Only In My Dreams: A Time Travel Anthology

by Sahara Kelly

  Unfortunately, they didn’t win.

  But neither cared particularly, since on the very night of the award ceremony, Maura Donner, in her real life persona of Marianne Harvey, was giving birth to their first child—a daughter.

  They named her Laura and were both thrilled that she had her father’s incredible blue eyes.

  Yes, this time they got it right.

  Which was all very nice and sweet and of absolutely no interest whatsoever to a man in Washington, DC. He had problems of his own.

  Prime amongst which was his internal confusion and irritation at the presentations he was scheduled to make on behalf of a large resource development company. He had no love for large development companies and was sort of pissed at himself for getting into this position in the first place.

  Second to this annoyance was the fact that he wasn’t sleeping very well. Ever since he’d arrived in the nation’s capital two days ago, he’d been having the weirdest dreams—something that was completely out of character for him.

  Last night’s had been almost identical to the first…

  He’d been thrusting one very hard erection between sweetly hot pussy lips, a sensual and erotic dream that surpassed any he could remember having in a long time. Long thighs had gripped his hips as she rode him, a caress of silk coupled with the bite of her fingernails as she dug them into his shoulders.

  His eyes had been closed—his cock on a hair trigger as she’d pushed herself down one last time…

  In his dream, he’d finally lifted his eyelids to look at her.

  Big mistake.

  Straddling him was a woman, smiling down at him with the heat of passion flushing her high cheekbones. Her hair was a black veil cascading over her lean body in shining waves, her skin smooth and sleek.

  And as he stared at her, spellbound, she changed…softening, blurring…turning all grey and downy and feathered… With something close to what he could only describe as erotic horror, he felt himself on the edge of coming—a scream of mixed terror and completion choking from his throat as he woke himself from the nightmare.

  Christ above. He was fucking a heron…

  A Siege of Herons

  Dedication

  This story is respectfully dedicated to our planet and those who work full-time to protect it. While not an active environmentalist, I do believe we need to take better care of our home. There aren’t many others on the market at the moment…

  Author’s Note

  Once again the title of this tale comes from an archaic collective noun describing a group of birds. Herons are interesting critters, ranging from the common white egret seen all over the place in Florida, to the great blue herons I’ve seen living a quiet life in New England conservation lands. They are B.I.G., make no mistake about it!

  The Seneca tribe to which my characters refer was divided into clans named after creatures of the world in which they lived. And yes, one clan was indeed the Heron clan. Unlike their western counterparts, the Seneca people were agrarian, farming and cultivating the land rather than roaming it freely. Research for this story not only fired my imagination but taught me a lot about Native American lore. One of the many benefits to being a writer is constantly learning new things about new times and new people. Yep, I love my job.

  Prologue

  Washington DC, Present day

  Ned Harper awoke in the bedroom of his small suite to find himself bathed in sweat and with an erection that hurt. It was another of those damn dreams, another session in some strange forest with a woman who was slowly, inexorably, driving him insane.

  He passed a shaky hand over his face as he tried to recall the details, find something—anything—that would clue him in as to why he should all of a sudden be experiencing incredibly erotic dreams about a time and place he’d never known.

  He knew the earth was soft beneath them and that she had amazing legs. He knew he lusted for her, desired her, needed to fuck her until they were both exhausted. The need still rattled him all the way to his back teeth. It was that overwhelmingly intense.

  He knew he sank himself into her—shit, his cock might still be shining from the juices he’d slid through doing that very thing.

  They’d rolled together, this time around, ending up with her straddling him, riding him with a body that was toned, womanly and firm, breasts bouncing, hair flying all over the place—Jesus Christ. He was losing his frickin’mind.

  Because at the end of all this wonderfully erotic shit that had erupted into his sleeping hours, the woman came, orgasming on a shriek of fulfillment.

  Seconds before he followed her—she changed.

  Her body sort of shimmered like an odd movie special effect or something. The lines of her abdomen blurred, her hair kind of shifted around her head and her face—Ned shuddered right down to his soul.

  At the very end of his dream, milliseconds before he woke up, he found himself buried balls-deep in a goddamned heron.

  His shout of surprise pulled him from the vision every time, leaving him confused, sort of awake and with a serious case of morning arousal.

  It was getting to be a fucking pain in the ass.

  Ned sighed, rolled out of the mussed bed and took himself off to the bathroom, knowing that yet again, for the third morning in a row, he was gonna have to have a date with his hand.

  Something this sharply intense wasn’t going to go away by itself.

  He really wished the dreams would, though. He had no objection to the occasional fantasy. Nightmares were acceptable, since they were all part of the human brain. But this?

  This was outside anything he could have imagined, no matter how drunk he happened to be at the time.

  And he absolutely did not fuck birds. Just the thought made him queasy. So where the hell was all this coming from? Did he have something going on in his head that needed therapy? Some repressed urges to punish his pet parakeet who’d gone and passed peacefully away when he was nine?

  Just how sick was all this, anyway?

  Dr. Ned Harper, environmental biologist and practical man of science, sighed deeply as he grasped his cock in the elegant shower of the Capitol Hilton.

