His posture was hesitant, his expression unsure.
I sat upright, dragging the quilt over my ratty old T-shirt. It was one of Beatrix’s that I’d never let go of, but it was in such bad shape I only wore it to bed.
The moonlight cut through the windows, gleaming pale white on his face and bare chest. He wore only a pair of sleep pants, a dark silky material that hung low on his hips, giving the most perfect view of the muscles that arrowed downward. Despite his massive size and ridiculously sculpted body, the light almost made him appear angelic, which was insane for a man rightfully called The Devil.
“Are you really here?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” He raised his hand, inspecting it curiously. “I was just in my bed.”
Had I really conjured him? Or was this just the best dream ever?
He looked so amazing standing in the moonlight that I wanted to believe I was dreaming. Of course I was dreaming. It was insane to think otherwise. I didn’t have that kind of power.
And all I wanted in the world was him.
I beckoned to him, determined to enjoy the dream for all it was worth. It would be gone in the morning, and all I would have was memories. Memories of an act that had never happened—not truly, at least—but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it. Anyway, Dream Me didn’t need to be totally rational and wise.
9
Grey
Carrow gestured to me from her bed. The scene had the vaguely filmy quality of a dream. Almost as if the edges were blurred and reality distorted.
I’d never dreamed much—not since being turned, at least. The only visions that visited me in the night were horrible memories of atrocities I’d committed while under the influence of the blood lust.
Never had an apparition like Carrow appeared in my mind.
But now that she had, I ached to walk toward her. She was so beautiful in the bed, her golden hair tousled and the moonlight gleaming in her eyes. Her lips were impossibly soft-looking, and the memory of our one night together flashed through me, making heat coil tight.
I wanted that again.
I would always want that.
And even if this dream was a terrible idea, it was just a dream. And I wanted it. She wanted it.
I strode toward her, desire spiking through me, coiling low in my groin and causing me to go unbearably hard. Memories of her taste lingered on my tongue, and if I could only have it again in dreams, then I would take it.
I reached her, towering over her.
Something dark and terrible in me delighted in the difference in our size. She was strong. Powerful. But she was also so much smaller than me. So much finer and more beautiful.
It was such a contrast to the darkness of my life, the harshness.
I yanked the covers away from her, and she gasped. Moonlight fell on her long legs and the white cotton between her thighs. My mouth watered, and my fangs threatened to descend. I wanted to taste her there. To bite, right on the soft flesh of her thighs. To hold her hips and keep her still as I ate my fill.
I clenched my fists, resisting the urge, and put a knee on the bed, looming over her and thanking a God I didn’t believe in for a dream I’d never forget.
“Grey.” Her voice was husky as she reached up to grip my shoulders.
Her hands clutched at me, and I leaned into her touch, reaching down to grip her hips. She looked so delicate in my big hands, the torn T-shirt riding up her midsection to reveal the soft curve of her stomach.
“Carrow.” Her name escaped on a growl, and hunger rose in me.
She spread her thighs, and I caught sight of the shadow there.
Just one more taste.
I dragged her down the bed, too rough for real life but perfect for the dream. Carrow gasped, her gaze flicking to mine as she lay flat on the bed.