“Okay,” Deckard said, meeting my gaze. “But you should probably put on clothes first.”
“What?” I looked down, and sure enough, I was wearing a thin tank top and my underwear, and nothing else. “Okay, I’m going to get on that. You wait here. And you might want to button your pants.”
As I shut the door in his face, I felt like I’d handled the situation as gracefully as possible, which was not at all.
I threw on some jeans and a sweater, a big baggy sweater for good measure, and headed out into the hall. Deck was there waiting for me, and didn’t even comment on the fact that he’d just seen me practically naked. But he’d seen me completely naked before we’d ever met, in our shared dream, and I’d seen him naked in dreams twice now. It was only fair that he got to see me in my underwear. Fair is fair.
It wasn’t the time, and I didn’t know if I had the nerve to start something physical with him. If I did, then what happened? He was Tribunal, so when the mission was over, he was gone. Could we have fun without getting emotionally attached? No, no attachment, just really great sex—that’s what it would have to be. Could I handle that?
It wasn’t the time to think about it.
Focus.
“Let’s go.” I headed down the hall without waiting for him. No question Dad was up before me, likely down in his study looking over papers with his coffee.
Sure enough, that’s where I found him.
My father’s office was made entirely of dark woods. There were books along the walls, a fireplace with a single chair, and the giant desk that faced the door.
He sat behind it, as he always did, with authority.
When I stepped into the doorway, he was looking at me like he’d been waiting for me. Chances were, he had heard me coming down the hall.
“Good morning, Valerie,” he said. “Mr. Reid.”
I looked over my shoulder, and there was Deck, right behind me. I hadn’t even noticed how close he was. I stepped in and to the side of the room, so I could see both of them at the same time.
“Are you here to deliver me a copy of your report before you go?” Dad’s cold stare was fixed on Deckard. I couldn’t blame him for being anxious to see the Tribunal leave, but Deckard wasn’t a bad guy. And he wasn’t a threat.
“Of course,” Deckard said. “After the job is complete.”
Dad’s cold demeanor turned to ice. “What more could you possibly have to do? You saw the archives, you saw the body. There’s nothing else. It’s over.”
I took a step forward.
“I’m not ready to give up on finding the journal,” Deckard said.
The vein in my father’s forehead ticked.
This standoff was going nowhere good, and fast.
“I saw something last night, in a dream,” I said. “A black leather-bound book with a cord around it. It was really thick, and worn. And it was big.” I gestured with my hands to show him just how large I meant. The thing was like an encyclopedia on steroids.
My father finally looked at me.
“You saw this in a dream?” His eyes searched my face, asking wordless questions I wasn’t sure I had the answers to.
“I think it was Mom’s. Do you know it?” I knew he would if I was right, but would he tell me the truth?
“Yes.”
“Great,” I said. That had been easier than expected. “Where is it?”
“I think we should have this talk alone,” Dad said, without looking at Deckard.
“Sure.” Deckard turned for the door.
“No.” I grabbed his wrist. “We’re doing this together. Deckard can be trusted.” I wasn’t sure why I was so certain, but I was. Butterflies beat the hell out of my stomach, but I wouldn’t be dissuaded. I believed in him.
“You can’t know—” my father said.
“I do. He’s helping me, and I’m helping him. He was with me when I found the book. Well, the dream version of it.”
My father looked at Deckard, and for a moment, I thought his demeanor would soften. But it didn’t. I wasn’t sure why I’d thought it would.
He looked back at me. “You shared a dream?”
“Yes.”
He stared at me and took a sip of his coffee, as if he needed time to consider. “Be careful, Valerie.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about—careful with Deckard, or careful about sharing dreams. Either way, I could agree.
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”
“Liber Somnia. I haven’t seen the tome in years. But you’re right, it belongs to your mother,” he said.
