by Allison Pang
“How odd,” I murmured.
“Your Heart is responding to you. Now that you’ve acknowledged it, it will shape itself to your will.”
“I didn’t know I could do that.” My gaze strayed to the far side of the clearing. It was still cloaked in shadow but if I stared long enough I could almost swear I saw the gossamer silhouette of an ancient oak, its branches twining together as though hiding a secret.
Brystion followed my line of sight and smiled. “You’ll see, Abby. You’re a Dreamer. Now hold on, we’re going to land.”
My grip tightened around his shoulders, but I shouldn’t have bothered. The incubus spun us gently onto the silver grass, the shield dissipating like fireflies into the mist. He slumped beside me as he set me on my feet with a tired grin. “Safe as houses,” he quipped.
The gate still remained locked and I frowned. I hadn’t had time to get back here since the other night, and I certainly hadn’t had time to figure it out when I was attempting to break through to the CrossRoads. I eyed the sandy road with a shiver.
“Seems we’re at a bit of an impasse,” he said, mouth pursing as he ran a finger over the gate. “Still.”
I shook the lock with frustration. “Well, doesn’t that just suck. You picked a hell of a Dreamer to set your cap for. I’m not entirely sure why you bother, honestly.”
The edges of his pupils flared golden, capturing me in their aching brilliance. “Can’t you tell?” I blinked stupidly and then his lips ensnared mine. Unbidden, I wrapped my arms around his neck as his tongue lingered like liquid velvet in the dark recesses of my mouth. His hands crept down the ridge of my spine, fingers cupping my ass. I moaned, a soft sound of longing, and he pulled away with a knowing grin. “Protest all you want, Abby, but in the end, you’ll be begging for me.” His voice lowered as he bent to suckle at my neck. “I swear it.”
“Mmmmm.” I tipped my head back to allow him greater access, shuddering when he dipped to my pulse point, teasing it with a wet tickle. “And how do I know you’re not just using me, seducing me for your own nefarious purposes?”
“You don’t.” His hips ground into mine, the hard outline of his erection rubbing against my belly. “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t really seduce anyone who doesn’t want to be seduced. And you”—he ran his tongue along my collarbone—“have been practically praying for it since we met.”
My belly quivered, butterflies born of anticipation and arousal sending sharp waves of heat through my limbs. I gazed up at him. “You look like shit.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop myself, but he only laughed.
“I imagine I’ve looked better,” he admitted, touching his swollen eye.
“So now what?”
He shrugged. “That’s up to you. I wouldn’t mind getting washed up, though.”
“Open Sesame,” I intoned dryly at the gate, unsurprised when nothing happened. “Enough of this,” I snapped at it, jerking back hard on the bars. “Open or next time I bring a blowtorch and melt your ass down.” I blinked as the hinges squeaked in response, the lock turning with an audible click. “Damn. If I’d known it would be that easy, I would have tried that sooner.”
“You are Mistress here,” he murmured. “You just needed to find your voice.” He took my arm and led me to the front door. It was a gallant gesture, but his muscles trembled with the effort. I flushed with shame at the thought of my earlier words. The incubus had already given up so much for me—how could I do any less? I stiffened my shoulder, offering him a subtle sort of support, but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.
My thumb traced over a rough spot on the rail, the splintered tips pricking my flesh. Even this was mine. I snorted softly, remembering the day I’d ridden my bicycle off the stoop, cracking my chin on the rail. The back wheel had flattened as it wedged between the railroad ties and the brickwork of the front walk, punctured by a loose nail. And I . . . I had wiped the blood off my face with the back of my hand, marched straight back into the house, and tried to convince my mother that I needed some glue to fix my bike.
What I’d gotten was a trip to the ER and six stitches, but there’s twelve-year-old indignation for you.
It was dark inside, but everything burned with familiarity. I hit the light switch on the wall and watched as the foyer flooded with golden ambiance. My eyes welled up, and I pulled away from Brystion. Stumbling past him, I clutched at my grandmother’s circle quilt, which was casually draped over the back of the worn leather sofa in the living room. “It’s like home,” I said hoarsely, staring down at the quilt.
