Page 6 of Lost in the Dark

Somni pod? Program? “What are you talking about?”

He tilts his head in an oddly animal way. “Did you not come to Somni of your own volition? Did you not wish to find answers?”

My belly clenches as a familiar longing pulls at my heart. “Yes. I was trying to go to sleep. But I never went to sleep?” For some reason, I look to him for confirmation. He doesn’t answer me, simply glancing behind me to the bed and back to me.

The bed. This wasn’t here before. I fell asleep inside one of those pods. Artemisia said I would sleep and then be able to dream.

Remember. You are in control of your dreams.

Is that what this is? Why I’ve been feeling like I’m going insane? Is this the dream program Artemisia talked about?

And if so, have they been monitoring me this entire time?

My gaze slides to the wall-length viewing screen. Instead of the voracious sex show, the display is a boring wall once more. I let out a relieved breath.

At least that’s no longer front and center.

I look down at my arm. The three scratches prominent against my tan skin. I still don’t remember how I got this mark, but I know that I was scared. It’s because of that dream that I sought help.

Is this the way to get it? A metaphoricalheal thyselfscenario?

I control my dreams. Isn’t that what the brochure promised? If that’s the case, and if this is my dream, then I should be able to heal it…right?

As soon as I think it, the scars fade and my skin is whole once more.

“I’m sorry you were hurt, Mahal. I should have been quicker.”

My head whips up. I forgot that Vox is still in the room. “So we have met before? Is that why you know my name? Why you’re here now?”

His face turns into another blank mask. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Look, I’m tiring of these bullshit answers. If you can’t answer my questions directly, then you’re no help to me and no longer welcome.”

He reacts as if I had just slapped him across the face. “Please. I want to tell you. I can’t. You have no reason to trust me, but believe me when I say it’s better for you to remain ignorant for now and allow for the neural processors to ease your transition. I hear they’re almost done. You’re an exceptional fast healer.”

The pride in his voice is obvious, but his act just confuses me even more.

Neural processors? “I don’t remember hearing about neural processors as part of Somni’s tour.”

“Trust me. If I say any more, your mind might not handle it. I won’t risk a fracture.”

“I’ve barely slept in three days because I’ve been too afraid to sleep. Nothing you say can make what I’ve been living through any worse. For all you know, maybe telling me would actually help me.”

That seems to get through to him. A thoughtful look replaces the stricken one from moments earlier. “There’s an easier way. I can show you.”

He looks at me expectantly. “Okay,” I say. It’s the right answer because a grin breaks across his face.

“Okay.”

A rush of blue light crackles over his body and the perfectly sculpted form burns away. In its place is a churning mass of boiling night until a too-familiar figure looms over me.

Sleek, black horns curl upward, nearly grazing the ceiling. My palms itch to feel them.

His face is broad and distinctly male. It could have been chiseled from granite by a master sculptor. His heavy brow rests atop large eyes that are fringed with dark lashes. Their length and volume annoy me, as if they exist solely to mock me. I bet he doesn’t have to invest in serums to keep his lashes so fringe-y and full like that. His cheekbones slash upward toward his temple.

He is beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful—wild and terrible.

He sweeps his golden-eyed gaze over my body, taking me in as I do him. Unlike me, he doesn’t hide his expressions behind a cold mask. A small smile plays on his lips, softening the hard planes of his face. He maintains his distance.

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