Page 5 of Demon Kissed
There’s this one recurring dream in particular that I really hope hits me.
It involves a guy. Like all the best dreams do.
And he and I stretch out on the ground in the middle of this meadow, but it’s not a meadow of flowers—it’s a meadow made of clouds. It’s crazy, I know, but when I dream about the cloud meadow, I feel like I’ve fallen into the spot where God, or whoever, grows the clouds for Earth.
It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.
The base is this big fluffy cumulonimbus cloud that’s even softer and better than memory foam when you walk on it. All around, tiny clouds spring up and sway in the wind as if they are tiny plants, or balloons on strings tethered to this one huge cloud while they grow.
There are wispy pink baby clouds that look like they belong at dawn on a spring morning. Small but robust blue-grey thunderheads, that reach no higher than mid-calf, sparkle with itty bitty lightning bolts. Yellow clouds grow in tufts and look as poisonous and gloomy in miniature form as they do right before a tornado. My favorites are the soft white clouds that grow in bunches, because my dream self can touch them and reshape them with a thought. I’ve probably made a million cloud roses in my sleep.
But even better than all of that, ishim.
Sometimes, when I walk through the cloud meadow, I find Ziel. He’s this shadowy figment of my imagination, my brain’s conception of the perfect guy, I think. He’s so indescribably handsome…and I meanindescribably. When I dream about him, as soon as I see him, my stomach flutters and the tips of my fingers tingle. His presence and even the very idea of him makes my nervous, nerdy self so giddy that when I get up after dreaming about him, my cheeks are flushed and I can’t stop smiling.
Thank God he’s not real. Otherwise, I would have completely humiliated myself in front of him. Just like with William.
But oh, the power and pleasure of dreams is that I can do whatever I want.Bewhoever I want.
Just like he can. In my dreams, Ziel changes his appearance all the time. He’ll have blue eyes for five minutes, and then they’ll shift to green. Some nights, his hair will be long and raven-black, and other nights, it will be short and blond. I can always tell it’s him because of the gladiator-style armor he wears, complete with a red cape like my own personal Thor or Superman.
Apparently, my dream self has a thing for superheroes. But why not? Why shouldn’t I? Dreams give us the freedom we don’t have in life. To be brave and better and justmorethan we actually are. So…superhero hot guy it is. And brave Kat too.
It took me forever to realize that I could be different—it only happened like six months ago—but once I did, instead of just watching him from afar, I marched right over like the cool, sophisticated girl I am not and said hi. I even pulled off a perfect hair flip to go with it.
“I’m Katrina.” I’d smiled up at him.
“Ziel.” His voice had been this perfect gruff scratch that made me want to rub my thighs together.Thatpart I can remember. I’m pretty sure my brain modeled him after Henry Cavill’s voice, but now that I’ve spoken with him in my head so many times, even a hot celebrity doesn’t compare. Dream guys do it better.
Of course, since Ziel is a figment of my imagination, he’d had the perfect reaction during our first meeting.
He’d given me a smile that had set off a rocket ship inside my head—I’d been left with dazed smoke clouding my thoughts, awe, and utter fist-pumping, nerd-jumping joy.
And then, like a gentleman, Ziel had invited me to join his picnic. We’d sat down on the cloud—blankets are redundant in a cloud meadow—and shared a glass of wine and some grapes as we talked about life.
The first dream, I’d made everything about myself up. I’d told him my life as if I was stupid Janie St. James. But mid-story, he’d turned to me and growled, “I hate perfect.”
I’ve only ever told him the truth since. Every truth. Every worry, every hurt—Ziel gets everything.
In return, he’s told me stories that make me laugh and cry, stories so unbelievable and fantastic that I always promise myself I’ll write them down when I wake up. But the details always slide through my fingers like sand. Which sucks. Try having your dream self be this amazing fantasy writer and then waking up normal.
Boo.
Tonight, Ziel is waiting for me in the cloud meadow, and I squeal with excitement as I run toward him. I wrap him up in a hug that’s just as aggressive as the one Adam gave me earlier.
“Whoa, someone’s happy! Good day?” he asks.
“The worst,” I sigh, inhaling his scent, which is always just like a campfire. I pull back from our hug and smile up at his grin. “I’m just happy to see you. You haven’t been here the last few nights.” Because my stupid brain sometimes doesn’t let me have what I want, even in dreams.
Ziel pulls back and gestures toward the clouds, where our usual chilled white wine and red grapes await.
I sit on the cloud, tucking the skirt of my flowy white dress around my legs. My dream self is always in the height of fashion. Or has learned that she damned well better be since I started having Ziel dreams.
Ziel sits down near me and plucks a grape out of the bowl. He feeds it to me, like he always does, his thick fingers pressing the fruit to my lips, then slowly dragging over my bottom lip after I’ve taken the grape.
It’s the only intimate thing he ever does. I don’t have any idea why my subconscious would give me such a hot guy, one who actually listens, and then turn me into a damn prude…but she does. My subconscious is quite possibly ruled by a demon.
All the same, I live for the burn in Ziel’s gaze when he tells me, “Eat. Then tell me everything that went wrong.”