Liber Somnia. I knew it. It wasn’t much, but it was a lead. “Well that’s a start. We could check all of her favorite places, like the tulip garden and—”
“Your mother is afraid of that book. I don’t know why exactly, but she fears its power. You’re better off leaving it wherever she hid it. She wouldn’t want it found, believe me.”
Fuck that.
“She wouldn’t or you don’t?” I crossed my arms and stared my father down. If Mom were still alive, she would have celebrated the fact that I was like her. She would have taught me how to travel between dreams. She would have taught me everything she knew, but she wasn’t here.
I knew my father was afraid of the power of dreams, because that was where she’d died. But I wasn’t afraid—not of the power, at least—and I wouldn’t let my father’s fear rule my actions.
Deckard shifted his feet as my father and I stared each other down. Maybe it would have been kinder to have let Deckard leave the room earlier. Too late now.
If the book was truly as powerful as my father suggested, maybe I could use it to find out who was responsible for what happened to Ms. Albright. It didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility that I could have the power to retrieve my mother’s journal. Or that I could learn to do anything. Liber Somnia was the key to my problems, I just knew it.
With or without Dad’s help, I was going to find that book.
“Let us know if you think of anything that could help,” I said, and headed out the door.
I could feel Deckard’s presence beside me, but I didn’t want to look at him or speak another word until we were safely out of my father’s hearing.
We went back upstairs and I took a seat in front of the fireplace in the second-floor living room. A small fire burned in the hearth, orange and red flickering over a thick, charred log.
Deckard sat down beside me. His closeness only set me more on edge.
“We should go back to sleep.” I looked up and met his gaze, waiting for his response.
He towered over me, even while we were both sitting. The scruff on his jaw was deliciously rugged, and his dark gaze had a way of making me feel exposed no matter how thick my sweater was.
“You want to go back to bed?” His brows lifted and something about the look he gave me made me think he knew exactly how that sounded.
“You have a better idea?”
“We could not go after the magic book,” he said.
“I said better. That’s worse.”
“I don’t think I can sleep.” He shifted his shoulders and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His torso stretched, flexing the muscles in his back and sides.
“That’s what sleeping pills are for,” I said, while trying my best not to stare.
“What if your father’s right?”
Buzzkill. I snapped my head back and just stared at him. My jaw might have been hanging open a little.
“He’s not,” I said.
“We know nothing about this Liber Somnia. It could be dangerous, and even if it isn’t, it brings us no closer to finding the witch who stole your mother’s journal and murdered Ms. Albright.”
Okay, maybe that part was true, but maybe it wasn’t. At least we would be doing something. We had no lead on the journal, and sitting around here was going to drive me mad.
Deckard turned. I followed his gaze to Joey, who was standing just a few feet behind us.
“Hey guys.” He waved, then walked around to the front of the sofa.
“Hi, Joey,” I said.
He wiggled his way in between Deckard and me, forcing the two of us to move apart.
Deckard growled, saying something under his breath.
I leaned back into the cold leather and sank in while I stared at the flames flickering in the hearth. I didn’t really mind Joey being there, blocking my view. It helped clear my head so I wasn’t distracted by Deckard’s thick arms, his big hands, his...
“What are we doing today?” Joey looked to me, then to Deck.
“My vote is back to bed,” I said.
“I like sleeping, too,” Joey said.
“We need a lead to find a lead,” Deckard said. “We’re getting nowhere on this case, no closer to finding out who is responsible for what happened in the archives.”
“I have an idea,” Joey said. “There’s a witch bar not too far from here.”
We both turned to him.
“What? I can know things.” Joey shrugged. “I live just a town over, in Meltonsville.”
“Why didn’t you mention this sooner?” Deckard’s voice was tense.
“I thought you wanted to sleep here. And we’d save the sleepover at my house for later,” Joey said.
“Sleepover?” Deckard shook his head and sucked in a sharp breath.
“Yeah, like good friends do. We’ll do it some other time. I’ll invite Roger, too.”
