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I saw him in my dreams again.
I stirred awake as the early morning sunlight shone through the expansive windows of my personal library, flooding the room in a heavenly glow. Rays of soft light caressed the intricately carved floor-to-ceiling wood bookcases, and I stretched on the plush couch, it’s length and width large enough for my great bear shifter frame. The couch, like the rest of my artfully detailed furniture, had been designed specifically for me by the royal carpenter. I marveled at its beauty every day, awed that someone could create such exquisite art with their hands.
Speaking of exquisite…
For the third time this week, I dreamt of my mysterious stranger. A smile slipped onto my face at the thought of him, his warmth and kindness. The love that flowed from him left me speechless every time I held him in my arms. I groaned again, rolling onto my back to stare at the ceiling. Why was this happening to me? For months now I’d had the most amazing dreams. Problem was, I had no idea who the guy in my dream was. I didn’t even know if he was a shifter. For some reason, when I woke, I couldn’t remember what he looked like—as if his identity was being kept from me, and I couldn’t…