She’d done it. She’d gone into a dream on purpose.
Fear leapt at her with unexpected force, blossoming in her chest with this first use of power in so long. Now was her turn to look around, to look for danger, to see what she invited with this use of power.
Yet there was no other, nothing hanging along the edges, ready to strike out at her the moment she let down her guard. It seemed she was safe. Just maybe, she was safe.
Giddiness – with this victory, with this meeting – suffused her voice. “I couldn’t wait to see you.” It was true. The only person outside of her family she had ever felt that way about, and with only one meeting she felt secure with him, a deep-seated happiness that was, without explanations as to why. It just was, and she needed that so much today.
“Glad I’m here to oblige then.” He tipped an imaginary hat towards her, the chivalrous gesture both ridiculous and endearing, and a swell of delight rose through her.
He held his hand out to her, and as her fingers entangled with his, the scenery around them changed to a city street on a summer day, the tantalizing smell of spices and roasting meat heavy in the air, dark-skinned children running past them barefoot, laughing as they kicked a ball around the group and evading the scolding adults they occasionally ran into. “Where are we?”
“A place I like,” he said, pulling her down the street as he placed her hand in the crook of his arm, settling her against him in a protective movement.
It was the first time with her power that the other person had any say in the surroundings, and she still wasn’t sure how it had happened. There had been nothing concrete, nothing in her own mind that told her to shift here.
“Is everything okay?” The concern in his voice brought the threat of tears, and she didn’t want to cry, not again. But he was the only one who had showed concern, and tenderness, and it was so tiring being alone all the time.
“No.” The word slipped out before she could think, before she could remind herself trusting others was never a good idea, even in a dream. “No, it’s not.”
He nodded, but said nothing, only brought her in closer to his body. There were no false words of how everything would be fine, no admonishing her to look at the good side, or spoken promises to fix things. It was instead silent comfort, and it soothed her in a way nothing had for a very long time.
They wandered to a park, nothing more than a large green space surrounded by a trail and a few trees and flowers. There were a few small groupings of people picnicking, with the littler kids still running around together no matter if they were boys or girls. The teenagers were separated by gender, alternating speaking in their little groups and looking toward the other, laughing and giggling when a glance was intercepted, the one caught looking away with chagrin written over their face and the catcalls or giggles of the others in the group loud in their ears.
He didn’t head for any of the people. Instead they walked around the little trail. The flowers were plentiful and colorful, beautiful in the way that spoke of a lot of upkeep and love, but not in the precise lines of a manicured garden. This instead suggested the community cared for it as a whole, working as they could to keep it up, with no forethought or plan attached. “I like it here too.”
“It’s a good place when things become too much.” He said it not as someone remembering long ago days of trials, but someone going through the hell of now. She wasn’t the only one with burdens, and she squeezed his arm to show support.
“We’re both so cheerful, aren’t we?” Her gentle tease was worth the smile that lit his face, showing white teeth and that adorable dimple.
“Yeah. Enough of that, or I’m handing in my guy card.”
She bumped him with her hip, the move making him stutter-step, though more in surprise than any ability of hers to move him, their arms separating at the motion. “Oh yeah? What rule are you breaking?”
The half-shock on his face was comical, but it was the thread of disbelief, of confusion under it that had her own humor dimming some. Could this be the first time anyone had ever teased him like this? Before her brother was taken, they were always physical with each other, playful touches that showed how much they loved each other. Did he have any of that?
Amana forced the disquieting thought down before it could show on her face, not wanting him to become self-conscious, and concentrated on only the delight he expressed.
He came back from the surprise by putting his hands on his hips, staring at her. “The rule that says a man shall not bring down the lady in his company.” He grasped at her hand and pulled her so she stood in front of him, their faces so close to each other. “It’s doubly wrong when said lady has the prettiest smile he’s ever seen in his life.”
“Prettiest? That’s a high standard.” Her voice came out breathier than she wished, but he was right here, those tattoos within reach and the dimple on display. She didn’t stand a chance.
“Trust me, second place is so far behind you there is no comparison.”
It didn’t feel like a line. Only sincerity and appreciation showed in those eyes, the honey color strong, and he lowered his head to hers.
It was slow, and she had ample time to pull away if she desired. She didn’t, and the first brush of lips was a light caress, a small question. In answer she pressed herself closer, absorbing his warmth into herself, letting it melt the cold that had enveloped her at the earlier meeting and had yet to thaw.
His hands cupped her face and brought her closer, the kiss was kept soft. His fingers roamed over her forehead, down her temples to push back into the fall of her hair. Her hair was twisted in his hand, firm but not painful, as though he was trying to tether himself to her.
His tongue came out to run along her bottom lip, the warmth and wetness creating in her a similar answer. She parted her lips, letting him explore however he desired.
What he desired was slow. There was no rough handling, no grasping at her. Instead each brush against her spoke of cherishing, protecting. He was firm, in charge, demanding, but he took nothing that wasn’t freely offered.