Christ, it even had the stain in the corner.
I rubbed it against my cheek, closing my eyes. “It smells like my mother.” I sighed, wiping away my tears. “I haven’t seen this quilt in years. It got lost when we moved to the city so I could go to the dance academy.”
“Memories can be very powerful,” he agreed, his breath suddenly hot in my ear. I shivered, the heat from his body rolling over me. His arms slid around my waist and he moved his chin to rest gently on my shoulder. I let out a soft grunt, leaning into him.
“I had visions of setting up a Dream for you when we got to this point. Something horribly romantic.” His cheek brushed mine, setting off another wave of flutters. “Very old school, a seductive dance of music and sex, our bodies twisting in the dark to the thrum of the beating of our hearts. Doves flying. Heaving bosoms.”
“And listening to Tom Jones as we bump uglies in front of the roaring fire? Sounds like someone’s been reading too many romance novels.”
“I like the classics. Ah, well,” he sighed, his grip tightening for a moment. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to forgive me. You just taste so damn good.” He nipped at my ear, lightly at first and then harder, his hips pressing into my ass. I let my head tip back as his fingers worked up my neck to the soft edge of my hair, stroking, pressing, pulling, over my scalp and by my ear . . .
“Wait!” I jerked my head away. “Don’t touch me there—please.”
Realization crept into his eyes as he released me, chagrin edging his face. “It’s not there, you know. Not if you don’t want it to be.”
My hands flew to my head, the quilt dropped and forgotten. Frantically I looked for a mirror. The bathroom had one. I raced down the hall, heedless of the remaining dark, and flipped on the bathroom light. Fingering through my hair, I peered at my reflection, searching for the bare patch.
Nothing . . .
I looked again, but the skin was clean and whole, fully covered in hair.
“The Dreaming is controlled by you,” Brystion said from the doorway. He was watching me intently, focus switching between the mirror and me. “Or it can be. Particularly your Heart. You are here as you wish to be, as you truly are, or as you truly see yourself. They’re not always the same.”
“And what about you? Are you affected by my Dreaming?”
He averted his gaze, shifting away. “I’m beyond it, at the moment. But yes, it is possible for you to . . . influence my appearance somewhat, though I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Of course.” His skin seemed to be paling rapidly, its amorphous fading more pronounced. Now or never, I supposed. “What do you need from me to . . . feed?”
“Your climax.”
I blinked. “My what?”
Amusement lit up his face. “I think you heard me. Mind if I use the shower? I’d like to wash off the blood.”
“Sure. There should be one upstairs, assuming nothing’s changed.” I slipped up the stairs in front of him, his eyes raking over me like burning coals. “I’ll start up the water for you.” Did dream houses have hot water heaters? “How is, uh, the climax thing supposed to work?”
“The usual way, I’d imagine,” he retorted dryly as he followed me into the bathroom. “It’s a trade-off, really. The better the orgasm, the more energy you produce, the better I eat. So it behooves me to make sure you have the best damn orgasms possible.”
“Ah. And he
re I thought you said I didn’t need to have sex with you.”
An ineloquent hmmmph emerged from his throat. “You’re dreaming,” he pointed out. “Technically we won’t actually be having sex. But you’re right. All I need is the orgasm, however you produce it, so if you’d like to go solo . . .”
A strangled snort worked its way through my nose. I turned the hot water on, felt the pipes clank in their old way as the water came hissing out. There was a slight breeze behind me, followed by a soft whoosh. I turned my head, and swallowed.
The incubus was naked, bloodied and utterly magnificent, from the dark hair that poured like liquid silk over his shoulders to the pale musculature of his chest and abdomen. My gaze lingered over his slim waist, dropping lower toward the dark thatch of hair below his belly button. My cheeks heated considerably as he coughed, and I jerked my focus back to his face.
“Ahem. First things first.” He kicked away his clothing, eyeing himself in the mirror with a frown. One hand traced the dark bruise on his cheek. “I owe him for that one,” he muttered dangerously.
