The Dream Crafter

by Danielle Monsch

  “You can pass on one question, and the game can only be called when it’s equal on both sides.”

  “Three questions.”

  He sat back, the tablet now perched on a cushion in haphazard fashion, and Merc looked way too smug with how it turned out. Maybe the whole not sleeping thing wasn’t affecting him quite as much as she thought.

  “Agreed”

  *

  Merc got the fire going. Amana was quiet, but her gaze was as visceral as a physical caress, affecting him almost as much as having those long fingers stroking him would.

  She talked about him being suspect concerning his abilities, and perhaps he was. It wasn’t the lack of sleep, though, it was lack of sleep plus her – and she was by far the bigger influence in that equation.

  Well, her, and that damn Spellbook. Both of them had him worried, though in far different ways, and she was the more understandable of the two.

  Right now the book was beckoning him, making itself known once again from the safe behind the wall he stashed it in. A quick glance at Amana showed that if she felt anything, she was damn good at hiding it, but there was no doubt in his mind that she didn’t feel anything. Whatever was going on with that book was on him and only him.

  What scared him about the Spellbook was that he wasn’t scared. It had some sort of connection with him, but the connection was right, warm, safe. He was safe with it.

  That thought earned a snort. Since when is a magical item safe? Never, that’s when.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing, just finishing this.” The fire lit up, and the chill in the air was already fading.

  “It’s been awhile since I’ve been in front of a fire. I’ve missed it. There’s nothing more perfect than a fire on the beach at dusk.”

  She was staring into the flames as if they would answer all the questions concerning the next few days for her, her body relaxed as he hadn’t seen it since that first dream. “Tell me about your family.”

  Tension passed through her, only for a moment, but she kept her eyes on the fire. “You’ve already asked about them.”

  “I have bits and pieces. I’d like a few more dots to connect.”

  “Why?”

  Because they are the key to you. Because I want to know everything about you. Because you fascinate me more than anything ever has, and I want to hang onto that feeling as long as I can. “Because.”

  She gave him an arch look, her thin lips pursing a bit, but she answered him anyway. “My mother was a military brat. My grandfather was a soldier who was stationed on the islands for awhile and then retired there, when my mom was a teenager. My grandparents died in a boating accident before I was born. I wish I had met them. I think things would have been very different if they stayed around.” A small shake of her head, and her hand wiped over her eyes in a quick motion, and he wouldn’t have noticed the wetness in them if she hadn’t. “That was a dumb statement. I mean, they were good people, and I don’t think my mom ever recovered from losing them.”

  Amana went back to looking into the flames, more introspective now, memories edging her emotions. “My mother became pregnant with me as a teenager. A very old story. He took advantage of a grieving girl, and when the girl became pregnant, he ran away. I know who he is, but I had nothing to do with him, then or now.”

  “Do you want me to kill him?” The offer was made before he had time to think, in the way that was becoming a bad habit around her. But this, seeing her so small, seeing her curled in on herself and bearing the weight of this selfishness from someone who was supposed to protect her… Merc only knew pieces of her life, but knowing how those pieces had left her a wreck, damaged in ways her piece of shit father might have been able to prevent if he had bothered to protect what he created…

  He meant it. He meant every godsdamn word of it, and if she said yes, the minute he was out under this bound, he was hunting the bastard down.

  His offer had her eyes leaving the flames and coming to his. “No,” she said, too fast, and in that syllable he could almost believe he heard the faintest echo of yes. “Don’t get me wrong. If I heard he died in a fiery plane wreck, I wouldn’t shed a tear. But his life has nothing to do with mine. All that matters to me is Nakoa.”

  “Your brother?” It hit him, then, that he’d never heard the name before, the name of the person her whole life was devoted to, who governed every decision she made.

  Shock froze her body, every inch of her advertising she hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to expose herself that way. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she could somehow bring the name back within herself, reverse it.

  All he could do was push through, treat this in easy tones, make it normal and something to talk about. “You said he was younger. I assume not the same father.”

  That broke through, and she answered readily. “No. It’s very obvious when you see us together. My father was Japanese and I favor him. Nakoa’s father was Hawaiian, and he looks like a perfect blend between the Hawaiian and our mother’s Scottish heritage.”

  “How did your mom get involved with his dad?”

  Amana sighed, giving a little shake of her head, and the frustration in her tone was no doubt her internal commentary over her mother’s bad decisions coming out. “His father was a soldier. I think Mom thought she could recreate grandma and grandpa’s relationship if she married a soldier.”

  “But it didn’t happen like that.” He kept his voice small and warm, as inviting as possible.

  “No. It was runaway dad the sequel.”

  “Which means Nakoa is your half-brother.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” Her voice was fierce, darting through the air with pinpoint force. “It never mattered. He’s my baby brother, and that’s it.”

  If the anger did one thing, it brought her out of any lingering depression from either the discussion of her past or the fear that hit her upon the realization she’d used her brother’s name. She was fixed on him, her gaze daring him to say anything about her brother.

