Destined for Dreams

by Susan Illene

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  A loud knock sounded at his door, and Caius called out, “It’s time to leave, Bartol.”

  His time was up. “I’m sorry, but I must go. The others are waiting.”

  “Be careful,” she said, resigned. “And call me again when you can.”

  “I will,” he promised.

  They hung up. At the beginning of the trip, he’d dreaded contacting her. It was difficult to speak with the woman after she’d rejected him and then betrayed him. He’d found it painful. But with each successive call, he’d gone from having to force himself to speak with her to enjoying their conversations. In fact, without her physical presence, he found he could relax and say things that would be more difficult in person. Bartol suspected Cori found that advantageous as well, considering how much she’d been revealing to him over the phone recently. She’d said so many things he’d thought he’d never hear from her lips.

  Tucking his phone in his pocket, he went over to the bed and grabbed his bag, leaving his room key behind. He opened the door to find Caius and Tormod standing in the hallway. “I’m ready.”

  “Were you having phone sex?” the nerou asked, glancing down at Bartol’s tight pants.

  He should have used his bag to cover up that little problem. “No.”

  “I could have sworn that was what I heard when we…”

  Bartol growled at him, “Don’t make me box your ears, boy. It’s none of your business.”

  Caius laughed. “There was a time when he was proud of his conquests.”

  “That was long ago.”

  The other nephilim shook his head. “I’m glad you found a woman for yourself as I did with my mate.” Caius looked away. “Just take care to hold on to her.”

  “Was it worth it?” Bartol asked, sensing the other man’s pain.

  Caius had hardly brought up the loss of his mate the whole trip, but it was clear the nephilim’s grief was always simmering just below the surface.

  “I wouldn’t take it back for the world.”

  A wealth of meaning stood behind those words, enough for Bartol to seriously consider the implications in relation to Cori. Immortals spent much of their lives living one long, meaningless year to the next. They valued their longevity, and yet it also served as a curse because time never ended for them. Most often, they didn’t have a real reason to appreciate it.

  Tormod cleared his throat. “We should get to Prague.”

  The hallway was empty for the moment, giving them the best opportunity to flash away. Bartol looked at Caius. “Did you check us out?”

  “I did.”

  They tried to play by human rules as much as possible.

  Bartol slung his bag over his shoulder. “Then let’s meet on Petřín Hill—in front of the Hunger Wall gate.” It was a place they’d met before in the old days that was easy for them both to find. “It’s still there, isn’t it?”

  Bartol had discovered during his travels that a lot of the former landmarks he’d once known were destroyed during the world wars. He didn’t know what was still around after a century-long absence.

  “It’s there,” Caius confirmed. “Even after all these centuries.”

  “Good.” Bartol envisioned the place in his mind, found the area he sought was empty and dark, and flashed away.

  When he arrived, he found the path clear of snow and ice, though it was built up at the edges. He stood next to a juncture point where more than one wall met, and there was a taller stone structure that may have once been a lookout tower. Caius was right that nothing had changed. Even through the darkness, Bartol could identify the marlstone used to build the place with a mixture of light, cream-colored bricks and darker brown ones. How long had it been since he last visited? The best he could recall, it must have been the early seventeen hundreds.

  In a bright flash of light, Caius arrived with Tormod in tow.

  They broke apart, and the nerou frowned deeply as he took in their surroundings. “Something’s wrong.”

  “What do you mean?” Bartol asked.

  Tormod shivered. “I have a very bad feeling.”

  “Let’s get to the hotel.” Caius led the way down the hill toward the city streets and hopefully a taxi. “Perhaps your bad feeling will lead us to the demon soon.”

  Bartol was ready for the search to end, but like Tormod, he was starting to get chills up his spine. Compared to all the other places they’d visited in recent weeks, this one felt…darker, more ominous. He just couldn’t put his finger on the reason for his alarm.

  They didn’t get far before that feeling became overwhelmingly strong. All of them stopped in their tracks, staring around into the darkness. The trees were bereft of leaves, the wind whipped around them like a ghost’s touch, and the clouds covered the moon.

  A man appeared before them. He looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies, mostly bald except for tufts of gray at the back. His skin was wizened and pale, leading one to believe he rarely saw the sun. His stooped appearance might have made one think he was perfectly harmless—except for the malevolence surrounding him and his red eyes.

  “I wondered when you would catch up to me,” Haagenti said in a voice much stronger than one would expect from an old man’s body.

  Bartol struggled to cry out a warning. “Flash…away…now!”

  Except their powers were gone. He reached for them, but there was no magic to use.

  The demon held up a familiar black stone with silver veins running through it, about the size of a baseball. “I’m afraid you aren’t going anywhere.”

  The three of them struggled to back away from Haagenti, but it was like trying to walk through thick mud. Their feet weighed heavily. The demon had a stone much larger than the one Bartol had seen Cori’s former husband using not long ago, and this one seemed to be even more potent.

  The old man lifted his other hand, and a sphere of dark energy emerged from his palm. He blew it hard. The sinister ball flew toward them, growing larger as it traveled. Bartol wanted to duck, run, or anything to get away from it. His gut churned, knowing it was something very bad.

