Which was stupid to believe, given the circumstances. He was a mercenary and taking the Spellbook from him had marked her an enemy – or if not that, someone who could not be trusted. The way he kept her awake told of how that hadn’t changed.
But…but but but…
Behind her eyelids all day had been the memory of his hand reaching for her sleeping form, the way his fingers shook as they stroked over her cheek and roamed downwards to feel the pulse at her neck. The way he had hesitated before he laid a finger on her, as if in fear of what he might discover.
The way his fingers curled into his palm, tightening down, as though pushing any remembered sensation deep.
Sharing couldn’t hurt her, could it? Just a little sharing. Only a bit, to not be alone in this anymore, even if only for a moment. Nothing that could be used against her, or Nakoa. A few memories wouldn’t harm anything.
The dark made speaking easier. The dark meant she could pretend his attention wasn’t on her, or that she was dredging up words and scenes she had buried deep as she could, buried so she could survive every day.
It was the dark, and it was more than the dark. It was she was alone with a man who for one brief moment cared for her, someone who against all odds her heart and soul wrapped around, embraced, in a dream world that with him – only with him – she didn’t despise. She didn’t fear. For one moment, there had been peace. “He’s imprisoned. He’s alone, and if I don’t free him, he’ll never be free.”
“Where is he?”
She shook her head in instinctive negation. He wouldn’t understand why Nakoa was there, not without the whole story, and she wasn’t giving him that.
But Merc seemed to understand, because the semi-friendly atmosphere remained, and he didn’t push her answer. “Tell me about him,” was what he said instead.
A smile flitted over her lips, unbidden but so welcome, as her mind started at the beginning, when it was the two of them, small and sure, wandering the island together in adventures they couldn’t conceive of ever ending. “He’s two-and-a-half years younger than me. He was always curious, always getting into everything. He was one of those kids who takes apart clocks and toasters because they want to know how they work, but it’s not enough for other people to tell them. They have to know for themselves. He loved being outdoors more than anything, and being in the water even more than that. He hated reading, but he loved being read to. He was always polite, too. Not in a forced way, but because he was a natural caretaker. He wanted everyone always happy. And he smiled, no matter what. He always smiled.”
“You sound more like a mother hen than an older sister.”
“Maybe I am.” Her pride shown through on that answer, because she had loved being a big sister. She loved holding his hand, and wiping his face, and making sure he was fed, and most of all, she loved the smile he would give her as he looked up at her, as though she were the best thing in the world, better than cookies or cartoons or the chance to go into the waves. He had been her world, and she loved every moment of it, even when those around her told her she should call him a burden or resent him. She never had. Not for one moment.
She hadn’t been a saint. She got mad and she got frustrated. She stomped her foot and occasionally pouted. But resentment? Never.
“And your parents?”
Merc’s question sliced through the happiness and let the long dark of memories begin. “Dead.”
“No other family?”
“No.” She should worry about telling him too much, but learning about a whole family gone wasn’t a rare situation, not anymore. It was rarer to hear about someone who hadn’t lost people. The Great Collision destroyed so many lives. Granted, the islands were not as affected as the mainland – great stretches of land didn’t find themselves transformed into vastly different terrains and were now inhabited by dwarves or elves or necromancers. On the islands, magical woods didn’t rise, housing creatures that thirty years ago were only told about in fairy tales and horror films.
But like everywhere else, the introduction of magic did change the nature of the islands, putting its mark on the human inhabitants. She and her brother were proof enough of that.
“And your deal with the Guild was you would grab the Spellbook, and they would get him for you?” There was no anger in his speaking to her. To a stranger listening to the two of them, they would never guess how a huge betrayal lay behind those words, how a might have been was utterly destroyed.
The desire to make him understand heated her words, gave them urgency, maybe gave her hope. “The deal was he would have complete freedom. There would be no fear of him being taken away again. He and I would be able to return home and find some way to rebuild our life. It wouldn’t have been easy, but after what we’ve been through, no one would have been able to stop us.” The disappointment of that day lanced through her, the tiredness and anger over the Guild’s callous treatment as fresh as if she were watching Fallon walk through that café door. “I was a fool in the end. They were supposed to bring him to the meet. He should have been there. Instead, they wanted me to give them the book and to go with them, and all they offered in exchange was more empty words.”
“Don’t ever be comfortable with the Guild.” Merc’s words were hard, curt, knowing. “No matter what happens in the future, they are not and never will be your ally.”
“Then who can I trust?” And the fears she had held banked, held back as she concentrated on her brother fell upon her. “What I am is now known. The knowledge that a dream crafter exists is spreading. One thing I know is a secret doesn’t stay a secret long. I’m a target now, and if I can’t trust the Guild, what am I going to do?”
Merc was quiet for several long moments, the low rumble of the engine not as comforting as it had been before their conversation. It was still dark, but the moon was dimmer, the stars not so plentiful, and Merc’s bangs fell over his eyes, not letting her in. In a voice that hinted of scales and punishment, he said, “Secrets are never meant to stay hidden. All you can do is prepare for the blow, and pray to your god the resulting wound isn’t mortal.”
