“I know a few Gregors, but there’s only one who’s called the bloody Dreamsnatcher.” His fist slammed down, snapping the armrest off. “This is what you consider acceptable standards of safety for my wife?”

“I’m not your wife.”

Bones swung a disbelieving look my way even as my hand flew to my mouth. Where in the hell did that come from?

“What did you just say?” Bones asked incredulously.

Stunned, I stammered.

“I-I meant…in my dreams, the one thing I can remember is this vampire telling me ‘he is not your husband.’ And I know he means you, Bones. So that’s what I meant.”

Bones looked like I’d just stabbed him, and Mencheres had that cool, hooded expression on his face. Giving nothing away.

“You know, it always seems that when things are going really well between us, you come along to fuck it all up!” I burst at Mencheres.

“You chose to come to Paris, of all places,” Mencheres replied.

“So what? Got something against the French?” I felt a surge of irrational anger toward him. Inside me, a scream built. Why can’t you just leave us alone!

Then I shook it off. What was wrong with me? Was I having a crazy case of PMS or something?

Mencheres rubbed his forehead. Those finely molded features were in profile as he looked away.

“Paris is a beautiful city. Enjoy it. See all the sights. But don’t go anywhere unaccompanied, and if you dream of Gregor again, Cat, do not let him lay hands on you. If you see him in your dreams, run away.”

“Um, no way are you going to get away with that vague, ‘have a nice day’ crap,” I said. “Who is Gregor, why am I dreaming about him, and why is he called the Dreamsnatcher?”

“More importantly, why has he surfaced now to seek her out?” Bones’s voice was cold as ice. “Gregor hasn’t been seen or heard from in over a decade. I thought he might be dead.”