by Vivian Wood
She went still, her luminous blue eyes studying him.
“What would that be?” she asked, licking her lips nervously.
Connall smiled, enjoying the tension she was radiating. The female had a dirty mind, no doubt about it.
“Your name,” he replied simply, amused by her assumption.
“My- my name?” she said, taken aback.
“Yes. And I want to give you mine in exchange.”
She looked uncertain, as if he might be offering her a poisoned apple. He could see the cogs turning, see her working out the best response. Finally, she gave him what he wanted.
“Fine. It’s Emma. Emma Cauley,” she amended.
“Emma,” he said, his Irish lilt rolling the first syllable on his tongue. “It’s perfect. Emma, please call me Connall.”
“Connall what?” she said, tilting her head to the side as she sized him up against his name.
“Connall Hansard.”
“All right, Connall,” she said simply, giving him an inscrutable look.
“Well, Connall, are you satisfied now? Can we get back to what we were doing?” she asked with a little smirk.
Connall gave her a full look up and down, making her blush. Leaning close again, he caught her lips and gave her a deep, hungry kiss. Before she could respond, he broke away again and gave her a frank look.
“No,” he said.
“No? No what?” she said, giving him a confused look.
“As wonderful as this is, Emma Cauley, I don’t plan to take this any further tonight.”
“What?” she said, affronted.
“Do you really think, after seeing you in person, after touching you and realizing that the woman I’ve been lusting after for over a year is real… do you really think this will ever be enough again?”
Emma blinked, soaking in his words.
“But-”
“I do want something else, though. I want to talk about your abilities. The dreams, and whatever else you can do.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. This is just a dream, and it’s got nothing to do with me. I can’t control what I dream about any more than the next person,” she said with a shrug, her eyes sliding away towards the floor.
“If it’s just a dream, why lie about what you can do?”
Her sapphire eyes snapped back up to his face, measuring his words.
“I don’t perform on cue,” she finally said, bitterness heavy in her tone.
“I’ll show you my wolf first, if you like.”
She leveled that gaze on him once more, calculating. Curiosity battled lack of trust, and he was grateful when her desire to know more overtook her instinct for self-preservation.
“What do you mean, your wolf?” she asked finally, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I’m a Shifter. Short for shapeshifter. I can take the form of a wolf,” he said, keeping his tone light. No need to scare her.
“Like… like a werewolf or something?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Not really. I can change whenever I want, and only when I want. And I shift fully into a wolf, not some kind of monster,” he explained.
“Is it… is it contagious? Like, if you bit me-” she started, looking concerned.
“No. I can’t pass it to you at all. Although I have heard of some witches being able to shapeshift,” he said thoughtfully.
“Don’t call me that! I’m not… I can’t do anything like that. Sometimes I have dreams, but… that’s all. Nothing else,” she said quickly, bringing her hands up to rub her arms.
Connall gave her a skeptical look, shaking his head.
“You know, you’re not very good at deception. You might as well tell me whatever it is you don’t want me to know,” he said somberly.
“You don’t want to know. It’s not… it’s not nice like this is,” she said, gesturing to indicate the dreamscape.
“Whatever it is, I promise I won’t judge you. It’s a natural talent, not something you asked for, right?” Connall prompted gently.
“No, I would never ask for this. I don’t even know why it happens,” she confessed, hugging herself more tightly. Connall slid his arms around her slender frame, comforting her.
“It’s okay. Just tell me, and you’ll feel better.”
“I get this sick feeling, like my skin’s crawling and trying to turn inside out. I feel sick to my stomach, and confused. Sometimes I even black out.”
“And then what?” he coaxed, trying to understand.
“I wake up in strange places. Last time it was in back of a dry cleaners’ across town. Before that, a lot of homes and warehouses. There’s never anyone there, but…” she shivered. “I always recognize the spot. I’ve dreamt of it, of someone dying there.”
Connall’s brow furrowed.
“Tell me the last few places you ended up,” he said, a thought tickling at the back of his mind.
“Um, the dry cleaners’, a house in MidCity, some junky warehouse, let’s see… oh, an apartment complex Uptown… that’s all I can think of off the top of my head,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason, it just seems like there’s probably something bigger there than what you’re seeing. I’ll put out some feelers, see if there are any correlations between those locations,” he shrugged, pulling back to look down at her. Tipping her face up gently, he gave her a soft smile.
“Thank you for confiding in me. I’ll keep your secret safe, Emma.”
Her eyelids fluttered closed, mouth inching upward toward his own. Her lips parted ever so slightly, making for an incredibly tempting target. Unable to resist, Connall leaned down and brushed a kiss over her moistened lips. She released a breathy sigh when he pulled back again, and when she opened her eyes he saw that some of the heat from earlier had returned.
“Are we done with the talking part, then?” she asked, giving him a devastatingly coy glance.
“We are. You should get some rest, Emma. You’ll want to make sure you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?” she asked, scrunching up her face at him.
“For when I find you in real life, of course.”
And with that, Connall rose from the bed. Ignoring his raging erection, he walked away from the bed with a massive grin on his face.
