Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 139662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 698(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 698(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
I’m grinning as I return to my own room and drop the hair and the knife on the bedside table with a thunk. When I spot my body in the bed, the dream blinks in and out of existence. In my body again, I roll over and burrow a little deeper under my blankets. In the next moment, I’m disconnected again, watching myself from the foot of my bed, where I smile into the night and stretch my arms overhead.
It feels good to be free of my own skin. Feels good to be alive and know Finn is so close. Because he’s the one I want. In the dark of this dream, with nothing but my shadow for my body, he’s all I want.
I slink through the darkness to his makeshift bed by the window. He’s beautiful, sleeping on his back, with one hand behind his head and the other resting on his bare chest. I study the planes of his face in the darkness. It feels so natural—so good and wicked and delightful—to straddle his waist and lower myself onto him.
He feels perfect under me. Warm. Solid. Strong. He likes it too. He releases a contented groan, not opening his eyes. Hot and solid and powerful even in his sleep.
I take the hand from his chest and place it on my stomach, watching with rapt attention as his eyes flutter open.
“Abriella?” He sounds confused, as if he doesn’t expect me to be here—as if there’s anywhere else I’d want to be. Pulling his hand from behind his head, he blinks up at me, then rubs his eyes. “What is this?”
“I . . . want,” I say, shifting, sliding down his body until my thighs are cradling his hips. I can feel him through the sheet, hard and thick against me.
With a curse, he draws in a ragged breath. “Do you know what you’re doing right now?” he asks.
“I’m taking what I want,” I whisper, and I rock my hips to show him exactly what I mean. “And giving what you want.”
Finn’s neck arches as he groans, his hips lifting off the floor and seeking more. Seeking me. “Brie,” he breathes.
I graze my shadow fingers over his bare chest, over his navel, and along the soft line of hair that disappears beneath the sheet.
“Gods above and below,” he breathes. “Is this even real?”
“Does that matter?” I purr.
Suddenly he sits up, and I grin in delight at the heat of him coming so close. His gaze darts to the bed, then back to me. “What is this?”
“Don’t worry about her.” I’m annoyed. I want his focus. His whole attention on me, not that girl in the bed.
He shoves at my shoulder, but his hands go right through me, and I chuckle. “I just want to have some fun, Finn.”
He scrambles away from me and stands, backing toward the window. He’s wearing fitted black shorts and nothing else, but there’s fear in his eyes as he shifts his gaze between me and the bed. “What are you?”
Reluctantly, I follow his gaze, and my body jerks. Like I’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water, I jerk upright in bed and look around.
“Brie.” Finn stares at me, breathing heavily, mouth ajar. “Are you okay?”
I glance at the foot of the bed, where I was just standing, where I was just . . . there’s nothing there. But then I catch sight of the bedside table—and the locks of luscious brown hair I dreamed of cutting from Juliana’s head.
Chapter Eighteen
The confusion in Finn’s eyes mirrors my own.
“What was that?” he asks.
My heart is racing, but my body . . . my body is tingling as if I really was just straddling Finn and not sleeping in this bed, under these blankets. “I was dreaming. I was . . .”
Finn is breathing hard, and his gaze shifts back and forth between me and the mess of blankets on the floor where we were just . . . “I’ve never seen you do that before. I’ve never . . .” He curses under his breath and shakes his head. “Tell me that was you.”
It wasn’t me. I was in this bed. I was sleeping. But . . . I look Finn in the eye. “I thought I was dreaming.”
He stares at me for a minute; then all at once that spooked, worried expression falls away and his mouth twists into a lopsided grin. “You thought you were dreaming? What else do we do in your dreams, Princess?”
I grab a pillow and throw it at him.
Dodging, he chuckles before his face goes serious again. “How long have you been able to do that? How often does this happen?”
“Never before. I—” Memories come at me in gruesome flashes. The orcs around the fire. The bloody knife. The way their guts oozed when I cut them open. “I don’t remember.”