I could only nod dumbly at this, unable to tear myself away from the perfect sculpture of his ass. It had lived up to its promise and then some.
“Are you done?” Brystion’s voice trembled with laughter lightly brushed with lust.
“No,” I breathed, my heart racing beneath my rib cage.
“I’ll be waiting,” he said slyly, brushing past me as he glided toward the shower. The mirror had fogged up with steam, but I wouldn’t have said that it was the hot water causing it. I watched him pull back the light blue curtain, my blood simmering in response. He winked at me and drew it back into place, groaning softly as the water hit his skin.
I unbuttoned my jeans slowly, some small part of me wondering if this was wise, but I was past caring. After all, it was still a dream, right?
Undoubtedly there would be repercussions, but right now, for this moment, I was going to take what was offered and not look back. The denim fell to the floor in a heap, followed quickly by my bloodstained shirt. My bra. My Hello Kitty panties. It was just me now, standing on the damp tile with nothing between us but that curtain, the water beading against it in constant taps.
Now or never, Abby.
I pushed back the curtain and stepped into the tub. I didn’t look at his face. I wanted this, yes, but I’d lose my nerve if I actually admitted what I was doing. Chickenshit of me, but there it was. A crimson trickle trailed into the water at the bottom of the tub, and I remembered the ugly gouge on his arm. Instinctively, I turned toward it, but it seemed smaller than before, less angry.
“I heal fast,” he softly answered my unasked question. “Come here, Abby.” It was more than a request but less than a command; I followed it anyway, moving as close to him as I dared. His hand reached down beneath my chin, tipping my face up. “No regrets,” he murmured. His golden eyes pinned me where I stood. “Understand?” I nodded as he bent forward, his lips brushing over mine, and then all I could taste were the rivulets of water sliding between our mouths and the sweat from his skin, tinged with coppery blood.
Brystion grunted, running his fingers down my neck to my shoulders, pressing forward in bold strokes along my arms. He briefly traced the curve of my breasts, and I shuddered as his thumbs teased my hardened nipples. His lips curved into a smile, but his tongue never stopped its gentle exploration, even when his fingers dropped lower still, lingering on my hips before sliding toward my ass.
For a moment I hovered, as his touch stripped away the last of my hesitation like the faded skin of some desperate reptile. He drew back, his fingers skimming my jaw.
No regrets.
I launched myself at him, taken aback at my own ferocity, months of inner turmoil threatening to explode upon us. I kissed him frantically, my hand reaching to the base of his neck, trying to pull him closer still. My breasts brushed his chest as my hips began to sway against him in the most ancient of erotic motions. Soft, urgent sounds escaped my throat, but were battered against his mouth, becoming a muffled cry as he turned me around so I was facing the backsplash. A hand glided over my neck, lingering, stroking, claiming.
“You know, for an incubus you seem to be rather interested in my neck. You sure you’re not a vampire?”
Filtered through the steaming hiss of the water, his answering chuckle was rich and throaty. It rippled around me. He slanted his lips over my collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin. “Vampires don’t have complete jurisdiction when it comes to blood,” he said mildly. “Just as incubi don’t hold dominion over sex. The lines between us have always been a bit blurred.” The nips became harder, more insistent. He worked his way higher, suckling and licking the water droplets from the sweet spot just below my ear, nuzzling my earlobe with an unfamiliar tenderness.
I tipped my head forward, resting it on the cool porcelain. The water sluiced over me like a gentle rain, leaving my skin slick and gleaming.
“You might even call us cousins of a sort,” he continued, splaying his fingers over my breastbone, playfully reaching down to tweak a peaked nipple. I gasped, an electric rush cresting down my spine. The hum of unadulterated male satisfaction rumbled from his chest.
“Cousins?” My legs were quaking now, my knees heavy and weak. He roped his arms around mine, lifting them up to press my palms flat against the tiles before grinding his erection into the hollowed cleft of my ass. I gave a small snort of surprise. When had that happened?
