Casting Dreams
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Casting Dreams
J.L. Weil
Dark Magick Publishing, LLC
Casting Dreams © 2017 J.L. Weil
Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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Contents
Also by J.L. Weil
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by J.L. Weil
THE DIVISA SERIES
(Full series completed – Teen Paranormal Romance)
Losing Emma: A Divisa novella
Saving Angel
Hunting Angel
Breaking Emma: A Divisa novella
Chasing Angel
Loving Angel
Redeeming Angel
LUMINESCENCE TRILOGY
(Full series completed – Teen Paranormal Romance)
Luminescence
Amethyst Tears
Moondust
Darkmist – A Luminescence novella
RAVEN SERIES
(Full series completed – Teen Paranormal Romance)
White Raven
Black Crow
Soul Symmetry
NINE TAILS SERIES
(Teen Paranormal Romance)
First Shift
SINGLE NOVELS
Starbound
(Teen Paranormal Romance)
Dark Souls
(Runes KindleWorld Novella)
“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”
– Oscar Wilde
Prologue
In the shadows of the dream, a man moved through the gloom, toward the glowing light of home. The air was crackling with an icy wind, whistling through the trees. I shivered in my sleep, regardless that I was tucked under a quilt my Nan had made. Night had fallen fast, bringing in the fog. It blanketed the frosted-tipped blades of grass, creeping and crawling.
Too often in the fog, I heard my name—a beckoning for help. Pain etched his deep voice, but no matter what I did, I could never save him—the man with eyes the color of turquoise.
The darkness always won.
In a world of white and gray, too often I’d seen the dark.
But I refused to give up.
I was a white gypsy—a clairvoyant or a witch, some might say, but in the dream, I felt powerless. No matter the hours I spent pouring over ancient books or reciting incantations, searching for a spur of hope, I only found dread.
I didn’t know his name, only his fate.
A man I’d never met, but dreamed of night after night. As the years progressed, I found myself caring for him—desiring his touch—for he was a gorgeous man.
Hair as black as a moonless night flew around a face partially shielded by the mist. He had a strong face: sharp bones of haunting male beauty. There was something dark about him, a mark on his soul, implying he wasn’t always good.
But most off all, I longed to save him.
As always, the darkness would come—I could sense it already—and a chill skirted down my spine. The charms and crystals I placed under my pillow, clutched in my hands, could only do so much, and lately, they helped very little.
Something was coming.
Something was changing.
And I needed to be prepared.
I watched as the smoke swirled, and the flames leaped. A spin of fog. A dance of sparks.
My spirits sagged, and I turned restlessly in sleep, for I knew what would unfold next. An ache pulled inside me, twisting up with pain.
He was coming…the darkness. Bastard.
I opened my mouth to warn the aqua-eyed man, but he never heard my cry. Not once, but it never stopped me from trying.
The wolf stepped out of the darkness with amber eyes glowing, teeth flashing in a snarl, and evil in his grin. His howl echoed, filling the night with both demand and power.
The man was defenseless against the rogue wolf who stalked him from the shadows. No weapon. No warning.
His fate was waiting for him.
Magick trembled in the air, twirling into the star-strewn sky. Again the black wolf threw his head back and called. Bared fangs gleamed white in the moonlight. With powerful strides, the wolf shot down the path, tearing the fog to ribbons. I saw a human intelligence in the wolf’s glare.
Blood spilled, seeping into the cold, frozen ground, turning the frost a crimson red. His screams of pain echoed in my ears even after I woke, my pillow drenched in my own tears.
This was my curse.
Chapter One
There was a circle of stones where the ancient druids were said to have met. Locals whispered tales of sacrifice, rituals, and reincarnation of souls, and of course, dark curses.
The people of Kenmare valued Mother Nature. Tourists often came from all parts of the world to study the circle of stones, or to simply bask in the magickal glory of our shores, listening to the song of the wind and breathing in the tranquility of the land.
My ancestors had traveled all over the globe, but here, in the magickal part of Ireland, they dug in their roots.
The lore of Kenmare kept the tourists coming back—the sleepy town with a mystical connection.
It was the perfect place to forget the past. At least, that was what I’d tried to do.
I’d had the same dream since I was a little girl—a premonition, my Nan said. My gypsy blood gave me a bit of magick and the sight, allowing me to see things, of the future, of the past. Clairvoyance, but I called it a burden. It wasn’t always easy seeing what might happen, especially if it involved someone you loved.
