Conrad simply held her against him, strong and stalwart as a tree. When the worst of her sobs had finally subsided, she summoned the courage to look up at him, worried she’d see reproach in his handsome face, or disgust at her tearstained face. But he was looking down at her as calm and implacable as ever. She opened her mouth and spoke before she was even aware of what she was saying.
“It’s late. You should stay here tonight.”
Had she ever, in her entire life, invited a man to stay the night? Never. Even her closest friends knew that she wasn’t the kind of friend whose couch you could crash on—it was a boundary she’d never seen any reason to cross. But the thought of Conrad leaving her house right now was unthinkable, and not just because of her fear of that dangerous man coming back. She didn’t want him to leave her line of sight, that was the truth. If all of this was some kind of psychotic break that she would snap out of any minute… well, she wanted to make the most of it. Conrad being real might have been a dream, but it was a nice one.
And so they found their way into her bedroom. Conrad questioned the invitation once or twice, making it clear he was happy to sleep on the couch, but she refused, mumbling some unconvincing excuse about the springs being broken. She kept feeling stray tears spill over her eyes again, and when she caught a glimpse of her face in her bedroom mirror she saw a predictably puffy, tear-stained mess. So why did Conrad keep looking at her like that? Something wondering and reverent in his gaze, like he was looking at some great work of art.
“Still wondering if you’re dreaming?” she asked him finally. A faint smile twitched at his lips—he was sitting on her bed, politely waiting for a further invitation. “I know I am.”
“I hope you’re not,” he said thoughtfully, rising to help her fold back the rumpled bedsheets. “And I hope I’m not, too.”
“I wouldn’t mind that man from earlier being a dream,” she mumbled as the two of them slid into bed. At once strange and familiar, this feeling. How many times had she dreamed of falling into this bed, wrapped in this man’s arms? But that felt like another world completely. She might have spent countless hours dreaming of the man beside her, but he was still someone she’d only just met.
“Do you know who he was?” Conrad’s voice was low in the dim light. “What he wanted from you?”
“No idea,” she said softly, feeling something twist and ache in her chest as she thought, yet again, of that horrible night from her childhood. “But I think something similar happened to my mom.”
“I remember.” She glanced over at Conrad, surprised. “You told me once, about the night your father took you away from the house. That you never saw her again.”
“I thought I saw men just like that one, coming up the path, just as we left. Men in dark clothes. Army-looking guys, you know? But it was so long ago… I don’t know if I dreamed it or not,” she admitted, feeling her body shiver despite the warmth of the bed. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, she felt Conrad slide an arm around her, drawing her close. The warmth of his body, the press of his long limbs against hers… she rested her head against his chest, shocked by how unbelievably comfortable she felt in his arms. She’d always thought it must be unbearable to share a bed with someone. But this… this was something she could see herself getting used to. “What if he comes back?” she found herself asking, her voice feeling very small.
“Then he’ll answer to both of us,” Conrad said, and there was a strange note in his voice… something almost like pleasure. “He looked tough, but he was only human.”
That was odd. Mira looked up at Conrad, about to ask why he’d used the English word for ‘human’—it sounded strange, especially contrasted against the lilting syllables of the language he spoke, the one he’d taught her in their shared dreams. But something stilled her voice in her throat before she could give voice to the question, and then she couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d been about to ask. It didn’t matter. Not with Conrad’s face so close to hers, the heat of his arms suddenly burning against her skin, the sweet scent of him filling her mind completely. Even in the low light of her room, she could make out the blue of his eyes, as though they were lit from within. She was intensely aware of the way his breath was brushing against her lips. How many times had they kissed in dreams, she wondered? How many times had she thrown herself into his arms and claimed his mouth with her own, demanding, possessive in a way that she’d never dream of being in the real world?
This wasn’t a dream. This was frighteningly, overwhelmingly real… and with the exception of a few clumsy and uninterested pecks on the lips, Mira had never kissed anyone at all in the real world. It seemed impossible, as much as her whole body seemed to be yearning for it, to close those few inches between them. What if he didn’t want her? What if she was misreading the situation? What if the dreams she’d had were all completely different from the dreams he’d had, what if he didn’t want her at all, what if—
Her mind was racing so fast that she almost didn’t realize that he was kissing her, his lips warm and soft against hers, his arms loosening just a little as if to give her the option to pull away, if she wanted to. Mira froze for what felt like an eternity as her mind, always so fast, struggled to catch up with this fresh wave of feeling. And then, with a shaking exhalation, she let herself relax into the warmth of his embrace… and just like that, they were wrapped in each other, their kiss deepening. How could it be so familiar and yet so new?
