Page 14 of Bonds of Magic (Vesperwood Academy: Incubus #3)

“No, it’s not. I know you’ve been struggling to influence the dreams yourself, but you still shouldn’t be in a situation where you don’t want to—”

“Maybe I’m not thrilled about what I fucking want,” he exploded.

“Maybe it’s that, okay? I know it must be nice for people who’ve grown up confident and loved, but some of us have baggage, and it’s not fun being forced to work through it every time I enter the dreamworld.

Maybe I don’t want to want the things I do. ”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting at all. And it wasn’t the kind of thing I knew how to fix either.

What would Seb say in this situation? I had no idea. Which was probably for the best—I couldn’t pretend to be someone else. I might wish anyone but me had this job, but Isaac had made it clear I had to do this. Worse, I agreed. But I wished things were different.

Which, I realized, was exactly what Cory was saying. So maybe I did understand, in a way.

Watching him like this, I had the strongest urge to cross to the couch and wrap him up in my arms. To press him close and feel his body against my chest. To tell him it was going to be okay.

Instead, I said, “I didn’t know all that.”

“Well, obviously.”

“I’m sorry you have your—baggage, did you call it?” I smiled wryly. “I know what it’s like to have that. I don’t know how to help you process it, but if someone ever made you feel—that is, you talked about growing up and—” I broke off. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay.” He laughed bitterly. “I didn’t expect you to. You seem pretty confident in that area. From what I remember of that night at the Balsam Inn.”

My body tensed, and my heart thumped loudly in my ears. I held myself very still as I tried to figure out how to respond. I’d thought we’d agreed not to talk about that night. Granted, I’d never said as much. But I thought he understood.

I felt like I was walking through landmines. I didn’t want to set him off, but I didn’t want to want that either. Once again, I was too close to what Cory was describing for comfort.

“There’s nothing wrong with who you’re attracted to,” I said after a moment. That seemed safe enough. General.

“Tell that to my dad,” he said with another humorless laugh.

His dad. Who was his dad? If we had the same biological father, then he must be referring to the man who’d raised him instead. Either way, he needed to know he was his own person. That he could resist.

“You’re eighteen. I don’t know what he told you, but you don’t have to listen to him. You’re an adult. And you’re here now. You don’t have to listen to anyone’s bigotry, and you certainly don’t have to believe it.”

“Easier said than done.” Cory sounded exhausted. “And it’s not just that. It’s—” He broke off, glanced at me, then shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“It’s what?” I was interested in spite of myself.

He sighed, and was quiet for a long time. “It’s not just who I’m into. It’s also… God, this is embarrassing. Why am I telling you this?”

I didn’t have a good answer for that, so I said nothing.

“It’s how I’m into who I’m into,” he said eventually. “I don’t like what it says about me.”

I thought I had a handle on the conversation, but it had slipped out of my grasp again.

“You’ve lost me.”

“That’s fine. Like I said, we don’t actually have to talk about this. I’d prefer not to.”

I searched his face for clues that he wanted to say more, but he just looked tired. So I nodded. “Alright. Your call. But if you need to—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He held up a hand to interrupt me. “Consider it said. I won’t put you through the indignity of having to pretend you care.”

Again, I wanted to object, but I said nothing. I waited until Cory lay back and closed his eyes. I was about to ask if he wanted me to talk him through falling asleep again when he spoke.

“The dreams. I see them all around me, when I’m asleep. Like little stars in an ocean. But if a dream is close to me when I’m asleep, does that mean that person is physically close to me, in the real world?”

Stars in an ocean. Interesting. That wasn’t what the dreamworld had looked like to me. I wanted to ask him more about that, to hear about another incubus’s experience.

I shook my head. I needed to concentrate on the matter at hand. “No,” I told him. “It shouldn’t have any effect.”

“But last time, I ended up in the dream of another Vesperwood student.”

My eyebrows shot up. I was grateful his eyes were closed. I didn’t want him to see my surprise, or the jealousy that flared inside me. I hoped that wouldn’t show on my face, but it was damn hard to be neutral around him.