Meltonsville was only a twenty-minute drive, but even so, I didn’t go very often. I couldn’t remember there being any bars in town, and once I thought about it...what good would it be going to a bar mid-morning?
I turned to Joey on the bench seat beside me. “Won’t this place be closed?”
“Bars typically close by two or three,” Deckard said. “We’ll be breaking in.”
“So you guys do roll into towns and cause destruction,” I said. “The burrito wasn’t an isolated incident.”
Deckard grumbled. I smiled.
“Oh, no. It’s not an alcohol bar, silly.” Joey shook his head. “It’s a coffee bar.”
Deckard’s hands tightened on the wheel. I wished I could see his face, but I couldn’t without craning my neck to see around Joey.
“You’re telling me the witch gathering place is a coffee bar?” Deckard’s tone was even, likely forcibly so.
“Yep.” Joey nodded and pointed to a row of connected shops on the right. “There it is.”
Deckard parked the truck along the curb and we all climbed out.
Joey led the way, and as we stepped through the doors of Espresso Yourself, I couldn’t help but wonder—had my mom been here before? If it was really a witch bar like Joey said, she probably had.
“I don’t like it.” Deckard lifted his nose to the air and scanned the room.
Some of the patrons looked over at us as we entered.
The place looked normal enough to me. Natural light poured through big glass windows, while normal looking people sat at small cafe style tables reading normal books and drinking normal coffee. Nothing alarming, but nothing that screamed witch either.
“I’m going to go pee,” Joey said. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”
Deckard scowled and watched him walk away. It really was amusing how much his partner got under his skin—at least it was amusing for me.
A short man with black hair passed in front of us.
“Stay close,” Deckard said to me.
Even if it didn’t seem dangerous, it wouldn’t hurt to stick together. Plus, it was possible he had some kind of shifter sense going off that I couldn’t pick up on. All I could smell was freshly roasted coffee. I nodded my agreement.
We went up to the counter, with Deckard leading the way.
I told myself he was being paranoid, but the longer we were there, the less it felt like a typical coffee shop. I felt the gazes of the patrons at the tables. It’s one thing glancing over when people walk through the door, but why were they still staring at us?
Deckard put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me in to his side.
I felt small pressed up against him, and I felt abs, the side of his rock-hard core, and I tried to think about anything else.
The barista put down the glass he was drying and leaned forward over the counter. His face was pointed, thin, and smooth. Too smooth, like a hairless cat. And his eyes were a cold shade of gray.
Deckard pulled me closer.
Part of me wanted to protest his sudden need to claim me, but mostly I loved it—because abs.
“What can I get for you?” The barista looked just at me and completely ignored Deck.
“We’re not here to drink. I was hoping you could help with something.” I pulled the cracked black orb from my pocket, the one that had controlled Ms. Albright, the one that had killed her.
“Yes, that’s one of mine.”
Deckard’s posture grew more rigid. Not rigid—hard—firm. Dammit.
“You mean you’re the one who cast...the zombie sleep curse?” I asked.
“Zombie...no. Nothing like that,” he said, with a grin. “You’re new to your powers, I can smell it.”
“You’re smelling me?” Okay, I was now definitely on team let-Deckard-be-overprotective.
“Back off.” Deckard’s words were half growl, and his whole chest rumbled. Honestly, I was lucky I didn’t pee my pants.
The barista finally looked up at him...and took a step back.
Deckard’s eyes narrowed, and the barista raised his hands in defense.
“No harm intended.”
“You said this was yours—harm most definitely intended,” I said. “You killed her...you killed my mom’s friend.”
“No, you’ve got it all wrong.” He spared me a glance, the returned his unblinking gaze to Deckard. “I don’t use those, and I certainly wouldn’t kill anyone. I’m a dealer. I figured you knew as much since you were here.”
Dealer—this guy wasn’t the witch we were looking for, but he likely knew who was.