  “You make me wish I had a sister,” he said instead, and waited as the righteous fury seeped out of her body, leaving her still a little edgy, but not quite ready to leap out of her seat.

  “Yeah, well, speaking of…” She was turning abashed, her cheeks reddening, and made a small motion with her hands to clearly get him talking.

  Considering how much she had exposed, he obliged. “I don’t have a family. I was trained from birth in my powers.”

  Amana’s jaw dropped. “Are you talking…I mean, are you a…an initiate?”

  Initiate. He hated that word, hated how it marked him so completely as an outsider. “Yeah, that’s what I am.”

  “Which order?”

  “None.” Not that he blamed her for asking. Being raised outside of a specific order was rare. “My master is unusual. He doesn’t pick his students because of a god or to serve a specific purpose. He chooses pupils for his own reasons, which he never tells, and then one day he says the training is finished, and he sets them free.”

  “And he had you since birth?”

  “As far as I know. I have no memories of anyone before him, and he would have no reason to lie to me.”

  “Wow.” Amana trailed off, her voice soft. Her fingers were curling on themselves, grasping for something that wasn’t there, while her eyes went pitying.

  Hmmm. Even after the pain her own family caused her, she pitied him for not having one.

  “Where is Nakoa now?” To get that pitying look out of her eyes, to deflect from him once again. Let her explain herself and stay away from him.

  It did the trick, and now only agitation showed itself on her body. “I think we’ve talked enough, don’t you? We might not have gone question to question, but I think we’re even.”

  “Yes, we’re even.” Without waiting for any other words, he rose and went into the kitchen, leaving her behind to stare into the flames.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

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r />   “Why haven’t you ever used your power to free your brother?”

  They were eating in front of the fireplace, both of them quiet since the earlier round of questioning. Merc glanced over at her, where Amana was stabbing her asparagus with the fork, only taking a bite after every third piercing.

  Though it shouldn’t, the question had been growing inside his mind ever since that first day on the run. After he grabbed her from Fallon, she seemed so contrite, so insistent she never would have used her power if it wasn’t for her brother. But if that was the case, why hadn’t she used it to free her brother from the start? Why betray what the two of them had shared?

  Still playing with her food, Amana said, “I tried to find him once in my dreams, but it was like I bumped into a wall when trying to reach him. I later learned about all the spells used to stop dream walkers and out-of-body explorers. I can’t say for sure, but I imagine that’s what I hit.”

  Merc concentrated on keeping his breathing even, on keeping his movements relaxed and easy. She didn’t know. She didn’t know what she just gave away with that statement. He put a bite of food to his mouth, chewing to himself some time, to make sure he let nothing slip. After he swallowed, he said, “Those can stop you?”

  She kept her face down, chagrin etched into the features he could see. “Honestly, I don’t know what I can do. I first found out–”

  She shut down, bit off whatever else she was going to expose. A quick glance showed her hunched over, looking at her plate as if she could find escape if she just studied it hard enough. He pushed, wanting whatever little piece of more he could get. “You found out when?”

  “Under not-good circumstances, which I never want to experience again.” With that, Amana grabbed her cup from the table and rose, taking the dishes to the sink, only coming back to grab a book and go in front of the fire to read.

  Merc watched in silence, letting her without comment. The revelation of the discovery of her power was nothing more than he suspected, and curiosity clawed at him to try to drag out why she was so terrified of using her power. Only terror would explain someone holding the keys to a great treasure but never unlocking the door.

  Beneath the curiosity, though, satisfaction crept up, inserting itself into his mind, because she didn’t know what she had exposed to him tonight.

  With his intimate experience of her power, of what she was capable of, there would be few places that could keep her out. The few places he could think of were either natural dead zones or top-level containment areas.

  From the language she used her brother had to be a prisoner of some type. If the Guild weren’t lying and could somehow free him, chances were that meant he was in the system.

  And Merc had a name – Nakoa. Raised on an island, and a few years younger than Amana, who he’d guess was in the mid-twenties range.

  Bringing the bottled water to his lips, he took a long swig, finishing off the liquid before rising to clear the dishes. Tonight, he’d begin the search and start unravelling the questions surrounding her.

  *

  By her best guess, Merc hadn’t slept since that short nap two days ago, and it was almost physically painful to see the drawn lines and dark circles that testified to the exhaustion. “How can I convince you to get some sleep?”

  Her words turned his attention from the book he was reading, and he looked up to where she was standing above him. “I’m not sure there’s a way.”

  How matter-of-fact he was being was a good sign. Bombastic would be hard to work around, but low-key and factual meant there was the possibility of convincing him. “I understand your worries about me, but we both know you’re not at full-power right now. If we were attacked, I’m not sure you’d be able to get us away.”

  He absorbed her words, his bangs shielding his eyes from her, the deep red streaks beckoning her to run her hands through the thick mass.

  After long moments where he still hadn’t said anything, she motioned to the tattoos on his arms. “Isn’t there anything those can do? You’ve used them before.”