Before he left, though, he crouched down and sought his wolf. He shifted smoothly, turning to stare Emma down as soon as his change was complete.
“Wh- you! Connall??” she squawked, obviously taken by surprise.
He gave her a wolfy leer and shook himself vigorously, then trotted straight through the dreamscape doorway. Let the little minx think that one over for a while. Connall didn’t have time to sleep anymore, he had a female to hunt down.
4
Chapter Four
Emma came awake in her own bed again, totally confused. She’d just had what had to have been the weirdest dream of her whole life. That strange man from yesterday, wolves, promises of hot sex?
Yeah, she definitely needed to get laid. She’d been avoiding it for over a year, ever since her last ex had dumped her and married someone else within a couple of months. Actually, since she’d actually never ‘gone all the way’ with her ex, she supposed she’d been putting it off her whole life. At twenty six, virginity went from being a virtue to being an embarrassment.
Stretching languorously, Emma got out of bed. She had the whole day free with no particular plans except maybe running a few mindless errands. Thank the gods she didn’t have any important meetings or work to do, because her mind was occupied with distinctly unbusinesslike thoughts all day.
While she ate a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, she wondered if her fantasy man’s name was really Connall.
While she showered, she mulled over his interest in her abilities. And not just the dreams, but the less pleasant parts, too.
While she got dressed, slipping into a black and blue striped maxi skirt and a lacy white tank, she wondered if
her imagined trysts were now over for good.
While she waited in line for Starbucks, she wondered why he’d called her a witch. Emma knew she wasn’t 100% normal, but she’d definitely never thought of herself as a witch. Not that he’d been calling her names, exactly; he was the one who’d shifted his form right in front of her face. Or at least she’d dreamed that… Maybe she should cancel her HBO subscription. Her imagination was ten times better than True Blood, apparently.
While she drove to the farmer’s market, while she shopped, while she perused the bookstore, the thoughts continued. Her emotions were wild, swinging from exhilaration to fear to lust in a matter of hours.
Finishing her shopping, she headed back down a shop-lined street toward her car. This ongoing obsession with her dreams was unhealthy. It obviously wasn’t real, so it was a huge waste of her time. She could be doing something productive, although as to what that would be she had no idea.
As she neared her car, a flash of red silk caught her eye. She trailed over to the display window of a lingerie shop, admiring a finely wrought satin bustier. It was bright red, deeply provocative, and a far cry from Emma’s usual common-sense skinny jeans and cute dresses.
She slipped into the shop and ran a finger over the leather laces that traced up the bustier’s back. Cringing, she reached for the price tag. As if spineless, virginal Emma would ever need something like this! Before she could flip it over, a voice surprised her and she almost jumped out of her skin.
“Do you wanna try that on, honey?” the saleslady asked, gliding over. The woman was in her thirties, and made of deadly curves. Her globelike breasts and large, plush rear were made for something like this bustier. Emma’s D cup and size six ass seemed miserly next to the other woman.
“No, just… admiring,” she said quickly, snatching her hand back.
The woman chuckled, nodding.
“We get a lot of people admiring that particular item. It’s stunning, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s beautiful. Thanks for your help,” Emma said, moving toward the door.
“Come back when you’re ready to try it on,” the saleslady suggested, heading to the back of the store.
The door clanged as Emma left and headed to her car. Part of her was sad to leave the beautiful lingerie behind, but the practical side of her said she’d never wear it anyway. Maybe it was best that she hadn’t even peeked at the price tag.
She headed home and dragged her packages upstairs to her loft apartment, unhappy. Usually a day of shopping was a special treat, but today had been a total drag.
Part of it, she had to admit to herself, was the fact that she’d been waiting for him to come up and tap her on the shoulder. Him. Connall. The man she’d made up in her head, for god’s sake! So she’d seen his real-world look-alike. And the man had seemed to know her, too. But it was impossible, and she was driving herself up the wall thinking about it!
“That’s it, self. No more moping! You are going to get dressed up tonight. You are going to go out, and you are going to meet someone!” she scolded herself. “No more weird fantasies about mythical wolf-men!” Pulling out her phone, she texted Stace asking if she was planning on going out tonight.
Heading through the living room to the restroom, she stopped short. There was a small black vase on her dining room table, something she’d never seen before. In the vase was a single white rose. Emma walked over to it and picked it up, her brow furrowing.
The rose was a perfect bloom, and had been carefully stripped of its’ thorns. She cast a glance over the table, but there was no note. No indication of the rose’s origin. She looked at the vase, nearly dropping it when she checked the bottom to find it signed by Nicolas Truer, a glass-blower whose work she often admired in shops but could never afford.
Despite its’ simple design, the item was exquisitely made and easily cost a few thousand dollars. Emma broke out into a sweat, trying to think of a safe place to put the vase. In the end she emptied it and put it in a glass-doored curio cabinet near the kitchen, unable to stand the idea of it being broken.
That left her with the rose, uncertain what to do. She laid it on the coffee table, trying not to completely freak out. There were two explanations, and both of them were scary. One, she had really lost her mind and was blacking out, buying herself tokens of affection, and planting the items in her own house.
