"Out!" he roared again, waving the dagger as if it were some sort of magic wand that could banish her and her mess, and take him into comforting wakefulness in his favorite chair three rooms away, all at once.

She was now arching and shaking in agony, her sobs as faint and strangled as the mewings of a kitten, but those long, trembling fingers were… were reaching out to clutch him around the ankles!

Rod jerked back. Too late. Her grip was surprisingly strong, and he had to slam his hand down onto the bed, dagger and all, to keep from falling. His knuckles burned, and with a snarl he bent over and grabbed at her shoulders, trying to pluck her away-

Pain. Sharp, stabbing… Finger sliced open on jagged metal. He'd cut himself on her effing armor!

Rod Everlar flung up his hand and stared at the blood and the throbbing wound.

Oh, Jesus Christ. I am awake.

He swayed, shaking his hand as if he could wave his cut away, and shaking his head even harder. This couldn't be happening; this wasn't happening! Dreams just didn't become real like this.

And then the woman at his feet clawed at his leg and curled her shoulder up against him. He flinched away from the sharpness of her torn armor, reeling and almost falling.

And then he was falling, hands waving wildly. Flashlight gone, dagger bouncing onto the bed, sitting down helplessly hard against it as blazing emerald eyes and desperate fingers clutched at him like talons… Her breath was warm and smelled spicy, almost like cinnamon, as her softness glided up his own hairy skin. Rod fumbled to get his feet under himself, to be able to-and then stiffened. Warm, wet lips were sucking at his injured hand!

He tried to yank it away, but her cool, trembling fingers were surprisingly strong as she held him, and where her mouth and tongue touched, there was… icy relief. Pain ebbing swiftly.