Like the night my parents were killed.
For a week prior to the fire, I dreamed of smoke, flames, and the screams I didn’t know were my parents. The nightmares kept me up at night, crying for my mother. She would hold me close, humming an Irish tune and rocking me until sleep took me back und
er.
I could still smell her lavender perfume mixed with the scent of charred wood and melting plastic. I often wondered if I had known then of my gift, would I have been able to save them? The question would forever haunt me. It was a miracle I survived.
But sometimes, surviving was harder.
The sight was difficult to bear, but it was mine to shoulder.
Most visions were glimpses―a touch, and I might see a bride’s wedding day or a little girl’s first day of school. Each vision unique to the individual, and could have happened thirty years ago or tomorrow, which made the recurring dream unique.
There was something unnerving about dreaming of a man’s death over and over again. I was given this gift for a purpose. I just hadn’t figured out how I was going to save him, for I knew the time would come. The dreams were coming more frequently, and I could only assume the hands on the clock were ticking.
I didn’t mind my morning walk. It gave me time to think—to clear my cluttered mind. Today, the sky was cloudless, a beautiful blue. A brisk breeze whipped through my raven hair. There was a hint of sea in the air—no matter where you went, it was never far—and of freshly baked goods.
I passed a group of tourists who were chatting and enjoying breakfast under the early morning sun. Stopping into the bakery, I ordered my usual tea and croissant before heading into the shop.
Rounding the corner of the bakery with tea in one hand and croissant halfway to my mouth, I thought about my day ahead. Inventory. A tarot reading. The mounds of paperwork piling up on my desk. Owning a small business took work. It was safe to say my mind was preoccupied, and the reason I didn’t see him until we collided.
“Shit! Sorry,” I quickly apologized for my absentmindedness, trying to avoid spilling my tea on either of us. Just my luck. If this was how my day was going to go, I should have stayed in bed.
“Steady,” a deep voice said, in a tone that was more of an order than a suggestion. His hand shot out to catch me, and that was all it took. A simple touch, and the mist of a vision spun.
His lips pressed to mine, and every willing thought vanished. Lights swirled behind my eyes, and a gush of heat rippled inside me. His lips were gentler than I expected as he skimmed, nuzzled, and nipped at mine.
Countless times I’d wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped up in his arms, swept away by the passion of his kiss. The fantasies didn’t do it justice.
I swayed against him. Oh, yes. I wanted this. Wanted the man with the aqua eyes.
A whimper of pleasure left my lips as my hands circled the back of his neck. In a tangle of tongues, he took the kiss deeper, and it grew quick and heady. A barrage of sensations shuddered through my body.
I’d never talked to this man before. The dreams were always of him and the wolf. There’d never been any interaction with me personally. I’d been only an outsider looking down, until now.
The air shifted, bringing in the scent of change and chill of danger. He felt it as well, pulling back and burying his face in my throat. Teeth scraped against my skin in something almost savage, and I was about to urge his lips back to mine, when I heard the sound.
A howl. The man’s eyes locked with mine. “You’re not ready,” he whispered.
My head was spinning, pulse sporadic. No one had ever made me feel that way, so alive, so wanted, so desired. I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, but the vision had begun to fade, white smoke rising from the ground, engulfing us both. My fingers grasped his forearm, but it was too late.
When the fog cleared, I was staring into a shade of blue-green eyes. I blinked. Holy shit. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was still in the grasp of the vision. It was the man in the dream. I couldn’t breathe, my body still humming from his touch and the hypnotic feel of his lips. And now I was gaping at him in the flesh.
“Are you okay?” He was tall, and I felt the strength of his hand as he had yet to release me.
The sight of him smacked into me and robbed me of air and an intelligent response. “Hmm?” The smoke-edge to my voice had him lifting his head, and I found myself lost for several heartbeats in his vibrant eyes rimmed in amber. I hadn’t noticed that before. They were unusual and captivating.
Wow. He was even better looking in person, if that was possible. There was something dazzling about his face. I was most definitely not okay. If he was here, in Kenmare, that meant the time had come. Things were about to unravel, and his death was imminent. “What are you doing here?” I hadn’t meant the words to come so sharp, and I nearly winced.
His lips curved. “And to think, I was told the people here were friendly.”
