“I’ve been suffering from a reoccurring dream of sorts. It used to be once a month, but lately it has progressed to several times a week. At least in the last four years.”
She wanted to tell her that since she had turned twenty her dreams had become more vivid. But that was sorta top secret, because Chantelle thought it all had something to do with her upcoming Emergence. That it really was possible she was dreaming of her Fatum Anima, though she wouldn’t cop to it out loud. There was no way she could tell the doctor that, no one other than Halflings were to know about immortals.
Chantelle looked at her hands because she couldn’t look Dr. Stevens in the eye; she knew she would only see a look of pity there. A look that told Chantelle even the doctor thought she was crazy.
Dr. Stevens took a hold of her hand, causing Chantelle’s eyes to jump up to meet her worried ones. She didn’t see any laughter in them. They only held a look of genuine concern. There was something else just under the surface that Chantelle couldn’t make out; something slightly sinister.
“Chantelle, why don’t you begin by telling me about this dream? And please turn your recorder on.”
Chantelle pulled her sketch pad from under her pillow and handed it to the woman in front of her. “Please take a look at this first.”
Dr. Stevens opened the book and began to leaf through it. Chantelle watched as a play of emotions flashed across the doctor’s face. Anger, hurt and jealousy. For a moment she could have sworn that the doctor’s eyes flashed blue.
“Can you explain these?”
She sat forward on her pillow and turned Chantelle’s recorder on. The movement was quick and snakelike, creeping Chantelle out just a little. The soft hiss of the tape recorder was all that broke the silence between them. Chantelle took a steadying breath as she drew up her nerve.
“It’s just a silly dream.” There, it was her last ditch effort to get out of this without having to relive her dreams.
“Please continue…” Dr. Stevens motioned for her to go on, ignoring her discomfort.
“Since I can remember, I’ve always dreamt of a man. A magic man. This man.” She pointed to the green-eyed man in the drawing.
“When I was very young we would mostly meet in a ballroom. I guess it was a Cinderella complex I had or something. But recently our surroundings have been changing.”
Dr. Stevens’ eyes glanced at the drawing again, “Chantelle, in your dreams are you wearing this?” Her pen tapped the picture before them.
Opening her eyes she took in the doctor’s serious expression. Why was what she was wearing important? What did clothes matter?
Dr. Stevens must have seen the question behind her eyes, “The things we like or dislike in this lifetime have a lot to do with our dreams. They are clues, if you will.”
Chantelle gave her a quizzical look. She wasn’t convinced and there was still a high probability that she didn’t trust this woman.
“Please indulge me.” There was a hint of impatience in her voice.
Shrugging her shoulders Chantelle resigned herself to at least try. What could her honesty hurt? Even if this didn’t work, no one said she had to do it again. If she at least tried, Emma would be proud of her.
“Yes. It’s a white lacy regency era dress. There is a silver satin ribbon under my bust. On my feet I wear a pair of silk slippers.” She paused taking a sip of water, trying to buy as much time as possible.
“But none of that is really important, is it? It’s all been changing recently.” Chantelle passed a hand through her chocolate waves as she tried to steady herself. “The man in my dreams has been interacting with me on a more personal level.”
Dr. Stevens looked up from her notes, “Chantelle, I have a feeling that these dreams have a deep root in your desperation to be loved. I would like to begin the session now.”
She nodded to the older woman and picked up the index card. A smile graced her pink lips as she read the safe word. It was red; clever but simple. Maybe Dr. Stevens wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe she had just pushed all her fears onto the doctor, causing an instant dislike on her part.
“Ok, close your eyes. I’m going to lead you through your dreams.”
Closing her eyes Chantelle sat crossed-legged and steadied her breathing. She sat for a few minutes just letting her breathing even out and waiting for the next set of instructions from Dr. Stevens.
“Breathe in through your nose slowly and out through your mouth. Can you see the light, Chantelle?”
“Yes.” She nods her head.