“Who’d you sell it to?” Deckard growled.
The barista returned his gaze to me. “I sell them every day.”
“Sounds like you’re just as guilty as the guy who used it,” I said. “Taking away people’s control—it’s disgusting.”
“You have no idea.” He lifted his brows, and his hands a little higher. “Most common use for the onyx ones—super kinky sex games. Imagine giving total control to your partner. Control enough for them to command your body to move, and it does. Nothing compares.”
He held out a black orb in his palm. Black smoke swirled within, and I stared, entranced. I could see the appeal, but that wasn’t what the one I held had been used for.
I opened my mouth and shut it again.
“Who did you sell this one to?” Deckard asked.
“Hard to say. I have a lot of customers.”
“Can anyone use it?” I asked.
“Only a dream witch.” He smiled wide at me. “And there’s more.”
He squeezed his fist and opened his hand again, this time there were two orbs instead of one. I was still getting used to the idea of black orbs that controlled people. I had no idea there were other kinds.
“What does it do?” I asked.
“The blue creates a copy,” he said.
“A copy of what?”
“Anything.”
I stared at his palm, at the blue orb. What would I copy? Anything. Everything. “How much?”
“500.”
“I don’t have that kind of cash.”
The barista shrugged and closed his fist.
“Wait,” Deckard said.
He took his hand back from my shoulder, looked at me, and then pulled a wad of money out of his pocket.
“Wait,” I said, “I can’t let you—”
“I’m not asking permission.”
He gave the guy his money, and the guy gave him the orb.
Deckard turne
d toward the door.
“Let’s go.”
“Don’t you want to talk to some more people, see if anyone else has any leads?” I asked. “Our guy could be here right now.”
Deckard leaned down close and whispered in my ear. “If he’s here, or if he has a friend in here, we’ll see him soon.”
He took my hand and started walking. I had to sprint to keep pace.
Once we were out of listening-range of the patrons inside, I asked, “What do you mean, we’ll see him soon?”
“We’re hunting a dream witch. He’ll strike while we sleep.” Deckard handed me the blue orb.
Excitement mingled with nerves. This was mine, a shiny new toy to play with in dreams. It was an edge I could use against the bastard who’d killed Ms. Albright.
I slid the orb into my pocket and we climbed into the truck.
Deckard started the engine.
Two fists banged against the hood, and the face attached to them had wide eyes.
I opened the door, and Joey climbed in.
“You guys almost forgot to wait for me,” he said.
“Of course we didn’t,” I lied. “We were just waiting for you out here.”
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to hang out inside. Everyone’s so nice. I met a guy in the bathroom who gave me candy.” He opened his mouth and popped in a handful of mints or whatever. His cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk and he smiled.
“That’s nice, Joey,” I said.
Deckard pulled away from the curb and grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. And then he ended with something entirely clear. “Idiot.”
Chapter Eight
Deckard
Wafflick was uncharacteristically silent on the drive back. No pointing out building types, no thrusting greasy food in my face, no anything. It was a pleasant surprise.
Instead of enduring the pup’s antics, I was able to enjoy my closeness to Valerie. This time it was her in the middle, and the fact that the truck had a bench seat wasn’t so bad. Her leg brushed mine, and her whole body slid into me as the truck turned on the curvy mountain roads.
When I pulled the truck into park at the pack house, I wished the drive had been a little bit longer. Now that we were here, I’d be stuck hiding in my room or saddled with my idiot of a partner, while Valerie went about her day. No, after the attention the witches had given her at the bar, I didn’t wish the morning had gone on longer, just that night would come faster. Then, we could be together again, in dreams. It was easier there, if not strange. There wasn’t this unsettled feeling in my gut, no overthinking what I did or said, just the connection underneath it all.
I Dream of Grizzly: A Werebear Shifter and Witch Romance (The Protectors Quick Bites Book 2) Page 5