“Life versus lust—they’re practically the same thing, if you think about it. Or at least they ought to be.” I twisted my head toward him, torn between annoyance and arousal. A wicked grin pulled up the corners of his mouth as he watched my helpless squirming with that hungry, half-lidded gaze. “But given the choice, I think I know what I’d rather feed on.”
“Indeed,” I whispered hoarsely, as his tongue darted between my lips and cut off the rest of my words. What was that delicious thing he was doing with his hips? And why the hell were we even still having that conversation? “Given the choice, I think you talk too much, incubus.”
“That’s about to change,” he murmured, his voice husky, turning me to face him. He dropped one hand, spreading me wide even as he lifted one of my legs to wrap around his hip. “I’m going to need to get you off quickly, Abby, but I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”
I could only moan in approval, my hand snaking down to press his fingers harder against me. He shuddered, growling in appreciation. I arched my back when he finally grabbed my hips and thrust inside. Small ripples of heat flooded my belly, the beginnings of the first swells of climax pulsing.
“Please,” I begged. He kissed my neck, the blood thrumming in my ear as my world narrowed until there was nothing left but the movement of his body with mine.
“Now, Abby,” he grunted, pinching a stiff nipple. I toppled over the edge with a keening cry. His hands were iron, supporting me as I rode out the waves of my pleasure.
I had no words, just animal sounds, guttural and chuffing, a rush of air filling my lungs as I tried to breathe. His body stiffened as he found his own release, his teeth biting into my shoulder with a tender fierceness. Thick billows of steam enveloped us, and I felt the slick tiles fading away beneath my shoulders. Panic tipped the edge of my voice. “What’s going on?”
He arms coiled around my waist. “Oh, shit. Hold on, Abby.” And then we were sinking, floating, falling. Naked and entwined, the darkness swallowed us up. We were hurtling toward something. It looked like my bedroom with me lying there, but the unicorn was gone. No—he was at the foot of the bed, blue eyes staring at me intently. And then there was nothing at all.
I sat up with a jerk, rubbing vainly at my eyes. I was back in my room, away from the Dreaming, blissful and sore. And naked. I glanced down and blinked. What the hell? Brystion cracked his eyes open and grinned at me. “You’re beautiful when you’re groaning my name, did you know?”
I flushed despite myself. “Never mind that, what the he
ll just happened?”
“You pulled us through the Dreaming.” His lips pursed with amusement. “I’ve always prided myself on being good in bed, but I’ve never been that good.” He propped himself up on one arm, leaning forward to kiss my naked thigh. “And your orgasm was just . . . delicious.” His voice was all male now, smugness and satisfaction rolled together with a hint of vulnerability.
“You’re missing the point, Brystion. How did I manage to pull you with me? I can understand waking up from the Dreaming, but why are you here? And where the hell are my clothes? Not that I’m complaining,” I added hastily.
He flopped onto his back, arms folded beneath his head. His abdominal muscles flexed as he breathed. They were exquisite. I tore my gaze away.
“Does it matter?” he asked softly. “I’ve never seen it done before, but I know it happens sometimes. You know the fairy tales, right? When the women wake up and their dream lovers are laid out beside them? It appears as though that might be real.” He reached up to play with the loose strands of my hair.
“So I’ve gathered,” I said dryly, snuggling against him. A stray thought pushed its way to the forefront of my mind, awkward and ugly. “Ah . . . I’m not really on birth control right now, you know.”
He chuckled, nipping at my ear. “I can’t procreate via mortal means.”
“Mmmm,” I muttered. “How does that work? I thought incubi and succubi worked together to get women pregnant.”
He made a noncommittal noise. “Well, I suppose that’s one option, but it’s a very ugly way of going about it. Besides, that would mean one of my sisters would have to steal the seed of a man, fuck me, and then I’d fuck you. Not very romantic,” he said reprovingly. “Never mind the fact that I wouldn’t fuck my sister, I sure as hell wouldn’t subject my TouchStone to it.” There was an edge to his voice, an undercurrent that clearly noted my entrance into dangerous waters.