“Good, now follow the light back to where it is leading you. Tell me when the light fades and you are grounded.” Several minutes pass as Dr. Stevens listens to Chantelle’s breathing.
“He’s here. I can see him standing in his study, just like last night.”
By God he looked magnificent to her. His broad shoulders were encased in a deep ever green shirt. His hands were folded behind his back, his feet shoulder width apart; the stance of a warrior.
“His back is to me as I enter the room. I can smell the scent of old books, it seems to cling to him.”
There’s a small pause and then Chantelle’s gasp fills the room, “No. I don’t belong here. I’m not yours.”
Dr. Stevens’ eyes flash from brown to blue and the air around them crackles with a magic born of vengeance. “Chantelle what’s happening?”
“Please I have to go home. Emma needs me.” She begins to thrash as she tries to escape his hold on her.
“Chantelle, it is time to come back now. RED!”
Chantelle shook herself from the ether of her vision. Her breathing was ragged as her eyes fluttered open. She could still smell the leather that clung to him. There was a strange pulling sensation in the area of her heart as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. A gesture that only mimicked the way he had touched her in her dream; it offered little comfort.
The doctor passed her a tissue and she dabbed at her eyes. This was far different from any of her other dreams. This was so much more vivid, as if she had really been there with him. Chantelle swore that if she closed her eyes and relaxed enough she would still be able to feel his arms around her.
“Can you tell me what happened just now?”
“He wanted me to stay. There was no way to make him see reason. He begged me to tell him where he could find me.” She was trembling, but whether it was from nerves or something else Chantelle didn’t know and she wasn’t about to examine it either.
“You were talking about staying somewhere. Where did he want you to stay?”
Chantelle shook her head, “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell where I was. But I do know that wherever it was, it wasn’t here.”
“Why didn’t you want to stay?”
That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? There was no honest answer to give. Chantelle couldn’t tell her that in truth she would have rather stayed with him than anywhere else. No, she had her sister to care for and staying with him meant leaving everything else behind.
Chantelle knew he was the type of man that kept what was his close. She knew that if she ever uttered a yes to his pleas for her to stay, she would never see Emma again. To some it would seem an irrational fear, but to Chantelle it was the only thing she knew for sure.
Her eyes moved all about the room. They took in everything from the curtains to the rug; darting everywhere but to Dr. Stevens. The guilt of wanting to stay with him held her rigid.
“That’s just it. I want to stay but I can’t. I can’t leave Emma.”
At her confession Dr. Stevens’ eyes lit up. She had been trying to figure out a way to keep Loki’s mate away from him and now this little mortal had dropped the answer in her lap.
“Listen to me Chantelle. You need to fight him. Don’t give in no matter how sweet his promises are.”
“Fight him?” Chantelle rolled the words around her mind.
“Yes. I can tell you from this dream that you want to abandon someone who needs you.
You cannot do that. Fight his hold on you, or else you will be doomed to repeat this lesson.”
Fight him, how much longer could she deny what they both wanted? She had come here looking for help and all Dr. Stevens was doing was making her hurt even more. How dare she say that she was willing to abandon her sister for a man?
“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing the last four years?” Chantelle threw her hands up in defeat, “Forget it. This was a waste of time.”
Chantelle grabbed her recorder and sketch book and stormed out of the room. On her way out she brushed past Frigga and mumbled something about needing to go home and rest.
Chapter 6:
The clash of swords filled the air as Loki sat beneath a gnarled oak tree; a book propped open against his knees. His jade eyes scanned the page not absorbing one word before him. His normally studious mind was too caught up in the dream he had this morning.
No matter how hard he tried to decipher the code before him, he couldn’t. Although he wanted to blame it on the ruckus around him he couldn’t do that either. His lack of interest in anything other than the woman in his dreams was beginning to show.
If the others knew of his obsession they were sure to laugh at him. Loki knew that his last attempt at wooing a woman had ended in disaster. Signe had run out on him a week before the wedding, when she had found out he wasn’t a true prince. Thor hadn’t let him live it down and that was well over a millennium ago.