Chapter Nineteen
‡
“It’s too early, and I need my beauty sleep, and most important, I don’t want to go.” The whine was strong in Laire’s voice, and the tiny mage dragged her feet – really dragged her feet, leaving a trail behind her as Fallon used force to move her across the wooded path.
“Plan B in action.” Fallon held Laire tight to her, to discourage both flight and the ineffectual blows Laire flung at her. Laire might not be strong, but those spiky shoes could hurt if they landed on a soft spot.
“I still say there’s no reason for me to be here.” Laire was getting desperate, and desperate Laire turned into shrieky Laire.
Fallon paused in her journey. “Quit. Besides, you want to be in on the action any other time.”
“I’ve changed my mind and will never bother you again.”
“So you’re telling me that you don’t want to be with me next time I need to hunt down the Oracle at whatever sex show she’s frequenting?”
Laire’s eyes brightened, but before she could respond a man stepped into view from behind a tree several feet away. Messy brown hair fell into hooded eyes, the shade of which was indistinguishable at this distance. The stubble on his face accentuated the firm jaw and line of his cheekbones, while his mouth was a subtle line – full enough to be noticeable, but not so full to be a focal point.
He wore jeans and an untucked flannel shirt, with a denim jacket over it, all items clean but worn. His gaze was fastened on Laire, who was looking at anyone but him.
Fallon directed a wide smile at the man, and in an aggressively obnoxious tone shouted, “Short Shit!”
“Big Red,” the man replied, his gaze leaving Laire for the half-second it took him to respond, the smirk evident in his tone. He turned back to Laire, the tone softening as he said in a much more intimate voice, “Chibi.”
Laire snorted, but
in no other way did she acknowledge the man’s existence. Instead, she studied the bark of a tree as if her newest spell could be found there.
Fallon stepped towards the man, not bothering to try to drag Laire with her at this stage. “Don’t mind her. She’s in a mood.”
“Hey! Don’t go apologizing for me.”
As Fallon came ever nearer, the color of the man’s eyes under his squinty gaze became clear, the same blue as the noon sky before a storm. “Thanks for meeting us on such short notice.”
The struggle he had to take his attention away from Laire was visceral, the whole of his body attuned to the smaller woman who stayed far away. When he did pull away after long moments, the full weight of his gaze was palpable, the strength and heft of it giving veracity to the truth of stories told deep in the night, in voices soaked in fear, words raw and choked. “Better not count on underhanded tactics working again, Red. I won’t always be so available. Still kinda upset about what happened to my man under your watch.”
Fallon stopped a rough foot away from him. In less than a second his eyes mapped out their positions, every tree and rock in relation to them, how her sword was placed and probably caught over half the hidden weapons on her body. As she was doing the same thing, Fallon couldn’t hold it against the guy. “I know the Blackguard has a certain reputation to uphold, Griffith, but don’t lie. You had no more use for him than we did.”
Griffith folded his arms across his chest, and it didn’t matter the man was five-nine and barely above average in terms of height or body mass. Anyone with a sense of self-preservation would be quaking under the menace he was projecting. “That’s on me. He was still mine until the moment he wasn’t by my choice. I don’t play that shit.”
“Kyo has assured you it won’t happen again.”
“Kyo isn’t the one I’m worrying about.”
Fallon inclined her head to acknowledge the small verbal jab, then pressed on. “Let’s talk about the future. The Guild needs your services again. Are you interested?”
Griffith pulled back on the posturing, the message sent and received, and a more cunning light entered his eyes. “Tell me the service and if I’m interested, we’ll talk payment.”
“Hadrien. He’s gone underground, and we want him.”
Griffith scratched the side of his jaw, his eyes shrewd on hers. “Heard he disappeared. He’s not the level the Guild usually worries over.”
“As is often the way of things, he got himself mixed up with the wrong people while involved in big plans, and is now the key to some dealings.”
“No surprised about the wrong people – only kind he associates with. Big things, that’s new.”
Since he hadn’t looked at Laire for a whole ten seconds, Fallon took it as a sign of interest and pressed. “Can you find him for us?”
His head tilted, and a world of pro and con rushed through his eyes at light speed. “Ain’t gonna be easy. Little shit has lots of friends in low places, the kind best for hidin’ you.”
Time for a well-placed strike at professional pride. “But you can do it, right?”
That worked, with Griffith puffing out his chest for emphasis. Well, more like he took an extra-long breath, which for Griffith was near the same thing. “Lucky for you, I got plenty of those type friends myself.”
“What price you asking?”
As if drawn by force, his eyes found Laire again, and this time he didn’t look away after a split-second of taking her in. Subtle Laire was not. Fidgety she damn sure was, and it only took a few moments of being under Griffith’s direct stare that Laire turned on her spiky little heel and glared at him.
Under that glare Griffith’s mouth widened into a grin, transforming the almost dour handsomeness into something boyish and unfettered. Laire’s glare faltered, transformed into something much more hesitant, and she jerked her head to the side to be away from that gaze once more.
His grin died as well, though his focus was all Laire, even as he said, “I’ll contact Kyo and discuss.”
