing at how incredibly mundane we sound. Then again, what am I supposed to say? I’m just wondering if you popped into my dream the other night and saved me from some freakish monsters on a beach. That doesn’t sound nutso at all.

Besides, now that I’m standing in front of him, I realize just how crazy it all really is. He’s a hot guy who—okay, yes—I might be more than a little attracted to. He showed up at a party. We flirted. Sort of. And that night he appeared in a dream.

I don’t really need Freud to tell me that’s about sex. Not about my dreams or my mother.

Although the mom part would really give Freud a thrill.

“Um, so, listen,” I begin, my stomach twisting with nerves. “I should probably apologize.”

“Really? What for?”

I wipe my palms on my jeans. “I—well, you know. You asked me out. And I didn’t take you up on it. But I wanted to. I just, you know.” I shove my hands into my pockets as my cheeks flame. “I just didn’t have the nerve. And then later I didn’t have your phone number, either.”

“Oh.” For a moment, he simply looks at me, as if he’s trying to decide if I’m bullshitting him or not. I’m not. I really would like him to show me around. And not just because of my dream and the irrational-but-unable-to-entirely-ignore possibility that he was truly there on that beach with me.

I mean, I know it’s a billion times more likely that I’ve put the face of my hero onto the protector in my dream. But I’m the kind of girl that those billion-in-one-chances could happen to. A dream killed my mom, after all. And I’m certain the things in my dreams are trying to kill me too.

And not to sound elitist, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t happen to most college freshmen. Or most of the earth’s population.

“I really do have to get to class,” he says, but his tone’s no longer sharp. “Here.” He reaches out, and I take his hand without thinking, then I shiver from that tantalizing zing of electricity. I am so crushing on this guy. With his free hand, he pulls a pen out of his pocket. He uncaps it with his teeth, then scribbles a phone number on my palm.

“What if I wash my hands?”

“I used a Sharpie,” he says. “It’ll survive a wash or two. But Cora,” he adds, taking a step closer, the air now seeming thick with possibility. “I hope you put it in your phone soon. I’d hate to lose track of you.”

My stomach flutters. “Oh.”

He starts to step back, and I tug on his hoodie. He raises a brow, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth tells me he’s more amused than annoyed.

“Cora?”

I straighten. “What?”

He dips his eyes to where I’ve got a hold of his jacket. “Oh.” I clear my throat. “Right.”

The intensity of his gaze makes my pulse quicken, and I know I should just back away slowly. Instead, I say, “This is either going to sound crazy or slutty, but after the mixer at my dorm, I had this dream. And you were in it.”

“Oh, really?” His voice rises with a mixture of amusement and what might be heat. “Sounds to me like your subconscious was smacking you down for blowing off my very generous offer to show you around.”

“Could be,” I say seriously, even though I know he’s teasing. “You were pretty cool, though. In the dream, I mean.” I take a step closer, so that I have to tilt my head back to see those eyes. “I was seriously impressed with your fighting skills.”

He crosses his arms, nodding a little, his attitude totally chill. “I always knew I was a bad ass.” He reaches out, then takes my hand, his thumb rubbing softly in a way that sends those ever-present sparks zinging all through me.

“Admit it,” he whispers, “you did regret turning me down.”

“Sure,” I say. “Especially when I saw that you’re the kind of guy who can pull a blade right out of the sky.” I keep my voice as flirty as I can manage while I search his face for any sign that he really was in my dream.

“I’m a badass that way,” he says, totally deadpan. “Always popping into dreams and rescuing damsels in distress.” His lips curve into a grin. “Sounds a hell of a lot more fun than grad school.”

For a moment, we both just stand there, me tense and antsy. Him as cool as can be. It seems like an hour goes by, but I doubt it’s even been a minute when he finally says, “Listen, Cora, that knife trick must’ve been cool, but I’ve got to get across campus. If you want to grab a coffee sometime, I’ll jump all over that. Of course, I can’t promise any swordplay, but you never know…”

“Right,” I say, firmly telling myself that of course, he’s not the same guy. He’s just locked in my dreams as Protector Dude because of the way he saved me from Wolf Boy. Mom had died only a month before and I’d been a wreck. So, yeah, can you say hero worship?