Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(72)

“It’s my own fault,” she said softly. “I should have known better. You were having the mother of all nightmares, and yelling my name, and I, um . . . tried to grab you. To wake you up. Big mistake.”

He cringed. “Oh, God, Lily. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK, really,” she assured him. “I’m not—”

“I could have f*cking killed you!” he roared. “Do you realize that? How close you came?”

She shrank back. “You didn’t,” she said. “So chill. No harm done.”

“No harm done?” His voice cracked. “You’ve got a f*cking broken nose, and you have the nerve to say no harm done?”

She palpated her nose. “Not broken. Just, you know. Bumped.”

“By my fist? That’s not a bump! I slugged you, goddamnit!”

“Well, and so? You’re not helping matters by yelling at me. You were dreaming. It’s not your fault. Get the f*ck over it.”

Her attitude was so calm in the face of all the apocalyptic doom he was feeling. It had a weird effect on him. Like a knot, slipping loose.

He fell into pieces. Shaking with silent sobs. He dropped his face into his hands, mortified. Lily grabbed him, but he flinched away, flinging her arms off. “Don’t touch me!”

“No way!” she yelled back. “You can’t do that to me! You can’t push me away! I won’t let you! Not anymore!”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt!” he bellowed.

She grabbed him again, and what could he do? Slug her again?

Aw, f*ck it. Let her hug him if she wanted to risk it. It was her skin. He kept his face covered and just endured the silent, racking sobs. He couldn’t make any sound. Pressure in his throat kept building. His voice box was imploding. A burning, crushing ache. He didn’t even try to stop crying. He knew when he was pounded.

After a while, the weight of her arm across his shuddering back came into focus. Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder. Drops of moisture tickled, cold against his back. She was crying, too. Did not help. Not that he had any right to complain, after scaring her, popping her in the nose. Letting her watch his nervous breakdown up close.

Lily went into the bathroom, came out again a moment later. The bed sagged as she sat again, her warm body pressed against his. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. She shoved tissues into his hand. He mopped up the snot, keeping his face averted. He felt like a helpless kid again, on those nights when he lled into a ball and put a pillow over his head, when Rudy and Mamma were having at it.

She threaded her cold fingers through his. “Will you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” He was channeling his sullen, truculent Uncle Tony again. Hardwired to act like a butthead when he was stressed.

Lily was unfazed. “The nightmare.”

He shook his head, but she tugged his hand. “Tell me.”

A shudder rippled down his spine. “It’s old,” he muttered. “Had it since I was a kid. When I was thirteen, Kev put a spell on me. Talked me into a trance every night. They finally eased off.” He tried to swallow. A diamond-hard lump lacerated his throat. “Now they’re back.”

“What’s the dream about?”

He shrugged. “Fighting. I’m in a white virtual space, like a video game. Monsters come at me. And I fight them.”

She harrumphed. “Scary.”

“Oh, yeah.” The words exploded out of him. “Because it’s not like other nightmares. I wake up feeling . . .” He trailed off. It was too weird.

“Like what?” she prodded. “Come on, Bruno.”

“Like it’s real,” he concluded, feeling ashamed. “I mean, physically real. Like I’d really been fighting. Pulled muscles, sweat, bruising. Sprains, even. Maybe because I hit stuff while I flop around. I end up on the floor sometimes, like now. I don’t f*cking know.”

“Wow,” she murmured. “What kind of monsters?”

“My mom’s boyfriend. The one who murdered her.”

Her soft cheek pressed his shoulder. “That’s so horrible.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said. “But he was not what particularly sucked about tonight’s dream, believe it or not.”

She nudged him after a few moments. “So? What was, then?”

“You,” he said. “You were there. Everybody in costume. Medieval armor, like a goddamn Arthurian pageant. You wore a fancy white gown. You were bound to a stake. And they held me down while Rudy . . .” His throat closed up. “He stuck a burning branch into the wood.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” she said. “That was the moment when I tried to wake you up, right?”

“Yeah.” He waited for more. She just hugged him. “So, uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “I gather you are not as freaked out by this as I am.”

“My threshold for freak-outs has gotten higher lately,” Lily said. “I can only be scared of so much at one time, and I’m sorry, but your dream just don’t make the cut.”

“Oh,” he muttered, vaguely embarrassed. “Gee.”

“Don’t take it personally,” she urged. “It’s, like, a triage thing. I just don’t have the juice. I know it must be really awful for you.”