Page 35 of Gods of Prey
11
Revel
Idrift between sleep and waking on the couch, the wine from earlier making my thoughts hazy. The apartment is quiet except for the soft patter of rain against the glass. Sienna is nowhere to be seen, which isn’t unusual after one of our arguments. I have no idea where she goes when she isn’t here, and the answer is probably something that would only make me angry. Still, I should go to my room, but moving feels like too much effort.
It’s in that liminal space between consciousness and dreams that I sense her presence. But something’s different about it. Instead of the usual chill that accompanies her spectral form, there’s warmth.
That’s my first indication that it’s not really her.
“Revel?”
I open my eyes, or think I do. She’s standing beside the couch. Not floating or flickering the way she usually does. Her feet are actually touching the floor. The moonlightstreaming through the windows illuminates her face, and she looks...solid.
“How are you here?” I ask in a daze, sitting up slowly.
She glances down at herself, seeming surprised. “I don’t know. I was trying to manifest more clearly, pushing harder than usual. I must have—” She stops, frowning at me. “How can I see you so clearly?”
“Me?” I’m confused, still caught between sleep and waking. This has to be a dream. She can’t manifest physically into the mortal realm.
She lifts her hands, glaring down at them in uncertainty. “I’ve never been able to enter someone’s dreams before.”
I reach out instinctively, expecting my hand to pass through her as it always does. Instead, my fingers brush against her arm and both of us freeze.
“I can feel you,” I whisper, staring at my palm against her skin. Her skin is warm and soft—nothing like the cold specter I’m used to having pass through me.
“That’s impossible,” she breathes, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she lifts her own hand, tentatively touching my face. Her fingertips trace my jawline, and I feel a shiver run through my bones.
“In dreams, impossible things happen,” I say, leaning into her touch.
Because they aren’t real.
But for the first time ever, I wish they were.
She moves closer, sitting on the edge of the couch beside me. “I’ve been trying so hard to manifest physically that I must have exhausted my barriers. But entering your dreams...I didn’t even know I could do that.”
I tilt my head, my gaze rolling from her head to her toes. This is all a figment of my imagination. Some coping mechanism my brain conjured up to process all the stress I’ve been under. A wayto compartmentalize the gnawing anxiety I feel over returning things to their rightful order while fighting her at every single turn.
I feel asleep thinking of her. All the horrible things she showed me that I want to make right. That’s why she’s here.
I’m sure of it.
I’m just surprised by how accurately I managed to manifest her appearance. From the freckles skittering across her cheeks to the subtle line that forms between her brows when she frowns.
“I’m not complaining,” I admit, openly studying her face in the moonlight. Without the ethereal glow of her spectral form or those imposing black wings, she looks more human. Vulnerable. “You’re beautiful like this.”
The compliment rolls off my tongue naturally. Of course, it would in the dream state. This is who I am at my core. It’s Sienna that draws out the worst in me. If this were real, I’d have that familiar sinking feeling in my stomach that’s always present whenever we get along. The inner sense that an argument is on the horizon, waiting to disrupt our temporary peace. She would scowl at me and make some snarky comment that would inevitably piss me off.
Instead, a blush spreads across her cheeks—something I’ve never seen her do before. “This is strange. Being able to touch things without moving right through them.” She reaches forward and brushes her fingers against the couch, smiling as the rough fabric scrapes against her skin.
“What does it feel like?” I ask, genuinely curious. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to have a conversation where I wasn’t tiptoeing around the other person, careful not to reveal too much or push too far. This break is a relief that I’m going to lean into, even if it is fake. “Being corporeal again?”
She considers this, her hand still resting against my cheek. “Heavy. Warm. Like I’m anchored to something instead of floating free.” She pauses, her eyes shyly flicking to mine through her lashes. “I didn’t expect this.”
“What?”
“You.” She looks at me directly then, those beautiful green eyes more serious. “I expected you to be more rigid when we came here. Insufferable, really. Cold and duty-bound like most of the divine court.”
I can’t help but smile. That certainly sounds more like Sienna. “And instead?”