I closed my eyes for a second, very nearly sighing like a teenager at the sight of the smile that reached his eyes. “Sorry, how about I start over? Mirela Rawlings.” I was grateful my hands were full—anything to avoid touching him again. It wasn’t just the visions I was evading, but also the tingles racing down my spine.
He leaned closer, and I discovered he smelled as cool as a sea under moonlight. “You’re the psychic.”
I winced this time, my unpainted lips thinning. “Did you come to Kenmare to have your palm read?”
He arched one sweeping dark brow. “Conner Delany.” His thumb stroked over my beating pulse.
Crap. He was still touching me. My pulse jumped, and I could feel my body being pulled to him.
Easing my arm out from under his hand, I took a sip of my tea, making the movement nonchalant and not as self-conscious as it was. Touching him was a no-no for the time being. To gain control of the visions, I needed to steady my emotions, become objective instead of involved. “What brings you to Kenmare, Conner Delany?” The man had a name, a nice one at that.
His smile was gone now. “Family.”
“Oh?” I knew almost all the locals in Kenmare, and the name Delany didn’t ring a bell. “Yours or your wife’s?” I wanted to hit my head on the nearest wall. Talk about obvious. I was fishing, but a little subtlety wouldn’t have hurt.
The corners of his lips twitched. I hadn’t fooled him. “My mother’s family. And I’m not married. There hasn’t been much time for love. Demanding job.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” I said, backpedaling as if the answer didn’t really matter. Smooth, Mirela. Way to make a first impression on your dream guy. “It’s just I didn’t recognize the name. In a town this size, even the great-grandchildren are not safe from the gossip mills.”
“Our roots are old. Very few would remember my ancestors.”
“So you’ve come to Kenmare to research your family tree?” My fingers drummed on the side of my cup as I watched him.
“Something like that,” he mumbled.
“Well, Conner Delany, I wish you well on your hunt, and if you change your mind about the palm reading, I’m at the shop on the corner.”
He took a step to the side, a hint of amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Good day to you, Mirela.”
I couldn’t believe I’d had my first real conversation with the man in the dream and kept my cool. Sort of. Someone give me an Oscar; that was my finest performance. As hard as it was to walk away, I put one foot in front of the other, my tea going cold in my hand. A part of me wanted to pull him aside and tell him to leave, that it wasn’t safe for him in Kenmare. I would sound like a lunatic, but I knew precisely where he would die, and it was a place I avoided.
The stone circle.
But it wasn’t always my right to intervene. By doing so, I could make things worse—change lives I had no business meddling in—but this wasn’t anyone. I’d dreamed of Conner Delany since coming to Kenmare as a six-year-old. Our destinies were intertwined. I didn’t need my crystal ball to tell me I was attracted to Conner. What I needed was time to figure out how to save his life. And time was the very thing that was our enemy.
My little shop stood neatly on the corner, nestled between a café and a boutique. A sign of aged wood hung above the curved glass, and the letters read:
The Dreamin
g Gypsy
Creative, I know. The dreams of Conner had inspired the name.
Pride swelled at the little life I’d carved out for myself, and all I’d overcome. I loved to surround myself with pretty things. Crystals hung in clusters from thin wires, tossing rainbows over the wood floors. Dainty little bottles filled with colorful liquids lined an antique bookshelf in one corner. Oils for aches, aromatherapy, soaps, and just about anything you could think of.
At the Dreaming Gypsy, we offered more than a palm reading or a flip of the tarot cards. It was an experience, the moment you stepped foot inside. I wanted people to feel welcomed. I wanted them to remember the shop and keep coming back.
From dried herbs to healing crystals and everything in between, I liked to believe there was something for everyone, even the wariest of souls.
Within an hour, the little shop was bustling with people poking about, many to buy trinkets, or to see how a gypsy ran a small business. I didn’t hide who I was. I embraced it, capitalizing on the gifts I was given. I did not mind the whisperings or the questions. The little town was filled with lore and magick. Why shouldn’t I indulge in their curiosity? It was good for business.
The day wore on, but Conner stayed in my head. I even tried to convince myself I’d been mistaken, that he was only a guy who resembled the man in my dreams.
That theory was blown to shit the moment I finished helping a customer who was looking for a bit more va-va-voom in the bedroom. Mr. O’Keefe was in for the night of his life.
It was then I spotted him: one look had me certain he was the very image of the man in my dreams, all six-foot-three inches of pure male. A frown pulled at his full lips as he shuffled through the table of tumbled stones, knocking a lock of sandy hair over one eye.