From the shadows of the jungle tree line he watched her acclimate.
Her energy settled into a low, sensual simmer as her gaze darted over the setting: the pristine, powder beach, empty but for her, with its rushing waves and an ocean as full of stars as the sky above. She stared briefly at the way the water struck out into dreamspace and flowed like an infinity pool into nothingness. The sense of vastness was part of the experience—proof that this was indeed located beyond anything where physics dominated. Her mouth parted when she got a load of the volcano, lazily erupting ruby lava. No danger there. And then her gaze scraped across the beach and settled on him.
Beautiful woman in a dream? The body ache that rushed him was natural, blood chug-chugging south. He’d be rock hard in the real world, where he slept. Luckily, in dreams he had more control.
Similarly, a forced composure came over her—the one that had fooled him into thinking it was her true nature. Turned out she was something else entirely, all her electricity condensed into the form of a beautiful woman. Nevertheless, it was there, zapping just under the surface.
She’d spotted him effortlessly.
Coll would say he was losing his touch, the hunter caught. But Rook was intrigued. He hadn’t been surprised in a good way in so long.
Her eyes narrowed—angry?—and he tried not to laugh as she strode fluidly toward him in spite of her high heels digging into the sand, all the normal, subtle hitches smoothed from her stride by the dream.
“Where is everyone else?” Her voice had the Rêve’s bell clarity over the rush and hiss of the waves on the shore and the boom-boom-boom of the dance music from deep within the jungle.
This close, he could enjoy her wide-set eyes, silver in the moonlight, like light on water. Her face cut in smooth and delicate planes, accented by the tip of her nose and a lush, full mouth. God, her mouth. She was long-limbed, like a dancer, but her figure flared in all the right places.
Maybe he should’ve shaved, like Coll had suggested. She was too…graceful to go for him.
Didn’t matter anyway. Chimera had rules about fraternizing with marks, though the organization turned a blind eye where other agents were concerned. The dream medium was inherently sexual.
Point was, he couldn’t touch her, but it was good to feel human again.
“Well done, you.” He raised his hands and applauded, and he meant it. “That was a very fast entry. Really. Not everyone can do it, even those with experience.” For example, no Mr. Millions yet, which meant her natural aptitude was greater than Millions’s clearly amateur skills.
“The others?” she demanded.
She meant her sister, Wild Child. “The others are most likely pondering their doors, trying to remember where they lead or how a doorknob works. A few people always bug out at the last second, scared they’ll arrive naked or something.”
Her nostrils flared for a sec. “So we wait?”
“We could dance.” The beat of the music beckoned. “We could fly.” And then there were other activities. For example, he was very curious to discover what Big Sis could do here, would dare to do here, if she let go.
He needed to feel the awe of Rêve again, needed to remember what it was like to wonder—and she had the perfect combination of freshness and natural ability.
Would she share?
A shift in his senses, and he looked up, beyond Big Sis.
Another Envoi guest arrived on the beach, one of the experienced Revelers, a sad sack of a man with a worn look, stumbling into the moonlight. To enter the Rêve this quickly, he had to have a reasonable degree of both punch and skill. In the early days, someone might have recruited him. But not now; he was clearly an addict, living in dreams more than the real world, his life reduced to glimpses of fantasy.
Proof positive: the man’s appearance altered—his expression smoothed, shoulders loosened. Since Rêve was artificial, most people arrived in the clothing they wore when they were put to sleep—like Big Sis and her classic black dress. It took skill to consciously alter your appearance, and more to hold it for the duration. This sad sack guy gained some faux muscle, lost the paunch in his belly, and erased a decade from his face. Yeah, he had some control, but one look at his stressed pre-Rêve self, and it was clear that the dream controlled him right back.#p#分页标题#e#
Not that Rook could judge. Even here, in this cheesy predesigned place—
A mere thought, and the darkness in the trees suddenly gathered into a dense wave, a weight that threatened to smother him. Breathing became difficult; good thing he didn’t need oxygen here.His monster hadn’t taken long to find him, like a shadow tied to its master. It was always there, waiting for a moment of weakness.