Felix gave her a smile and kicked off his shoes, then headed toward her bathroom, jeans riding low on his hips. He had another tattoo on his back between his shoulder blades, an elaborate scrolling word, but in the dimness of the room she couldn’t make out what it said. Climbing onto her bed, she tossed the two chocolates she had been debating eating before falling asleep off the bed onto the carnage of the original box.
He hadn’t just thrown the chocolates on the floor, he had clearly stepped on them too, crushing both box and candy alike. She had no idea what the hell that had been all about. He couldn’t possibly be jealous of her ex-husband. Beau was just that, her ex, and she and Felix had never even so much as kissed before tonight. It was way too premature to think that she could inspire jealousy in him. Yet he had trashed the sweets, no doubt about it.
Whatever. She didn’t need the calories glomming onto her backside anyway. Not to mention that accepting any gift from Beau gave her a knot in her stomach, no matter how inexpensive, innocuous, or mouthwatering it might be. It was a connection to him, and frankly, she wanted to sever all of those.
Regan crawled under the covers and sighed in contentment, the sheets cool on her hot body. It was completely bizarre that she didn’t remember what she’d been dreaming about or getting out of bed and drinking the wine. Going outside had been so dangerous, and she hoped the sleep-walking was a onetime incident. But at the moment, she refused to stress about it. She had a hot man in her bathroom who was planning to have sex with her again pronto. She could worry about her new nocturnal habits later.
Lying there, head sinking into her pillow, she debated turning the lamp on or not. It would be nice to see him better, and the bulb was soft and filtered by the shade. She had no desire to expose herself under harsh overhead lights, but a little bit of light on the subject—namely him—would be nice. Leaning over, she turned the knob and winced when the sudden brightness hit her in the eye. She flopped onto her side, away from the light, to let her eyes recover.
And screamed.
There was a snake in the bed with her. Right next to her, brown and big and scaly and staring at her with its little black beady eyes. It moved, its body gliding up toward the pillow next to hers, its head turning to watch her, like it was tracking her, and Regan’s scream froze in her mouth.
She was terrified of snakes and, as such, had never been able to look at them long enough, even in pictures, to learn which were poisonous and which were safe. But it didn’t matter. Venomous or not, she felt with absolute certainty that she was going to die, either from an actual bite or from pure, lacerating fear.
“Regan, what’s wrong?” Felix came up next to the bed in his boxers, frowning. “Are you okay?”
The snake was between them, turning toward the new movement Felix had made.
“A snake. There’s a snake in the bed,” she managed, still unable to move, afraid if she did it would turn and strike.
“A snake?” Felix leaned over the bed, right over the reptile itself, and yanked all the covers back. “Where?”
“Right there!” She pointed to the snake, which was inches from his chest. “Felix, move!”
My God, was he blind?
“Regan.” Felix looked at her in concern, having tossed all the bedding onto the floor after shaking it vigorously, all while the snake lay exposed right on the sheets in front of him. “There’s nothing in this bed.”
The snake shot upward, its mouth striking and landing a bite on Felix’s arm. Regan screamed again, propelled into movement. Scrambling backward off the bed, she tumbled to the floor, wondering how you killed a snake. After struggling to her feet, she was glancing around for a weapon and her cell phone to call 911, when she suddenly realized Felix wasn’t writhing in pain or battling to knock a snake off of him.
He was just standing there staring at her, puzzled, no signs of pain.
And no signs of a snake. In the bed or anywhere else.
Regan stopped at the bottom of the bed and burst into tears. What was happening to her? She was going absolutely crazy.
Felix moved toward her. “Regan, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not!” She covered her bare chest with her arms. “I saw a snake in bed. I saw it bite you. And it’s not there! I’ve lost my mind.”
“Didn’t you tell me snakes are your greatest fear?”
“Yes.”
Felix reached for her and she winced.
“Hey. You aren’t afraid of me, are you?”
No, she definitely wasn’t afraid of him. If anything, she was fighting the urge to throw herself into his arms for a little bit of support from those firm shoulders. Which was interesting because it wasn’t like he was a comforting sort of man. There was an edge, a reserve, a coldness to a lot of his words. Then other times, it seemed like he just looked at her and there was a connection ... an understanding. An acceptance of her.
Tonight, he had been there for her, when she had been tottering on the balcony, and when she had needed to be touched.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m not afraid of you.” What she was afraid of was that she was losing her grip on reality, the solidness of her mind suddenly melting down into a mass of jumbled nonsense. She was afraid she was imagining everything. That there were no ghosts, that it was all her, suddenly breaking out in a rash of insanity.
“We don’t know exactly what happened when you were asleep, but it’s clear to me that you tried to do a courage spell, which means swallowing your fears. I think that given your state of semiconsciousness, what you did was simply to manifest your fears. You created a snake in the bed.”
Regan turned that one over and over in her head. It sounded strange and out there, and yet oddly reassuring. “So you think that by trying to conquer my fears, I just conjured them instead?”
“Exactly.” Felix wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his bare chest.
“But why am I doing these things asleep? It would have never occurred to me to do any sort of spell, let alone one to dispel my fears. I don’t know any spells, Felix.” Her hands were crunched between her chest and his, yet she had no desire to drop them, to open herself fully to him. She needed a shield, however imaginary, between them for protection.
She wanted to give in, to let him hold her, but somehow that would be giving up control, admitting that she was tottering on the edge of some kind of mental breakdown.
“Those who are dead are never gone,” he said calmly in her ear, his fingers caressing her back lightly.