  Merc looked up from underneath a chunk of hair, his voice taking on that wicked, playful tone she hadn’t heard since the dreams. “Are you telling me you like when I tie you up?”

  Heat pulsed through her body full throttle, his words unleashing a tsunami of feeling she’d been pushing back against since this afternoon, as he crowded against her during the fight training, his big body surrounding her.

  “Why don’t you tie me up and see?” As the words fell from her mouth in a rough, desperate tone she didn’t recognize, his lazy, satisfied expression disappeared as he took her in, turning into something fierce and wild, the honey color of his eyes thinning to a small ring around the widening pupil.

  “Don’t tempt me.” His voice was a rough whisper, rasping against her skin and bringing goosebumps to the surface.

  If he was trying to warn her away, it wasn’t working. “No. I think I want to.” Amana brought her knees to straddle either side of his legs, settling down on his lap and feeling the bunching muscles of his body underneath the back of her thighs.

  “This isn’t a good idea.” His face was turned up, his gaze locked on hers. The part of him that had only ever been visible to her in dreams was here. Because of tiredness or from the sharing they’d been doing since he saved her from being kidnapped, that Merc was back now, in her reach, and this time, it was real.

  “No, it isn’t,” she replied, pushing his hair back, wrapping the silken strands around her fingers.

  He nuzzled into her hair, breathing her in, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight to his chest. “No, it isn’t,” he repeated, and he held her there close, crushing her into him.

  “Merc-”

  “Shh,” he interrupted. “I want to stay like this. I want to forget for a moment.”

  “Forget what?”

  “That real life intruded on our dreams.”

  Amana tucked herself under his chin, getting closer. “Do you think we can get past this?”

  His breathing remained even, the heartbeat strong underneath her ear. He took several moments before he answered. “I don’t know. I know we have to survive this next week first.”

  “I feel like my emotional life is nothing but a roller coaster lately.”

  “Well, I never had a typical teenage love life. Maybe this is the universe’s way of righting that wrong.”

  Amana snorted, then covered her mouth as giggles escaped, turning louder and louder and she couldn’t contain it, but she was grateful to have this laughter here with him, even after everything.

  He was looking down at her, the softest look in his eyes. “I don’t know what will happen. Let’s survive this next week and see.”

  She nodded.

  He pushed her to the stairs. “Go take first sleep shift. I promise,” his voice rose to overtake hers when she began to talk, “I promise I’ll get some sleep tonight.”

  She nodded again and went to bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

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  Cool blue light bathed Fallon as she descended the stairs to the open archway. With no door to impede progress she stepped through, into a scene that at first glance gave the impression of a normal, upscale club – medium level music, loud enough to dance, quiet enough for conversation, with tables and booths surrounding a dance floor with a stage, all the while wait staff milling in the type of quiet competence only money seemed to bring forth.

  Only on second glance did new details emerge. An overabundance of leather and corsets. Necklaces that upon closer inspection were collars. Chains and clamps of the finest metal, both attached to the furniture and some of it decorating various personages.

  Not where she usually hung out on weeknights, and Fallon stood a moment to take it in.

  “Black leather, instruments of pain, an occasional scream or whimper – I’m surprised I didn’t realize earlier this is just your thing.” Laire rounded a corner and came into sight. Laire was in leat
her as well, but black – not so much. How was it possible to get leather that shade of neon orange?

  “What are you doing here? Or is this just luck I happened to catch you on one of your play days?” Sloppy. Fucking sloppy. She’d kick her own ass later for not realizing the pint-size nuisance had followed her.

  With an abrupt sweep of her hand and roll of her eyes, Laire said, “Listening to you talk, you’d think I live in places like this. Besides…me? Let people give me orders? In what realm does this happen?”

  A stunning Indian woman passed with a tray of drinks balanced by one hand, her corset so tight Fallon could have encircled the tiny waist in her hands. At the sight of Laire, a smile lit the corseted woman’s face. “Laire. I thought you weren’t coming back until next month. Do you need a collar?”

  “I’m playing it by ear tonight, Sonal.” Sonal nodded, but by this point she was staring at Fallon, curiosity and interest clear in her gaze. When her eyes met Fallon’s, Fallon gave her a wink. Sonal’s cheeks flushed in a very becoming way, and without missing a beat went back to the bar, her six-inch heels giving a delicious swing to her walk.

  Once the woman was gone Fallon turned to Laire, saying nothing and letting her raised eyebrow do all of her questioning. Laire shrugged. “I never said I’ve never been here. Girls with their college experimentation and such.”

  “You’ve never gone to college.”

  “I didn’t say it was my experimentation.” As Fallon’s hands settled on her hips and she made another visual sweep of the room, Laire continued, “I know you’ve never been here. I’d hear about nothing else for weeks if you were. Deciding it’s time for new scenery?”

  “The Battle Mage has found you out. There is still time to leave.”

  I am not discussing this again, and I’m not leaving. “Laire, if I wanted you to know, I’d have invited you in the first place – And don’t think we’re not having a long discussion about the whole following me thing in the near future.”