Not to mention that his new love seemed to be a Halfling; the dreaded Halfling that was meant to be his mate. That meant that she was half mortal, the race he despised above all others. Though that wasn’t what bothered him most; from the look of her she would be undergoing the Emergence soon. Then she would be fully immortal, not an ounce of mortality left in her being. Loki wouldn’t have to hang his head in shame. He would make sure she denounced the horrid race she belonged to.
None of that was really the problem. They were annoyances but not a problem. It was her refusal that was the true problem. Once more a woman he wanted refused him at every turn. The brown haired beauty told him she couldn’t stay. That she had a responsibility to Emma.
Loki knew from all the years spent sharing her dreams that Emma was her sister. What he wished she knew was that if her sister meant that much to her he would see to her happiness as well. He had no other choice in the matter. His mate’s happiness was to be placed above his own.
Annoyed with his new train of thought he turned his attention to the immortal’s training session, a routine that began their mornings since the dawn of time. Like clockwork young prince Loki was always there watching, as he studied some arcane text or another. The sound of the warriors was almost like background music to him, something to make his research less boring.
Today his mischievous green eyes left his book to follow the warriors as they stretched. Slowly they readied themselves in the pre-dawn light. By midafternoon Loki’s book had long been forgotten and Thor had put most of the warriors through their paces.
Loki watched as his older brother took on all comers; tall, short, husky or skinny, it didn’t matter. He knew his brother was strong and skilled in battle, but the blond immortal was also braggadocios and he waited for the day Thor met his match. Loki came here every morning hoping someone would best him at his own game.
A booming laugh rang out, drawing Loki out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Thor standing above Bragi, sword point aimed at his throat. The killing blow waiting to be unleashed. The fallen warrior bowed his head and Thor held his hand out, helping Bragi to his feet. As he dusted himself off, Thor taunted him; making a “come on” gesture with his hand, a wide smile spreading across his lips. Bragi obliged him by raising his gilded sword and advancing on him; the battle had begun again.
Loki’s eyes narrowed as they began their war dance, making slow circles around each other. It was as if he was memorizing each of their moves. Picking apart each of their war stances and finding every weak spot they had. He would file away the information for later use; when you were not the strongest you had to be the smartest. Something that sparring with Thor had taught him long ago.
The battle went back and forth with each getting the upper hand every once in a while. “Hoder, come join us.”
The blind immortal stood and readied his sword, he moved in the direction of Thor’s voice. No matter how often Loki watched Hoder battle, how he did it still eluded him. But he was willing to bet that he used the thoughts of his adversaries to move about the battlefield. A great feat indeed, as it took serious concentration to read another’s thoughts.
Loki watched as his older brother took a flagrant cheap shot on Hoder. Sweeping his feet out from under him, kicking his sword from his grip he pinned him to the ground his boot at his throat. A flick of Loki’s wrist had Thor’s feet sliding out from under him, on a solid sheet of ice.
Satisfied with his handy work, Loki rolled his eyes and went back to his book, “Cheater.”
If you asked the dark haired man why it annoyed him to see Thor cheat, he would have blamed it on loss of sleep. But the truth of it was; Loki couldn’t stand a bully. Someone, who used their God given strength to pick on those weaker than him, instead of trying to help them. It just set his teeth on edge. The nagging voice that mortal’s called a conscience, told him he was no better than Thor.
Did he not abuse the mortal race? Did he not relish in it? Loki shook his head. That was different. They deserved what they got, because they had stolen his hope. And no mortal stole from the immortal race they mistook as gods and went unpunished. Had they forgotten Pandora and her box?
The fighting ceased and a hush fell over the group of warriors. Two dirt covered boots came into view above the top edge of his book.
“Did you have something to say, little brother?” Thor pulled the book from his hands and tossed it aside.
