She stood completely still. He felt the tension vibrating in the angle of her spine and the set of her shoulders and it made him harder.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the right side, just below her ear. She gasped. Her skin felt warm and soft under his lips, like warm silk. He touched the sensitive spot with his tongue, painting heat over the nerve, and she leaned back slightly, looking for him in spite of herself. He wanted to crush her to him, to rip off her clothes, and lose himself in her soft body. It was a wild, uncontrollable need, simple and violent in its intensity. He wanted to pin her to the bed and run his tongue over the nipples of her breasts and then slide lower, over her stomach, down below. He wanted to hear her moan, to see her breathless, to watch her open her legs for him, and make her come like she never came before. He wanted to thrust into her and hear her scream his name, because she couldn’t get enough. He wanted her to love it, because he was doing it to her.

“Stop, Hugh,” she whispered.

He caught a tendril of her white hair into his fingers and kissed it. “Why?”

“What if this isn’t a dream? What if you’re awake?”

“And you’re cooking crepes Suzette in the middle of the night in a pretty apron?”

“What if I am? If we wake up in the morning in the same bed, what then?”

“I don’t know. Tell me.” He kissed her neck again, on the other side. She took a sharp breath and swallowed.

“We finally learned to work together. If you don’t stop…”

He bit her neck, pinching the skin between his teeth. Her voice broke. She shivered, and it almost pushed him over the edge.

“…if you don’t stop, we’ll go to war in the morning, because this isn’t you. Your body was straining so hard to repair all the damage, you glowed for hours. You’re exhausted and not in your right mind. You’ll regret this moment of weakness. You’ll make me pay for it.”

His lips traveled down to the bend of her neck. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. She wanted him. His whole body had gone hard, every muscle, every nerve screaming for her.

“I can’t afford the price. Stop, Hugh. Stop.”

The words finally penetrated. He could force her. It was a dream and he could do whatever he wanted to, but it wouldn’t be enough. He wanted more, something his subconscious refused to let him have even in his dreams. This was another nightmare. He just hadn’t realized it until now.

He rested his forehead against the back of her head. “Elara…”

“Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t say anything you’ll regret in the morning.”

His voice was a low snarl. “Sometimes when I lay awake in the middle of the night, I think of you.”

“Don’t…”

“Sometimes there is nothing left and all that’s anchoring me here is knowing you’ll pick a fight with me in the morning.”

“Hugh...”

“What do you want more than anything? Tell me what it is, and I’ll rip the world apart to bring it to you.”

She turned in his arms slowly and raised her hands. Her fingers touched his hair, brushing it back from his face. He savored it.

She stood on her toes and brushed his lips with hers. “Ask me again in the morning.”

“Now.”

“You have to go now, Hugh.”

The tightrope broke under him and he fell. “No.”

“Yes. We’ll talk about this again, in the morning. Please go to your bedroom.”

She pushed him. He could’ve stayed where he was. She didn’t have the strength to move him. But instead he moved for her. He walked to the doorway and stepped outside. She shut the door and he heard her sag against it on the other side.

There was nothing left but to go back to his room. That was the only way out of this twisted dream.

The void opened behind him. He stared into its burning depth, swore, and went to his bed.

Hugh opened his eyes. The morning light flooded his room. The windows stood open and a light breeze floated through his bedroom, bringing with it a hint of the first autumn chill.

His stomach growled. He sat up and saw Lamar in a Lazyboy chair, his glasses perched on his nose.

“Well, hello there, Sunshine,” Lamar told him.

Hugh looked at him.

“We missed you,” Lamar said.

“How long was I out?”

“Three days.”

That explained the hunger and the fucked-up dreams. “The shapeshifters?”

“Still here. Medrano wants to talk to you. Your wife has been holding the fort. I think she’s about to serve them breakfast.”

Hugh stood up. His limbs ached, and his insides felt raw and tender. Too much healing too quickly. There was a book lying on the table by the chair. Hugh picked it up. “Harry Potter?”

“Bale read it out loud to you. It’s his favorite.”

They had sat with him for three days, making sure he didn’t die. He would’ve done the same for them, but he never expected they would do it for him.

Hugh pulled on a pair of pants. “How’s the moat?”

“We’re done.”

There was two weeks’ worth of work left when he had gone under. “How?”

“Elara mobilized her people. They came out in droves to lay the concrete.”

The harpy had helped him. Huh.

“Do you want the best news? They have a family of stonemasons that speed-cured it. They do their thing and instead of 28 days, we get cured concrete as soon as they walk on it.” Lamar grinned. “There is one section left they didn’t get to, because the magic’s been down, but once it’s done, we’ll be ready to flood.”

“Lamar?”

“Yes.”

“Punch me.”

Lamar unfolded his hard frame from the chair and sank a punch into his gut. The pain pulsed through Hugh, a welcome shock to the system.

“What was that about?” Lamar asked.

“Making sure I’m awake.”

“You are,” Lamar said. “But don’t do that again. You let Medrano gut you like a fish. I watched you do it. You promised Stoyan, Bale, and Felix. You promised me. You can lie to those motherfuckers, but I’m going to hold you to your word. We need you. We’re not safe yet.”

“Get the hell out of my room,” Hugh growled.

Lamar grinned and headed for the door.

A stray thought hit him. “How long did you say the magic’s been down?” Hugh called.

“I didn’t. It crashed the evening after you stabilized, about ten hours after your fight with Medrano.”

Lamar kept moving.

If the magic had been down for most of the three days, Elara couldn’t have walked through his dreams.

Did he imagine the whole thing? It felt sharp and real, the same way it felt when she had first let herself into his head.

He had never seen her in the kitchen. He’d been in her bedroom when she patched him up, but he couldn’t see that side of the room from where he’d sat.

Ten minutes later, dressed and showered, he crossed the hallway and knocked on Elara’s door. No answer. He tried the door handle. It turned in his hand. Hugh walked in. The bedroom stood empty. He picked his way along the familiar route to the far wall and turned left. A kitchen nook greeted him. The same island, the same stove, the same fridge. He pulled the refrigerator door open, knowing what he would find inside.

A plate rested on the middle shelf, holding a stack of crepes.

Hugh stared at it.

It was real. He’d gotten up in the middle of the night, walked here, and told her all that stupid shit. She’d warned him, but he spilled it all out, like an idiot, giving her all the ammunition she would ever need. He stood there, like some starving dog, whining to be let inside. She’d practically had to shove him out of her room.

Pathetic.

It happened.

Everything would change now. They had a back and forth and he fucked it up. If he walked down there and saw pity on her face, it would kill him.

For a long moment he stood there, numb, until finally some cold emotion took hold of him. He puzzled over it and recognized it. He felt cold, crystalline anger. He let it wash over him, freezing every inconvenient emotion he had.