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Excitement grips my breast as my fingertips finally brush across the hardness of his abs.
I jolt awake with a gasp, and my eyes get even wider when I awaken and see that my hand is stretched out, touching something hard. A dark form is hovering over me.
Holy shit! It's him! The man from my dreams!
I blink my eyes rapidly and shake my head. Someone must have slipped me some acid tonight at my birthday party because this cannot be real. This man isnotreal. This is my dream man. He doesn't exist in real life.
Yet his golden eyes look all too real as they blaze down at me. His jaw is strong and firm, and that glorious golden hair is hanging down his shoulder. He looks exactly like he does in my dreams—bare-chested with dark breeches. He looks like something out of one of those romance novels my friends are always reading.
He reaches out a big hand and strokes a finger over my cheek. It’s like a thousand tiny fireworks are crackling under my skin. I tremble under his touch but can't help leaning my head into it. This is the man I've been dreaming about for so long, the one I've been yearning to touch in my dreams, yet never could.
I'm absolutely certain this is still a dream that somehow morphed into what my subconscious thinks is reality but isn't, and while I want to enjoy it as long as it lasts, a part of me has to know the truth.
“You're not real,” I whisper as I reach down and pinch my arm.
The sting pulls me completely into wakefulness. My mouth falls open as I look up at him.
I don't know if I'm exuberant, terrified, or probably a mixture of both. A sound of half joy, half terror bubbles up out of my chest, and I think I'm getting ready to scream when the man suddenly stands to his full height and beautiful golden-brown wings sprout up on either side of him from his back. The tips of the enormous wings seem to shimmer with golden dust.
His eyes glow as if they are their own sun as he looks down at me and speaks for the first time, “Shush, child. I'm here now.” His voice is deep and velvety, smoother than the most perfect tenor. It's almost hypnotizing, and I want to hear him speak again just so I can hear it wrapping around me.
“Who are you?” I ask him breathlessly. He stares down at me with a light in his eyes I can't identify, but whatever it is causes my heart to race.
“Your king,” his deep voice finally rumbles before he bends down and plucks me off the bed as if I'm nothing more than a feather. He cradles me against his warm, bare chest, and I swallow as I stare up at him. I can see the light stubble lining his jaw. His eyebrows are dark and even, and he has a bit of facial hair right under his lower lip and above his upper lip. It's not a fully grown mustache or beard. Rather, it’s just enough to lend him an aura of sexy manliness.
My eyes skate over to his golden-brown wings. They look leathery like the skin of a snake, and my fingers itch to reach out and touch them.
This is no man. I open my mouth to ask him what he is, but he gently grabs my chin and locks eyes on me.
I stare into his blazing golden orbs until I feel his wings completely wrap around us, creating a sort of cocoon. His scent—something woodsy and masculine and otherworldly—envelops me.
And then I slip into nothing.
ChapterTwo
Amelia
Iwake up slowly, the edges of my realistic dream still in the back of my mind. I blink my eyes open and suddenly bolt upright when I realize I'm not in my bedroom. A flare of panic overtakes me. My eyes flit across the room, taking in the opulent furnishings.
I'm in a huge mahogany canopy bed that has black netting hanging down from it. The sheets I’m tucked under are black silk, and the room even has black walls. You would think the space would feel smaller, but there's plenty of gold gilded frames decorating the wall and other pops of red hues strewn throughout the room to make it seem stylishly sophisticated.
It’s obvious by all the dark wood and the dark coloring that this is a man’s space, and when my eyes light on the golden-haired angel, demon, or whatever he is, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room with his long legs stretched out in front of him, his feet crossed at the ankles, my suspicions are proved correct.
My heart hammers against my ribcage. So, it wasn't a dream after all. My heart picks up tempo as the magnitude of what this means washes over me. He's real. And he took me.
His golden gaze is trained unwaveringly on me.
“Who are you? Where am I?” I manage to get out around my tight throat.
The man—or whatever he is—stands with a long unfurling of his limbs. Surely, he's not a mere man. Not only is he too beautiful, but he seems somehow taller than a simple mortal. His hair hangs down to his shoulders, and he's still bare-chested.
I swallow as I take in the ridges of muscle that line his abdomen. No, this creature definitely isn’t a mere mortal. Otherwise, why would he be running around shirtless? Unless he just wants to drive every female crazy.
I swallow when he strides purposefully over to me, those golden eyes of his never wavering from me. They’re so heavy and intense. I don't think anyone has ever looked at me the way he is. I don't know exactly how that is, only that it sends a tremble running down my spine and causes butterflies to light in my stomach.
“You can call me Julian, and you're in my home.” His voice skates over me softly like the silk sheets sliding over my skin. I pull the sheets closer to me, though a quick survey underneath them shows that I'm still dressed in my pajama bottoms and tank top.
I remember fainting earlier after looking into his eyes, and that puzzles me because I'm not the fainting type. In fact, I don't think I've ever passed out once in my entire life. I frown as I ask him, “Did you drug me or something?”
