Page 25 of Demon of Dreams

“Cory. Cory, look at me. This is important.” The dean’s voice broke through my reverie. I looked at him, blinking slowly. Why did my brain feel like it was swimming through molasses?

“Even being sucked into another’s dream won’t be enough,” the dean continued. “There is an energy the incubus takes from the dreamer whose dream they enter. Energy that can only be created through purposeful interaction between the dreamer and the incubus. If you’re not in control of yourself in the dream, you can’t draw out the energy you need.”

His eyes bored into mine. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Your physical body may be perfectly healthy, but your soul will begin to starve. In a last-ditch attempt to save you, your soul will attempt to recreate the world of dreams in this world, to pull the people around you into waking dreams, but this will only drain you further. You’ll grow weaker and weaker, until you lose the ability to enter dreams at all. You’ll be a husk of your former self, and eventually, the spark inside you will go out.”

I sat with that for a moment, rolling his words around in my head. It sounded dire. Desperate. If he was telling the truth, anyway. But at the same time…

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad,” I said slowly.

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow. “You’d rather die than learn to control your powers? You’d rather die than become what you’re meant to be?”

“If controlling my powers means I’d be controlling other people, that doesn’t seem fair. I don’t want to make someone do something they don’t want.”

That kind of thing reminded me too much of my dad. My whole life had been about what he wanted, what he thought was right. He’d been controlling since I was a little kid, always pushing me to be someone I wasn’t.

I never wanted to be like him.

I wrapped my arms around myself. I was so tired, and all this information was overwhelming. Maybe it would be better to just give up. Let all of the stress and fear that had taken over my life drift away.

Dean Mansurtskedunder his breath. “I did not make myself clear. An incubus doesn’t control others.”

“Just because they’re asleep doesn’t mean it’s okay,” I said drowsily. “I don’t want to control any part of them.”

I started to sink lower in bed, but the dean’s hand shot out.

“Cory, I need you to stay focused.”

“I’m focused, I’m focused,” I grumbled, letting him pull me upright again. I rubbed the back of my neck. WhywasI so tired? A complete stranger was dumping life-changing information on me, and part of me was flabbergasted, but the rest of me could barely stay awake.

“Good. Because you need to understand this. What an incubus controls is themself, and their powers. Nothing else.”

“But you said—”

“I said you could learn to enter a dream purposefully. To manipulate it as needed. But not to control. An incubus can’t force a person to do something in a dream that they’re not interested in. It might be something they’d beunlikelyto do while awake, a fantasy they’d never admit to aloud. But in dreams, our barriers are fewer. It’s harder to lie to ourselves. Our desires make themselves known, and the incubus uses those desires, like seeds ready to sprout in the dreamer’s mind.”

Something sour filled my stomach.

“So it can’t—that is, an incubus can’t make someone—I mean, the dreams that I’ve been having—” I spluttered to a stop. This was an uncomfortable conversation for so many reasons, not least of which was that I had never talked about this kind of thing with anyone else. “These aren’t normal dreams that I’ve been having. And they’re with people who—I mean, are you sure I’m not making someone—”

“Gay?” Dean Mansur arched an eyebrow, and when I nodded, he laughed. It wasn’t a cruel laugh, but it made me squirm anyway. “No, an incubus can’t make someone gay, or bisexual, or straight, for that matter. An incubus can’t make someone participate in sex at all if they’re not at least somewhat interested in it, deep down.”

“Oh.”

As if he could read my mind, he spoke again. “The same is true for yourself, of course. The power inside you can only work with your innate desires. What has happened in your dreams may be something you’d be unlikely to do while awake, but it is something in which you are interested.”

My stomach sank. “So if I’ve been dreaming about men…”

“Then there’s a part of you that’s interested in them.” The dean studied me. “Gay and straight—those are only words, Cory. Arbitrary categories that humans create, redefine, discard, and create anew as their world changes. They’re concepts that are only meaningful so long as they serve a purpose. And your purpose goes far beyond navigating petty human concerns. I wouldn’t trouble myself too much over such words, if I were you.”

Easy for him to say. He was the dean of a fucking paranormal university. I was only just learning I wasn’t completely human.

I frowned. “Wait a second. These dreams I’ve been having. How do I know if they’re mine or someone else’s?”

His brows drew down. “Say more.”

This was excruciating. “I mean, if my innate desires are…a certain way. And I go to sleep and dream about—that is, if something happens that’s…moving in that same direction…then how do I—what I’m saying is, I mean—what I’m trying to—oh god, I can’t do this.”

I buried my face in my hands.

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