Normally he would have ignored his brother and his band of merry fools, but not this time. Not when the snickers from the crowd watching stoked his anger like a banked coal. Someone needed to put Thor in his place and even though Loki knew it wouldn’t be easy, he knew it had to be him. The taunting had to end and what better day, than today?
He stood to his full height and although Thor was broad like a bull, Loki was still a full head taller than him. They stood toe to toe; dark and light, Yin and Yang. There weren’t two brothers who looked more different than Loki and Thor. Perhaps it was because the blood that flowed through their veins was not the same. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that although Loki was mischievous, he was balanced on a razor’s edge of fairness. Whereas Thor was hotheaded; he would often charge into battle and ask questions later.
“I am not in the mood for your stupidity.”
Thor pushed him onto the ground, “Then sit there and keep quiet.” He picked up his brother’s book and tossed it to him. “Go back to your books and leave the fighting to the men.”
Loki’s eyes flashed a bright hell-fire green as the laughter around him grew louder at Thor’s comment. He stood from the ground and pulled his sword from its silver scabbard; the hand and a half Claymore shown in the sunlight. It’s blade glinting; just as Loki’s eyes did when mischief was afoot.
“Pick up your sword, brother and fight me.”
Thor turned to see his younger brother’s sword erect; ready to defend himself if need be. He smiled that cocky smile of his that always got under Loki’s skin. It was the type of smile he gave his adversaries on the battlefield, it said let’s get this done for I have better things to do.
As they advanced on each other they drew an even bigger crowd. Thor lunged forward as Loki fell back staying just out of reach. It took Thor a moment to realize he had missed his target and that was all it took for Loki to lunge forward and nick his armor. Laughing as if the hit he just took was nothing more than a bee sting; Thor swung and disarmed Loki.
“Enough!” Odin’s voiced boomed out over the garden.
In one fluid m
ovement Loki stood from the ground, gracefully as a cat and brushed himself off. He bowed his head as Odin swept forward. “Father.”
Thor tapped his breast plate, “Father.”
Their father looked between them, knowing full well who started the trouble. Yet, Loki knew he wouldn’t reproach Thor. He was the golden one in the eyes of their father. He could do no wrong whereas everything Loki did never measured up.
“I do not care what your excuses are, this will cease. Loki follow me.”
Odin turned and left the onlookers behind. Loki threw a glance over his shoulder at Thor. The ice in his eyes told him they weren’t finished, not by a long shot. He didn’t care whether or not their father wanted peace between them. He would serve his brother his comeuppance, one way or another.
Emma’s feet swung back and forth as she watched Chantelle from her perch on the counter. Her big sister had come home from the dream session so upset that she thought Chantelle might never go back to work. As a matter of fact, Frigga had given Chantelle a few days off. It was just today that she was herself again.
Her hazel eyes scrutinized her sister, wishing she could make her feel better. She knew that Chantelle took on more than she could handle, but that’s how she had always been. Emma’s eyes watered as she remembered that it was her older sister that used to ease her fears after a nightmare. When she took her first steps it was into Chantelle’s arms she went. Their parents were always too busy for her, so Chantelle was all she ever knew.
“So what if Dr. Stevens was a quack. I’m sure you can figure this out on your own.” Emma tried to smile and make her words sound light and nonjudgmental.
Chantelle looked up from the cucumber she was cutting, noticing the laughter evident in her sister’s eyes. Her heart sank; even she thought this was a joke. She quickly averted her eyes back to the task before her.
Chantelle was still reeling from her session with Dr. Stevens over a week ago. When the doctor told her to fight her dream lover her heart felt torn. Chantelle knew the doctor was right, that she should do everything in her power to push him aside. But there was another part of her, the primal part of her soul that called out to him. How could she find the strength to push him away? How, when his eyes held so much sorrow and she was the only one who could ease his pain? Chantelle desperately wanted to go to him and right whatever wrongs he had suffered.
Mischief's Mate (The Immortal Mates Book 1) Page 4