  It hit him like a tidal wave—a sickening, cloying wave that wrapped around his skin like a sheath. It tightened until he couldn’t move at all. His body was rendered weightless, and then it was as if he was being sucked into some sort of vortex. He tried to fight it, but it was no use.

  The darkness took over, and he knew no more.

  Chapter 19

  Cori

  Giving a werewolf a tattoo was always a little more intimidating than giving one to a human. They tended to let out a low growl or snarl if the needles bit too deep into the skin, and more than once Cori could have sworn she saw their nails grow a centimeter or two as they curbed the urge to attack her. It wasn’t easy for them to fight the animalistic urge to kill anyone who harmed them. Her nerves were already frazzled since yesterday evening when she’d suddenly felt a chill that wouldn’t go away—the kind that warned of something being wrong, very wrong. Bartol had called soon before that, so he had to be alright, but she couldn’t shake the feeling he might not be.

  Cori knew she was just being paranoid. Really, she did, but she couldn’t explain that logic to her gut. It had been twisted into knots since she woke up, making it that much harder to concentrate on her work. Cori lived in fear that she might hurl at any moment.

  Not a good idea while working on a tense werewolf.

  “Almost done,” she said, surprised the heavyset man in her chair had such a low pain tolerance. Cori had figured he might be one of the tougher ones among his kind.

  The design she did today was different than the week before. This time, Derrick gave her a sketch of the moon and sun together—one slightly overlapping the other. She was using reds, yellows, and oranges to shade the sun. For the moon, it was mostly blue, gray, and white. Cori might not be able to make the design intricate and fancy since the alpha preferred simplicity, but she could at least give it
nice shading. For this tattoo, it was on the guy’s upper back.

  Cori was glad she didn’t have to face the man since it was clear from his profile that he was contemplating her imminent demise. Derrick sat in the same chair as when she’d given the humans tattoos a week ago, watching her every move. Asher was nearby too, watching from the doorway. When she’d told him she would be opening the shop early for a special experiment, he hadn’t wanted to miss it. Cori almost didn’t allow him to come, but he’d been affected financially by her new ability almost as much as her, and there was a chance this could become a regular thing at their shop, so it was best to let him see what all the fuss was about.

  “Good choice of colors,” Asher said, nodding approvingly. “I wasn’t sure if it would work when you first set out the ink.”

  Cori rinsed her needles before starting on the next shade, then grinned up at him. “Believe it or not, sometimes I know what I’m doing.”

  “You’re makin’ it look too pretty,” Derrick grumbled.

  “Not that pretty.” She shot him a disgruntled look. “And by the way, you said I’d be doing two tattoos today. Where’s the other guy?”

  She’d kept expecting another werewolf to show up at any time. This experiment wasn’t the same as the humans since she wasn’t giving immunity to compulsion, so they didn’t need to be mesmerized and led into the place. She figured they’d come on their own.

  “I’m the second guy.”

  Cori nearly dropped her tattoo machine. “You?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Her stomach was already a knotted mess, and he expected her to give him a tattoo. Cori could handle Derrick from a distance and even show some bravado when necessary, but she didn’t know how she could do actual work on him. One look at the rugged man and you just knew he could rip your head off if the notion took him.

  She forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. “Okay, but I hope you have a better pain tolerance than this guy.”

  The werewolf in front of her growled. “I’ll give you pain.”

  “Shut up,” she ordered, feeling some of her courage return as she focused on the weaker werewolf. He was nothing compared to his alpha. “Or else I’ll dig these needles a hell of a lot deeper than I have been.”

  His chest rumbled with a low growl, but he didn’t say anything more.

  “You mighta made a good werewolf if Melena didn’t change you first,” Derrick said, eyes gleaming in amusement.

  The nerves in her stomach eased slightly. “Thanks.”

  “And, yeah, pain ain’t a problem for me.”

  “Good.” She returned to focusing on her work.

  It only took a few more minutes to do the final shading while concentrating heavily on the fact she wanted this man to be able to change into a werewolf during the day. She had to keep remembering that she needed this experiment to be successful. Derrick was paying her even more for the werewolf design than the human one—should she do it right. That could turn into some serious cash down the line and get her back in shape financially. Cori couldn’t afford to mess this job up, which was why she took a bit longer than necessary to instill a last breath of her will into the design. It had to be perfect or else she was in trouble.

  “Done,” she said after wiping the skin clean and rolling her stool backward a foot or so, allowing everyone to take a closer look.

  Derrick went first. “Looks alright.”

  Asher leaned past her. “It gets my seal of approval, but I could have come up with some better design ideas.”

  The alpha glared at him, and the young man took a few nervous steps back. Poor Asher was all human. He didn’t stand a chance against either of the men in the room. Cori didn’t either, but she could at least put up some semblance of a fight with her enhanced strength and ability to heal faster.

  “If I want a design from you,” Derrick growled at Asher. “I’ll ask for one.”