“Chance,” I said when I was sure my voice would be even. “It could just as easily be someone in Australia.”

“How do I find a specific dream, then?” he asked, opening his eyes and rolling onto his side. “Professor Romero kept trying to get me to find someone specific, but I never could. It’s a huge sea down there, no directions. I could float for hours. For days, probably.”

“Was it a Vesperwood student you were looking for?”

Cory shook his head. “No. It was just some guy. From this scroll Romero had.”

His cheeks flushed when he said it. It was maddeningly attractive.

“But you knew his name? What he looked like? Where he lived and everything?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on me.

“You don’t find a dream, exactly,” I told him.

“You let the dream find you. If you go searching for it, you’re giving the dream the power to elude you.

The trick is to remember that you’re made of the same material that constructs the dreamworld, and the dreamworld exists always, whether or not a given human is asleep and in contact with it.

The more you know about a person in the real world, the easier it should be to find their dream.

And once you’ve done it for the first time, you should be able to find them every time after that with no trouble. ”

“Yeah, but you still haven’t explained how to find them, except to say that I can’t.” He frowned. “How do you know all of this, anyway? You’re telling me way more than Professor Romero ever did. I don’t get it. The dean was sure you could teach me, but you’re—”

“Just go to sleep,” I told him. I’d had enough of spilling my secrets for the night. “We’ll work on finding a specific dream another time.”

Cory huffed, but rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. I waited a few moments, then wondered if he was waiting for me to talk him into falling asleep again. I’d never asked.

I might as well do it. I’d been lucky, in a way, having someone to walk me through all of this when I’d come into my powers. The least I could do was pay it forward.

“Like we talked about before,” I said, “you’re made of dream stuff.

A part of you is human. That part of you is connected to the waking world.

That part of you is your anchor. But the other half—that part of you is always in contact with the dreamworld.

That part is always dreaming. All you have to do is get in touch with it. ”

I watched Cory fall asleep in stages as I talked.

First, the crease in his forehead disappeared.

Then, the tension around his eyes relaxed.

Next, his jaw slackened, his lips parting slightly.

His hands had been clasped over his waist, but they slowly unknotted, and his right arm fell to the side. He was under before I was done talking.

If watching him fall asleep was interesting, watching him be asleep was fascinating. With no one watching, I could admit that to myself. Cory always seemed so wary, ready to run or brace for a punch. He was gorgeous any time, but in sleep, his features were peaceful in a way I’d never seen before.

I wondered about that. From the sound of it, the kid’s parents—or his dad, at least—were homophobic. I’d been lucky. I’d discovered my bisexuality later in life, but I knew my mother would never have cared either way. She’d always made it clear she loved me no matter what.

My mouth pulled into a snarl as I imagined Cory’s dad spewing hate at him. I’d never had any use for bigots, and if his dad had played any role in turning Cory into the watchful, self-ashamed man he was today, I yearned for a chance to find the guy and beat him into a pulp.

“Stupid,” I muttered to myself. What would that help, now? The best thing I could do for Cory was to teach him all that I knew and then keep clear of him.

Was Cory feeling shame even now, in whatever dream he’d entered? It shouldn’t be possible to force him to do something he didn’t want to—not unless Argus had found him. But if Cory were conflicted over what he wanted, I could see the dreams being hard for him.

Before I knew I was doing it, I stood up and crossed to the other side of the room. I sat down on the edge of the sofa, watching Cory’s face for any minute changes, any sign that I was disturbing his sleep by being this close. But there was nothing.

At this distance, I could see his eyelashes flutter softly. His chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths. His wrists looked frail, sticking out of the oversized sweater he was wearing, and I wondered if he was cold. I hadn’t lit a fire tonight.

I took Cory’s right hand in my own to see if it felt warm, and was thrown into a vertigo so strong and so sudden, I almost passed out.

The whole room spun, and my stomach tried to eject itself from my body.

I closed my eyes against the whirling sensation, feeling sweat break out on my forehead.