  Dreams suck.

  Chapter One

  She was Onandowaga, fleet of foot like the creatures that flitted through the forests and the brush on the sides of the steep hills.

  Onandowaga, People of the Mountain. What the white man would call Seneca.

  The fast pace she maintained was a comfort, her moccasins scarcely pausing on an occasional gnarled root or washed out portion of the path. Thorny tendrils grabbed at her leather breeches and her short skirt, but nothing could slow her down.

  The longhouses of her village were far below her now, as were the fields of beans and squash tended so lovingly by her fellow Seneca women. At the moment, there were men to help with the chores—but that would change if some idiot decided that war was an option.

  Then heads would be shaved, leaving only a plume of hair to signify the passage of man into warrior. And Seneca men would die.

  Her heart thudded more rapidly than her pace would have caused at the mere thought of losing a certain man.

  Nohnohsot. The soul that called to her soul. The body that sang the song her heart knew intimately. The only one she had ever—would ever—love.

  Named for his people, Nohnohsot was a member of the Heron clan, taller and stronger than the bird from which they took their name, yet with the same aloof and regal air. Only she knew that beneath the calm gaze lay a heart and a body that could blaze with passion.

  She too was Heron. Gandewitha. Morning star—named by her mother as a brilliant star had risen at the moment of her birth.

  She’d tried to live up to the name, an honorable Seneca woman, following the rules, working hard…until…

  A branch slapped her painfully across one arm and she paused for breath, letting her lungs fill with the softly scented summer air. It would not be long now, no time at all, until she was with him agai
n. Energy pulsed through her belly into her thighs and once again she ran, eating up the distance between them with long strides, eager to see him, touch him, love him…

  And there he was.

  Naked, muscled, the dark stylized symbol of the heron marking him from shoulder to waist. His arms were out, ready to clasp her close. His hand reached to grab her braid as she tore off her clothes and went to him, their flesh melding with a heat that surpassed the temperature of the air around them.

  He laughed softly as he tumbled with her to the grass, spread her thighs wide and plunged into her waiting slickness. He was always thus, claiming her as a warrior claimed his prize, knowing she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  They grappled and strained at each other, desperate to feel, to love, to fuck with all that they were.

  “Nohnohsot—” She cried out his name as the first shudders of her peak rippled through her.

  And woke up bathed in sweat as her cell phone rang on the bedside table.

  *~~*~~*

  Gaia Jackson groaned as she reached for the annoyingly cheerful tune blaring about three inches away from her pillow and flipped the cell phone open. “Yeah?”

  “Gaia? Wake up.”

  “’M awake.”

  “No, you’re not. Wake up.”

  The excited and alert voice of her friend Maxie penetrated the sleepy fog in Gaia’s ears and she opened her eyes, staring blearily at the draperies drawn over her window. “What time‘s it?” She yawned, a jaw-cracking gape that did nothing to increase her awareness. Gaia wasn’t good at mornings.

  “It’s past seven already, sleepyhead.” Maxie chuckled. “You’d be up in half an hour anyway.”

  “That’s an eternity.” Gaia blinked. “You okay?”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m calling. I’m more than okay. I’m dancing on air. I’m thrilled, excited, over the moon—”

  “Look, if you just got laid or something, I really don’t wanna know at this hour.”

  Maxie laughed. “Nope. Better.”

  “There’s something better?” Gaia rubbed her free hand over her face and pushed her hair back out of the way.

  “Yeah. The permit. It came through. I got it. Just got the email now. We got it, Gaia.”

  “Uh, good.” The fog was lifting a little, but not much. “Which permit was that again?”

  There was a gusty sigh. “Go have your coffee. I should’ve known not to call you before coffee.”

  “Mmm. Yeah, you probably should have.” Gaia stretched. “I’ll call you back in a few.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  The call ended with a click and Gaia hauled her ass out of the nice, warm, comforting rumple that was her bed. It was the absolute pits, the moment of the day she hated more than anything.

  But once out of her embryonic cocoon, her wits soon started functioning. A shower and half a pot of coffee later, she was back on the phone to Maxie.

  “Okay. So the permit came through. We’re set for our protest?”

  “Yes, but we can’t call it a protest, of course.” Maxie huffed. “Not allowable. It’s a permit for a rally.”

  “Jesus. We’re not long distance bike racers or fighting against cancer, for Chrissake.”

  “I know. Gotta play the game, though.”

  There was a shuffling sound as Maxie thumbed through papers on her end of the phone conversation. “Here we go. It’s been approved as a rally in support of environmental awareness.”

  “Well, that works.” Gaia stared absently out the window at another sunny Washington day. “Anything else?”

  “Yep. We can hang banners, although there’s a size limitation, we’re allowed one tent or canopy-like structure and we’re responsible for the cleanup afterward.”

  “Fair enough.” Gaia nodded to herself.

  “The security detail will be assigned by the Park Service dudes, there’ll be some sort of Red Cross EMT system in place in case anybody faints or something…”

  “Good to know.” Gaia wrinkled her nose. “Once the actual, real and unedited number of endangered species gets out there, it wouldn’t surprise me if a few people did faint.”

