With that, she took him, her decomposing body encompassing his, fisting his flesh in a cold, scratching grip.

The only thing that moved on him, apart from her, was his tears. They ran down his cheeks and onto his throat, getting absorbed by the collar of his shirt. Caged under her, taken against his will, he tried to scream, tried to get a—

“Vin! Vin—wake up!”

His eyes flashed open. Devina was right in front of him, her beautiful face drawn in panicked lines, her elegant hands reaching out to him.

“No!” he hollered. Yanking her out of the way, he lunged to his feet and overshot his mark, falling face-first into the carpet, landing as his glass did with a hard bounce.

“Vin…?”

He jacked himself onto his back and brought his hands up to fight her off—

Except she wasn’t coming after him anymore. Devina was sprawled on the couch where he had been, her glossy hair on the cushions he’d been leaning against, her perfect pale skin set off by an ivory satin nightgown. Her eyes were as his had been, wide, terrified, confused.

As he panted, he clutched his pounding chest and tried to decipher what was real.

“Your face,” she said eventually. “God…your shirt. What happened?”

Who was she? he asked himself. The dream or…what he saw now?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered, covering the base of her throat with her hand.

Vin glanced down at his fly. It was closed and his belt was done up, his cock soft in his boxer briefs. Glancing around the room, he found everything was as it always appeared, in perfect, luxurious order, the flames from the fire setting the scene off to gorgeous effect.

“Shit…” he groaned.

Devina sat up slowly, like she was afraid of spooking him again. Staring down at the liquor bottle on the floor next to the couch, she said, “You’re drunk.”

True enough. Dead drunk. To the point where he wasn’t sure he could stand…to the point where he could start to hallucinate…to the point that maybe none of that had just happened. Which would be a blessing.

Yeah, the idea that it was all nothing but a bourbon-fueled nightmare calmed him more than any amount of deep breathing.

With a surge, he went to stand up, but his balance was shot, so he lurched around and slammed into the wall.

“Here, let me help you.”

He held up his hand to stop her. “No, stay…” Away. “I’m all right. I’m cool.”

Vin collected himself and, when he’d steadied out, he searched her face. All he saw was love and concern and confusion. Hurt, too. She appeared to be nothing other than a spectacularly attractive woman who cared about the man she was looking at.

“I’m going to go to bed,” he said.