Finally, the room stopped spinning, and I opened my eyes.

I was right where I expected to be, sitting on the edge of my couch. Cory was there too.

But a second Cory was standing in the middle of the room.

There were two of him. The one who was asleep, whose hand I was holding, and the misty, translucent one who was standing four feet from me, trailing his hand down another man’s chest.

I stared, a million feelings warring inside me. Shock. Desire. Jealousy. Guilt. But above all else—amazement. How was this even possible?

My stomach tightened as Cory’s hand reached the man’s belt buckle. His long, thin fingers made quick work of undoing it, and as his hand unzipped the man’s fly, he leaned in and pressed his face against the man’s neck.

He inhaled deeply, like he was trying to imprint the man’s scent in his mind, on his skin. His lips parted, pressing a kiss to the man’s collar bone, and when I blinked, I realized there were tears in my eyes.

I was watching the dream that Cory was in right now. I had no doubt. Even if what Cory was doing hadn’t given it away, I could tell because of the…flavor of it. The feel. The sound, even though it was soundless.

None of those words were right, but there wasn’t a good word in English to explain how I knew in my bones that I was seeing into the dreamworld, a world I could no longer reach myself.

Argus had cut that ability out of me seven years ago. Severed me from something I needed to live. But it was also something I’d loved. There was a sensuality to the dreamworld. The sex, sure. But the freedom, the creativity, the taste of it. I’d been dry for years, but I’d never lost my thirst.

I needed to let go of Cory’s hand. I knew that. This was his dream—his, and whoever that man was. I was peering into something that wasn’t my business.

But I was too stunned to do it. Too thrilled. It wasn’t the same as being able to dream myself, but being able to see it again, to be on the edge? It made me wonder how I’d lasted all these years with nothing but Isaac’s trances. It made me feel how much of a husk I’d become.

As I watched, the other man pushed Cory back against something I couldn’t see. Slowly, Cory sank to his knees.

God, I was hard. Throbbing. My left hand twitched towards my own fly, but I stopped myself. That was a line I couldn’t cross.

I forced myself to look away. Watching this wasn’t right. But I couldn’t bring myself to drop Cory’s hand either. I wanted that connection so badly, even if I couldn’t let myself look at it.

It took longer than I expected for the soft, translucent movements in the corner of my eye to disappear. The dream had lasted a while. Did that mean Cory had liked it? What had he and that man done together? I cursed myself for not watching, and cursed myself for wanting to.

Cory’s skin was warm. I hadn’t noticed that until now. I looked down at him in awe. I was scared to breathe, scared that the tiniest movement would break the spell I was under. Would make it clear that the vision I’d seen was in my imagination and nothing more.

So I was still staring when Cory woke up.

He blinked his eyes drowsily, looking up at me with curiosity. He held my gaze for a moment, then suddenly looked down at our clasped hands. I let go, but not soon enough.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

A thousand excuses sprang to my lips. Deny. Distract. Derail. Anything to not have to talk about how my body hummed when it was next to his.

I opened my mouth to tell him off, and instead said, “I saw you. In your dream.”

His eyes went wide, and he scrambled up so he was sitting. “What? How?”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t be able to. It’s been years. I shouldn’t have access to that anymore.”

Cory pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “Anymore? Noah, what are you talking about?”

I drank in his face. He was so close, I could have leaned in and kissed him with ease. Could have placed my lips on his neck, felt the beat of his pulse with my tongue.

I ached. For Cory, and for the dreams I’d thought were lost forever. I’d gotten the smallest taste of what I’d been missing, and I wanted to howl. How had I lived with its absence all these years?

“Noah, what do you mean, ‘ anymore ?’” Cory’s voice was more commanding than I’d ever heard it. “I thought only incubi could enter people’s dreams. But you’re—” He broke off. Cocked his head to the side. Narrowed his eyes. “Are you one?”

“No.” I dragged the words from my chest, not wanting to speak, not able to stop. “But I used to be. I lost my connection to the dreamworld seven years ago. And you just brought it back.”