They separated, and only then she noticed how heavy their breathing was, how dark his eyes had become. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a better kisser.”
“Yeah?” His gaze roamed her face, taking in all the little details. Did he see the small scar the side of her temple? Or the one beneath her jaw, that curve where it met her neck? If he did, he didn’t ask about either of them. Instead, he said, “Prettiest eyes, too.”
“They’re only dark brown.”
He gave a snort of a laugh, the sound enough to break the tiniest bit through the sexual tension. “That is such a girl thing to do.”
“What?”
“When you get a compliment, you turn around and say why the compliment isn’t valid. Trust me, I saw your eyes are dark brown. They’re still the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”
“I am a girl.” The protest was weak, and she gave a huff of laughter herself. “I’ll try not to be such a girl next time.”
“Only in that way. In every other way I like that you’re a girl.”
“I never would have guessed.” Wait, did she just flutter her eyelashes at him? If she kept this ridiculousness up, she was going to dream up a copy of herself, just to come over and smack some sense into her.
He brushed his fingers over her cheek, intent in a way she’d never known. Men in her acquaintance were intent with money, with bloodshed, with cars or electronics or any of the thousands of other things that showed how wealthy and powerful they were. Never did they take any care of the women surrounding them. Sure, there was money thrown around, spa days to make sure the women were lacquered and primped, jewelry placed to showcase not the woman but the extreme amount of wealth such large rocks must have cost.
To the men she knew, women weren’t women. They were either mannequins or fuck toys, and outside of those uses, there was no reason for them to exist.
This man – a stranger she knew in dreams and did
n’t yet know his name – trailed his fingers down her arm and curled them around her hand. He brought her hand up, and on her palm he gave a kiss that was warm lips and warm breath and so gentle her heart stuttered in her chest.
“I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to go back.” The words escaped, words that came from deep inside, buried under obligation to Nakoa and words she would never allow herself to utter with forethought.
A shadow passed over his eyes, and he molded her fingers to his face, burying his cheek into the skin of her palm. “Would you stay with me here?”
“Can I?” But even as the words escaped, it was all hopeless, all vain imagining. Her life belonged to her brother. Maybe now it also belonged to the Guild, because though she could fool herself as much as the next person, she couldn’t see them letting her escape from their grasp. But no matter how she wished it, her life did not and could not belong with a man who had honey-colored eyes and striking tattoos, and it was time to put this dream away.
Amana woke up, trails of tears flowing over her cheeks to be absorbed by the bed linen below.
Chapter Six
‡
Damn that magic. It meant she couldn’t lie to herself and let herself accidentally-on-purpose forget the phone number given to her by Fallon. Hard truth, raw and ugly, beat itself through her brain.
If she didn’t make this call, the chance she turned away would haunt her forever. Even if one day she got her brother free without this, she’d be living with the knowledge that he was in prison weeks? Months? Years? Longer than he had to, because of her, because of her choice. That was assuming he survived being in a cage. Based on how he’d been doing the last time they had seen each other, believing he could keep hanging on was little more than wishful thinking.
Her brother’s time there was coming to an end, whatever form freedom took.
There was no choice. She could scream and cry and rail against gods and man, but when had that changed one second of her life?
With trembling fingers, Amana grabbed the phone and punched out the number.
“We’ve been waiting for your call,” came posh British tones, deep and resonant, something expected to be heard on the Shakespearean stage. “All the data you need to complete your assignment will be included in your packet.” The doorbell rang, causing her to jump. “There is your information. I suggest you go retrieve it.”
“One thing,” Amana interjected, not letting the man on the other end hang-up as he had seemed in a rush to do. “I want to do a straight swap. My brother needs to be out of jail and at the meeting.”
“That was not part of the agreement.” The man’s voice was hesitant, perhaps a touch wary. So he wasn’t someone in charge. He only followed orders.
“It’s the agreement if you want me to do this. If you don’t, no problem. I heard talk of a Plan B while I was sitting at the table. Good luck with getting that off the ground.”
“Hold please.” The long moments while she waited for the man to get back on the phone had Amana’s stomach take an acid bath, and only pure stubbornness kept her upright and waiting for the answer. The man came back. “Agreed. Now please, go get the packet.”
The call disconnected, and only now did feeling return to her hands. She’d done it, and triumph lit through her, momentarily drowning out the sorrow. The decision made, the path before her set, she walked to the door.
A large legal envelope had been placed against her door, so that when she opened the door it fell into her entranceway. It was thin enough to suggest only a few pages were inside. She grabbed it and closed the door, sliding every lock in place.
The path before her… Nakoa would be free. Nakoa would be at her side. She willed every part of her to surround that thought, embrace it, use it to push down the terror clawing inside her throat at even the suggestion of truly using her powers again.
Nakoa would be free. Nakoa would be at her side.
She opened up the envelope and pulled out the first page, to see his picture staring up at her.