When they parted for breath, she could feel that the steady drum of his heartbeat through his chest had quickened, felt a dizzy rush of desire flood through her at the realization that she’d been the cause of it. Then she felt his hand cup the side of her face, brush an errant curl out of her eyes with incredible gentleness. “Much better than the dreams,” he whispered, his voice slightly hoarse.
Mira nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Despite everything that was going on, every worry that was tugging at her attention dissolved effortlessly in the warmth of Conrad’s arms… and she was more than happy to lose herself, for now, to a kind of peace she’d never felt before.
Chapter 10 - Conrad
Conrad was frightened to fall asleep. He could hardly believe that any of this was really happening—that the woman he’d been dreaming about for so long was actually here, fast asleep with her head resting on his chest, the sweet scent of her soft hair reaching him with every quiet breath. He’d never felt more frightened than he had in the split second between kissing her and feeling her respond… and never more exultant when he realized that he hadn’t misread the situation, that she was kissing him back with a sweet ardor that set his whole body ablaze. The heat of every memory of running his hands all over her gorgeous body was tempered by an instinct that told him to hold back, to take things slow… she’d been through so much that night, and as much as his body might be aching for her, it was enough to enjoy this amount of closeness.
After all, it was more than he’d ever imagined would be possible.
It wasn’t long before her weariness caught up with her, and Conrad pressed a kiss to her temple as her eyes slid closed. But that same deep sleep didn’t seem interested in taking him along for the ride. With Mira asleep, he found his mind beginning to pick up speed again, pointing out the things he’d let slip away behind him in the rush of adrenaline that had been his arrival here. Like, for example, the question of how he was going to get back. There had been no sign of another portal appearing in the room, no indication that Cato and Lana had figured out how to reach him… a cold chill ran down his spine despite the warmth in the room. They must be angry with him. Certainly they’d be worried for his safety. What had he been thinking, just stepping through the portal on impulse?
Not impulse, he thought, glancing down at the woman fast asleep in his arms. Instinct. Something had told him, deep down, where he needed to be. And as much as he regretted how worried his Queen must be about him, he knew in his heart that he wouldn’t have changed his decision even if he could. Mira had needed him.
Or had she? There had only been one man at the door, and Conrad hadn’t even seen any weapons on him—how could one man stand up to the brute strength of a dragon? She’d seemed a little confused when he’d pointed it out, too. Lana had mentioned that shifters in this world often pretended only to have one body so they could fit in among humans—perhaps Mira felt that she couldn’t shift for fear of revealing what she was? It seemed strange, but so did the rest of this bizarre place…
And somewhere among these racing thoughts, sleep finally rose up to claim him.
As the deep, dreamless sleep began to give way, he became acutely aware of the warmth of the bed… and of the lack of another person’s body against his. A cold chill of fear chased more of his drowsiness away, and Conrad pressed his eyes tightly shut, frightened to open them. What if everything that had happened last night had been a dream? He knew, in that strange suspended state between sleeping and waking, that he simply couldn’t bear that kind of cruelty. He’d break apart.
But then he heard a distant voice raised in song, in a language he didn’t understand… and the relief that rushed through him when he opened his eyes was almost enough to knock him out. He was still here… here, in Mira’s huge bed, surrounded by her forest-green walls. The door to the little bathroom that adjoined her room was shut, and behind it he could hear the rush of water. He’d spent a little time in there, he remembered, a flush of heat stirring in his drowsy body. At least, in Mira’s dream projection of it. A lot of time in the shower, in fact…
The water stopped, and Conrad cleared his throat and got quickly out of bed, trying to will the heat out of his cheeks. Inappropriate thoughts to be having about a woman he’d sort of only just met, he told himself firmly. But then the bathroom door slid open, and she was standing there, a towel wrapped around her voluptuous figure and her curls falling damply around her face. Conrad knew he was staring, but he simply couldn’t stop himself.
“Good morning,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. Did she have any idea what she looked like, standing there in the doorway like a monument? “You’re still here.”
“I’m still here,” he agreed faintly. Smiling, she lifted her arm and pinched the skin on it lightly between the forefinger and thumb of her other hand. He blinked at the gesture.
“Pinching myself,” she explained. “You don’t have that expression, I guess.” She shook her head, murmured something in the other language, then glanced back up at him quickly. “I can’t believe you taught me another language in my dreams. I took Spanish for years at school and I can barely count to ten.”