“Sounds good.” Fallon stepped back, not quite turning her back on him. “Always a pleasure, Griffith. We must do this again sometime.”
“Don’t expect me if you do,” came Laire’s voice, muffled somewhat considering she was turned away from them.
Griffith shook his head, an indulgent smile playing across his mouth as he stepped back behind the tree and disappeared from sight.
Fallon still didn’t quite turn around, not until she was beside Laire and grabbing her arm. “C’mon, you big baby. I need to drop you off and get somewhere.”
That statement had Laire digging in her heels once again. “You drug me all the way here, and now you’re ditching me? What are you doing?”
“Nothing fancy, only setting up Plan C.” Fallon gestured down with one finger at Laire’s boots, lifting an eyebrow and being very clear with the unspoken message quit stalling or I’m getting rid of the shoes.
You wouldn’t dare.
Watch me.
Unspoken messages rocked, because Laire started moving again with only a small huff to signal her defeat. “Whatever. I don’t care what letter of the alphabet it is next time, I am not coming to any more meetings with that man, understand?”
“Let’s see, what is Griffith? Granted, he’s short to me, but to you he’s a giant. He’s brilliant, loads of money, controls more secrets than most nations, leads the most feared spying and thieving and unofficial more organization in the Realms. Looks are subjective, but consensus seems to be he’s good looking, and I’d place a money bet he’d assassinate a world leader to hold your hand. Yeah, how could I subject you to such torture?”
Laire paused to point, emphasizing every word with the sharp jab of her finger. “This isn’t for discussion, and I don’t want to hear anymore. Me and him will never happen, and quit using me to further your own goals.”
Fallon let Laire stomp away for a few steps – as much as anyone could stomp in shoes like that – before calling out, “Protest all you want, but I will go down with this ship…hey! Hey! Anyone ever tell you that isn’t very ladylike?”
*
Griffith stood watch as the women left, his gaze lingering on Laire and giving Fallon only enough attention to be sure she wasn’t up to something. Once they were clear, Griffith said, “Talon.”
A man appeared, his boneless posture and long trench coat shielding his exact height and body dimensions, green eyes and blond hair both dark, the hair hanging about his face is a careless fashion that suggested roguish and not unwashed. “Boss.”
“Go to ground. I want Hadrien now, and price is no object.”
“Should I wait to hear from you about what price Kyo will pay before I start handing out money or favors?”
The women disappeared, going to wherever next, and now Griffith gave Talon his full attention. “We aren’t giving Hadrien to the Guild. We’re keeping him.”
For the first time in the discussion, Talon’s boneless disinterest was disturbed, his shoulders pushing back as curiosity took hold. “And why would that be? Hadrien’s still a nothing, even if he’s currently pissing all over the Guild.”
“It’s not Hadrien. It’s what he’s key to.” Griffith began to move out of the wooded area, his body taking on purpose and speed the more he talked. “Fallon contacting me not to go after Merc but to get Hadrien means the rumors of a bound are true, and knowing Hadrien, the bound is mortal. We control Hadrien, we control Merc’s fate.”
“We letting Merc die?” There was no censure or outrage over the possibility. There was only Talon asking how to best follow his leader’s directions.
“Merc’s a fucking brick of an opponent, and I’d be a fool not to take advantage of this.” They arrived at a large, open field where a chopper, wide-handled and low seated, awaited. Griffith swung onto the bike and started the engine, waiting until the bike was purring under him to finish his conversation. “I’m taking Hadrien out of the picture. If Merc’s as good as he should be,
he’ll figure out a way to get clear of this mess. If not, he knows the rules of the game.”
“The Guild won’t be happy with you over this.”
Griffith kicked up the kickstand, balancing the bike and ready to ride away. “The Guild understands the concept of collateral damage.”
Chapter Twenty
‡
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best way to break the two-hour silence Amana had been traveling in with Merc, but she was tired. She was tired physically after a long night where she was only able to sleep in hour long segments before Merc roused her into coherency, then allowing her to go back to sleep, only for the cycle to continue. She was tired mentally after the push-pull of believing that she was safe before she discovered she was at someone else’s mercy, then this hot-cold-hot cycle with Merc – with the thrill of being back with the Merc and their sharing last night, only to find when she woke this morning his eyes blanked and the mercenary before her once again.
She was tired, and to hell with all this uncertainty.
“Because I believe you.”
That answer was so unexpected, the words had to circle Amana’s mind a few times before she could settle in herself that yes, she did hear what she thought she heard. “I don’t understand,” was all she could think to say.
Merc’s eyes were in near constant motion as they shifted from mirror to window to mirror again. The constant surveillance tired her out, and how he could keep it up was a mystery.
Now his gaze rested on her for a precious few seconds. “I believe you when you said meeting me was not planned. I believe you when you tell me you don’t work for the Guild.” His eyes flicked away, back to scanning. “As I’m usually right when I believe someone, I’ll believe you until I have hard evidence not to believe you.”
Unexpected warmth slid through her body at those words, bringing an unexpected thickness to her throat, behind her eyes as she faced him, this confusing man she wished she had met in any other circumstances. “And you believing me means…?”
The Dream Crafter Page 10