Chapter Seven
‡
No choice, pounded the refrain through her head, a loop of constant syllables drilling itself deeper and deeper into her brain. No choice, because your brother will be free. No choice, because it meant no more running, no more hating herself for failing once again. No choice, no choice, no choice.
His eyes were so blank in the picture, hooded as she had never seen them in the dreams. His dimple was on display, but here it was a shield, a decoy, not a display of pleasure as it had been when they were together.
Throwing his picture on the table, she curled into a ball, bringing her knees to her chest and resting her head against the sharp planes of bone.
There wasn’t much information given to her in those few pages, so either they didn’t know much about him, or this was all they believed she needed for the job. Her guess would be the latter, considering the majority of the file were pictures of the man. She would hope the Guild would have a better database on such a well-known opponent.
Though if he was so good they were using her as a sneaky way to get to him, maybe he was an enigma. They referred to him as Merc in one of the bullet points from the short one page bio, and wouldn’t they at least give her his first name if they knew it?
The other facts were stingy as well. Those tattoos she longed to touch were magical, though the paper didn’t give specifics. Their second meeting he had looked down and over the tattoos on his arm, and with this knowledge that action now made sense. The tattoos must have some degree of magical protection or detection, and he was making sure she wasn’t using anything to enter his dream.
Nice to know she was powerful enough that one of the most feared warriors of the realms was fooled. Her laugh became a choked sob, and she pulled her legs tighter into her body, willing her heartbeat to slow and taking deep breaths to achieve the action.
Couldn’t the gods give her any peace? Why did they have to destroy even this one ray of light in her world?
She rocked like a small child comforting herself, pressing her face hard into her legs to hold back the tears that gathered behind her eyes. Her body shuddered under the weight and strain, small jerky movements she couldn’t contain, sobs building in her throat she swallowed hard against. She stayed there, eyelids tight, body shaking, mind blanked by pure dint of will.
Endless time passed. Shivers passed. Thoughts. Passed. She was an empty vessel, and opening her eyes, there was the shape of the dream surrounding her, the weight of the nightly world familiar, oh so familiar to her.
He…Merc…was a stranger. Her brother was blood. It was time to let this go.
The choice was made. Living with it would be a different story, but now she would get her brother free.
Time to find the mercenary and put an end to this damnable dream.
Chapter Eight
‡
This time, Merc didn’t look at his arms when she appeared. His smile was easy and his body relaxed a fraction. “I was wondering if I’d see you tonight.”
“I couldn’t stay away.” They were back on the beach, but now it was moonlit, the reflection on the water bright and clear, the moon big enough to cause the briefest of shudders, as if it could crash into the water on the horizon. A perfect night for lovers to stroll together, hand in hand, lost in each other.
Tonight he wore a leather jacket, and tonight he wrapped that jacket around her, putting his arm over her shoulder and pulling her close as they walked the silent stretch of sand.
Though this would end in betrayal, Amana would hold onto this last meeting. She would surround herself in him, absorb him, until that final moment where she would have to let him go. She snuggled closer, nestling her cheek against the hard wall of chest. “How was your day, dear?”
“Could’ve been worse,” he replied, humor in the tone. “It would have been if I hadn’t seen you.”
“That was almost too sweet. Warn me next time so I don’t go into sugar shock.” D
id her voice waver? Was that the right amount of tart, or did it go into bitter? No, stop, enjoy this. Enjoy this until it has to end.
They stopped to look over the waves, and he fitted her into him so he could rest his chin on her head. “I’ll remember that.”
Walking the beach at night was always her favorite. As much as she enjoyed the daytime energy, it was the calm dark of the night that always soothed her soul, brought her peace. At night, it was only her and the moon, the mist of the ocean and the warm, gentle breeze. It was freedom with no judgment, no well-meaning but sharp-tongued relatives to poke at her family yet again.
If only she could have known Merc back then. Whatever he was in the real world, here he was quiet strength, and this Merc would have paid the stories around her and her family no mind. He would have held her hand and walked beside her, no matter the stares and whispers that followed them.
His face in moonlight was a study of planes and shadows. Her mother would have said he had a strong face, with a strong chin. That was one thing her mama always disliked – men with weak chins.
Strange, remembering Mama now. It had been such a long time since Amana thought of her. Unlucky in love, that’s what the old women talked of while playing Go, smoke thick in the air, fingertips yellowed and fingers gnarled. Good girl, but so unlucky. Maybe if she listened more, she wouldn’t be stuck with those babies.
She pulled Nakoa away, the words absorbed and the damage done.
Listening to those women, she vowed she’d never have babies without being married. She’d never give them a reason to talk about her, in those half-pitying/half-delighted scandal tones. Her babies would have a daddy who loved them, who would never leave them. Her babies would ride on their daddy’s shoulders, and he would take them to ice cream shops, all the while telling them don’t tell your mother. A daddy who would protect them from every bad thing this world could surprise their family with – and that was a lot of bad things.
The Dream Crafter Page 4