  Cori felt bad for her employee and moved to stand between him and the alpha. “He’s really good at what he does, so give him a break. And is it really necessary to intimidate people weaker than you, especially if they’re human?”

  The master of Fairbanks worked his jaw. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  She looked at him in surprise. She didn’t think strong immortals like Derrick were capable of being sorry or backing down. “Thank you.”

  He nodded.

  “So how about we go test that tattoo?” she asked the younger werewolf.

  Unlike with her human customers, she didn’t have to bandage supernaturals. They healed too fast for it to be worth the trouble. Cori didn’t even bother to give them any ointment other than a small amount right after she finished to help give the design a shiny appearance. This werewolf was already halfway through the healing process, and he wasn’t even that strong compared to some others she’d worked on.

  “Yeah, let’s do it,” he replied, standing up and stretching his body.

  She led everyone to the reception area where there would be more room. Glancing at the large windows in the front, she decided it would be best to close the shades and secure the entrance. As soon as she reached up to turn the lock, the door flew open, and she had to jump back. A familiar female troll entered, her putrid scent stronger than usual. Cori’s already weakened stomach clenched.

  “Bambi, what are you doing here?” Cori asked, barely getting out the words as she covered her mouth and nose. Trolls weren’t that big on hygiene, and this one was particularly ripe.

  Bambi scowled at her. “I just showered a few days ago, ya ninny. I ain’t that bad!”

  Cori backed away a few steps, disagreeing with that assessment heavily. A pig sty would have smelled cleaner. “I’m closed right now.”

  In fact, the shop wouldn’t be open for almost an hour. They would have started even earlier, but in this part of December, the sun didn’t rise until almost 10:40 a.m. She had to time it so that she wouldn’t finish the first tattoo until it was full light, or else they would have had to sit around waiting to test the experiment.

  “I heard what yer up to.” The troll looked around the shop at the others surreptitiously moving away from her. “I wanna watch.”

  “But…”

  “It’s alright,” Derrick said, taking a reluctant step forward.

  Cori gave him a pleading look. Sure, Bambi had protected her in the past when her ex-husband was after her, but she really couldn’t handle the smell today. Her nerves were shot, and her stomach was barely holding down breakfast. “Um, are you sure?”

  He nodded, not appearing all that pleased about the matter himself. “I got a call from her last night askin’ about it. According to her, you owe her a favor, and she’s callin’ it in now. Better this than somethin’ else.”

  That was great, just great. Cori had known the troll would want something from her eventually, but she’d hoped that maybe it would be a long time from now. As far as favors went, though, it wasn’t that bad. She only wished it could have been some other time.

  “Okay, fine, but stay out of the way so the werewolf can shift,” she said, waving Bambi toward the corner of the room.

  The troll huffed. “I wasn’t born yesterday, ya fool. Course, I’ll stay back.”

  She moved to stand by the counter and bared her razor sharp teeth. It was a reminder to them all she was a predator as well, and she wasn’t picky about her meat. If a werewolf attacked her, she might actually win and happily make a meal out of him. One could never underestimate a troll, and according to Melena, Bambi was deadly even without a weapon.

  In situations like this, Cori often wondered how her life could have changed so much in less than two years. She’d only thought her problems were bad before, but entering the supernatural world was sometimes like living in a constant horror show.

  “Go ahead,” Derrick instructed his pack member.

  The werewolf hadn’t bothered to put his shirt back on. He kneeled to remove his shoes and then take off his pant
s. Cori averted her gaze. The man might not feel any shame, but it felt like cheating on Bartol to look at another guy while he was naked. Instead, she watched from the periphery as he began the shift.

  Bones contorted and crunched as they popped into new positions. The sound of it made bile rise in Cori’s throat as she thought of the pain it must cause. As hair started to sprout, she finally looked at the man fully. He was bent over, standing on all four limbs as his spine rolled into its new shape. His muzzle lengthened, and his ears sprouted upward. She wasn’t normally that squeamish, but seeing his body change and contort bothered her today.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, barely above a whisper, and hurried to the bathroom in the back.

  The mostly-formed wolf growled.

  “Stay,” Derrick commanded.

  “What’s a matter with her?” Bambi asked.

  Cori was horrified by her behavior, but the nausea was overpowering what was left of her pride. She slammed the bathroom door behind her and fell in front of the toilet, hugging it just in time to empty eggs and pancakes into the bowl. Something was seriously wrong. It wasn’t like her to throw up for no reason, and yet she’d been feeling sick all morning. And even last night, the chill she’d developed had made her think she could be coming down with something—if not for the sense of doom that came with it and her concern for Bartol.

  It took a few minutes until she stopped heaving and managed to get up and rinse her mouth out. With her enhanced hearing, she could tell Asher was on the other side of the door, waiting for her. Cori washed her face for good measure and dried off before facing her employee.

  “I’m okay,” she said as she stepped into the hall.

  He gave her a concerned look. “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I think I might be coming down with the flu or something. Last night I was feeling cold and now this.”

  “If you want, I could run the shop for the day after you’re done with the other guy,” he offered. “It sounds like you should get some rest.”