Or two, someone had somehow snuck into her house, leaving behind a very expensive piece of adornment. Someone that knew about her love of Truer’s work, and where she lived, and how to get past the security. Oh, and on top of all that, someone who really wanted to get Emma’s attention.
“Riiiiiiiight,” she said slowly, shaking her head. This wasn’t looking very good for her own mental state. Like high-grade, never get out of the looney bin kind of crazy.
Her phone beeped, breaking her feeling of panic. Checking it, she saw that Stace had replied with a time and a place. Some trendy club in the French Quarter, no doubt. Should she really go out tonight? If there was a chance that it would make all this craziness end, she would do it. And what was the other outcome, anyway? That she would turn out to be nuts anyway? It couldn’t be worse than this.
“Fuck it,” she declared aloud, feeling better already. She didn’t curse much, but maybe tonight she could be different. Alternative-universe Emma, who did whatever she wanted and didn’t worry about the consequences.
Checking the time on her phone, Emma smiled. She had a killer outfit to plan, and just enough time to do it to perfection.
5
Chapter Five
A car horn honked in Emma’s parking lot, reminding her that she had a cab waiting. She took another minute to smile at herself in the mirror, admiring her handiwork. She wore an electric-blue leather microskirt, a sheer black top that clung in all the right places, white spike heels, and she’d even gone heavy metal on her eye makeup and tonight. She gave herself a bedhead-inspired hairstyle, teasing and fanning out her long locks to emphasize her cheekbones and eyes. It wasn’t her thing, but she actually kind of rocked this look.
The cab honked again, and Emma rushed down the stairs. She nearly bowled over Stace, who had obviously gotten tired of waiting in the car.
“Holy crap!” Stace goggled, taking in Emma’s outfit. “Daaaayum, girl. Look at you! You look hot tonight!”
“Thanks,” Emma said, trying not to let her embarrassment show. “Let’s go.”
Two hours later, Emma found herself wishing she’d never said those words. She was sitting at a red leather booth in the VIP section of Stace’s favorite bar, Cure. Loud hipster-rock blared, lights flashed, and the dance floor was already starting to get crowded. Emma raised her hand to flag down their waitress, who seemed much more keen to service the cute guys who had invited Stace and Emma to the table.
“So basically, that’s how I got into the PR game,” the guy next to her explained, winding down what might have been the longest introduction Emma had ever heard. She’d just nodded and given the occasional “uh huh” or “that’s cool” and the man had entertained himself for almost forty five minutes. Emma looked him over through her lashes, not wanting to lead him on. He was cute, tall and thin with a well-put together outfit. He was smart and probably rich, which Emma supposed was what she was supposed to gather from his long story about his job.
Too bad Emma couldn’t care less about what he had in his wallet. She supported herself just fine, and she was proud of her independence. Maybe she couldn’t go around buying Truer vases, but she more than got by. Somehow she didn’t think Chris would appreciate her pride in her money-making abilities.
The waitress appeared and Emma ordered two doubles for her self. Chris, the guy that Stace had practically ordered to stay with Emma, did the same. Where Stace had gone, Emma didn’t particularly want to know. She’d taken one look at Chris’s friend Derek and taken off for the dance floor, but now the other couple was nowhere in sight. Chris didn’t seem to mind in the least, moving closer
and closer as they chatted and ordered round after round of drinks. They’d consumed a whole bottle of champagne, plus some shots Chris had ordered, plus several vodka tonics.
Emma had gotten tipsy and plowed straight through to drunk, trying to work up the confidence to either leave or at least go find Stace. Whatever sober Emma’s plan had been, drunk Emma was screwing it up royally.
“Are you still waiting for that friend of yours to show up?” Chris asked casually, sipping his drink. Emma bit her lip. She’d told him that so he’d leave her alone, which obviously hadn’t worked. Maybe she should just let Chris take her home and do whatever it was he so obviously planned to do anyway.
“No, I guess I’m not,” she confessed, draining her glass and setting it down on the table.
“His loss, then. Would you mind if I kissed you?” Chris asked, surprisingly polite. He wasn’t a bad guy, this Chris. The drunker she got, the nicer he seemed, which made Emma giggle.
She shook her head, and he leaned close. He cupped her jaw gently, and Emma let him position her to his liking. Closing her eyes, she waited for his kiss. A little part of her couldn’t help but wonder if it would measure up to the ones she had started craving nightly…
The wait went on a second too long and Emma’s eyes snapped open, noticing that they were no longer alone. Chris and Emma both stared at the gorgeous man who’d sat down on the opposite side of their booth, leaving Chris angry and Emma gawking.
Connall sat there, watching them nonchalantly. He sipped a drink and raised his glass to Emma with a smirk. His eyes, however, showed a fierce anger hidden under his casual demeanor.
“Uh…” Emma started, at a total loss for words. Connall’s eyes bored into hers, telling her volumes without a word. She was face to face with the man of her dreams, and she was in a world of trouble on top of it. At least now she knew she wasn’t insane, she guessed.
“Do you mind, man? We’re trying to get some privacy here,” Chris snapped, drawing Connall’s attention again.