  “Agreed.” Maxie sounded thoughtful. “And nobody in Park seems to have made the connection with the bill going to the House. I guess the timing only matters to us.”

  For the first time that morning, Gaia’s lips curled into a smile. “It’ll matter to the media when we start planting those whispers.”

  A giggle answered her. “Oh yeah.” Maxie would be smiling too. “It’s gonna be toward the east end of the Mall, I think. They’ll peg out the site for us. Let’s pray for good weather.”

  “Amen.” Gaia glanced at the clock. “Gotta scoot, Max. The Metro’s gonna be crammed full.”

  “’K. I’ll talk to you later. Wanna do lunch?”

  “Can’t. Got a project to wrap up and a set of presentation slides to get to the boss before three today.”

  “Ouch. Okay—keep in touch.”

  Gaia was still smiling as she left her New Hampshire Avenue apartment and made her way toward the Foggy Bottom Metro station. The sun shone brilliantly, the traffic hummed past her as her long legs ate up the blocks—it was going to be a good day.

  Even the throngs of people jostling to catch their morning commute couldn’t dim her enthusiasm and when she rode the escalator up back into the sunshine at the Smithsonian stop, she nearly laughed aloud.

  The trees were just showing a few signs of autumn, the sky was blue and all was right with Gaia’s world. She loved DC, the buildings, the wide swaths of green cutting between them, the elegant architecture that marked this portion of the nation’s capital. She could breathe in this town, no matter how busy it got with tourists, politicians, diplomats, students—all the associated people who made Washington what it was.

  Gaia strode down Independence Avenue to her office, tucked away in the National Resources Conservation Service building, her heels making a nice ring on the sidewalk. Lord knew she didn’t need heels, being close to six feet tall in her bare feet. But she figured what the hell. God had blessed her with long legs—she might as well show them off.

  Her weird name had come from her mother, who apparently had a sixties flashback when it came to christening her only daughter. Gaia’s long black hair and high cheekbones were a heritage from a distant ancestor. She hadn’t fought any of it, but simply accepted who she was.

  A modern-day crusader on behalf of the earth upon which she walked.

  And, once again, she smiled. Her Native American ancestors had blessed her, giving her not only the strong-hair genes, but a passion for all things living. A respect for the land, the air, the creatures that shared their existence alongside human beings.

  Gaia would stop and watch the sparrows, the pigeons, the squirrels as they busily buried things and dug them up again. She’d admire the sunlight shining through the many fountains splashing around the District. She even found herself fascinated by the few rats she’d seen doing their rat-thing in Lafayette Park one day.

  Life was so precious, no matter what shape it came in. It amazed her that others were blind to it, unseeing and uncaring of all the other residents sharing the planet. Pushing open the doors to her building, she waved to the security guard and got a wave and a wink back as she slipped her ID card into the reader and was green-lighted through into the recesses of the NRCS.

  Her working day was about to begin, another chance to make a difference in her world.

  Yep, Gaia Jackson was where she wanted to be—needed to be. Her research helped conservation efforts in a variety of places around the world and every moment she spent doing it meant something important might possibly happen in someplace she’d never heard of.

  She couldn’t ask for more. Except, perhaps, a nice sunny day for their “rally”. And some bored journalists who might find it interesting to hear about a certain omnibus budget bill that looked like it might sneak onto the House floor a little too quietly…

  *~~
*~~*

  Quite a few female eyes turned appreciatively to the figure of Dr. Ned Harper as he relaxed in the morning sunshine on a bench in McPherson Square with his cup of coffee. Mostly he ignored the appraisals, knowing there’d be other men in other places getting the same treatment. A few years ago, he might have responded. He was younger then, his hair long and braided, emphasizing his darkly handsome good looks and strong features.

  Now the hair was cut and styled and the urge to pick up a woman for a hot date no longer a pressing requirement.

  He simply enjoyed the sunshine and the bustle of the city around him. Washington was nice when seen like this—from a tourist’s perspective.

  He’d been here before, since a couple of his buddies had gone to George Washington University and he’d done the quick trip down from Boston to spend time with them on the occasional semester break. But the hours had mostly been spent drinking vast amounts of beer and eating up a storm, not to mention a few quick and exciting rolls in the high-profile hay of DC with willing coeds. Unfortunately, most of ‘em seemed to come from the Midwest rather than some exotically titled mansion on Embassy Row. He’d headed back to New England with their phone numbers, more than one hangover and the realization he’d never actually seen the White House.

  Yep, college life had been cool, no doubt about it. He’d graduated with a degree, gone on to get his doctorate and was now trying to pay the price.

  Ned winced and took another sip of his coffee. It was that frickin’ price that had resulted in his being here, in McPherson Square, sipping coffee. After completing his thesis and getting his doctorate, he’d figured all would be sunshine and flowers, with job offers pouring out the faucets.

  Wrong. He’d struggled from one consulting job to another, trying to find a niche for himself in the field of his choice—environmental biology. But the booming employment opportunities had promptly dried up as soon as he’d graduated and he found himself in a financial mess, barely able to keep up his tiny apartment just outside Boston, and when his stupid car had a seizure…