Firewalkers: Dreamer

by Shiloh Walker

  But if the King himself presided, none would dare touch Jax without the King’s express orders.

  “The Princess Kyrel claims you fed without consent and raped her,” Morain said without preamble. There was only him and two others in the room.

  Jax had refused counsel. He didn’t trust anybody besides himself, the King, and Faraman—who wasn’t in the galaxy—more’s the pity. “I beg your apology, and your permission to speak frankly, my Lord King,” Jax said without lifting his eyes.

  Morain sighed. “Stand up, Jax.” His eyes narrowed as the tall, powerful vampire moved slowly and painfully. “Why are you moving so oddly?”

  Jax remained silent, one hand wrapped around a thick wrist, keeping himself from driving his hands through his hair, or punching a wall. The rage that filled him would do him no good here.

  “I asked you a question. Consider it an order that you answer, old friend,” Morain said softly, his eyes holding a warning.

  Jax stared briefly into the king’s eyes before he released the tabs on his flight jacket, revealing the healing bruises and myriad injuries on his torso. Morain’s mouth tightened. A vampire’s anatomy was a wonderful thing—they healed quickly. The beating Jax took would be gone in less than a week, if Morain was judging correctly. But that also meant that if a human had taken such a beating, he’d be dead. The burns would have been third degree, Morain was thinking, the bruises deep and to the bone. Most likely, there were a number of bones broken that had already healed.

  “Who dared to harm one of my men so?” Morain asked in a calm, quiet voice that did little to conceal his rage.

  Without blinking an eye, Jax repeated, “I beg permission to speak frankly.”

  “Bloody hell, Jax. You’re no serf or pauper or slave in my kingdom. You are welcome to speak as you choose,” Morain said.

  Jax blinked once, slowly. His long lashes slid down to cover his sapphire-blue eyes before he said softly, “I must beg permission before I am allowed to take a wife. I will never be allowed to father a child. You tried to geld me when I was twenty—you may not make me wear a slave collar, but I hardly feel free.” The grief and disgust in his voice was made that much more apparent by his flat, almost uncaring tone.

  “Jax,” Morain sighed. “You know why. Your kind are too strong. And most are not as you are. You are honorable. Bloody hell, I know you did not rape Kyrel. You are a man of honor, of decency, of valor. But you are easily ten times stronger than my strongest soldier. You will live to be at least a thousand years old, and you are only fifty. You can control minds, you can sense thoughts and fears. Your intelligence alone is a weapon. You speak more than fifty languages, and will learn ten times that, with your psychic gifts. Hell, all you have to do is touch a person, and you have their tongue.

  “The world was once dominated by the vampires. I fear vampires could very well take over the galaxy. We cannot allow it to ever happen again. We were the slaves once.”

  “So because of that, now I am to be the slave,” Jax said softly. He closed his eyes and held up his hand. “Enough. This is not why we are here. No, my Lord, I did not rape your daughter. I highly doubt such an act against her is possible. Four months ago, she started pursuing me and I refused her. I beg your pardon, my Lord, but the woman is relentless. I have found her everywhere, in my lodging, aboard my ship, at the way station on Creor Nine.

  “Two weeks ago, when my yearly leave began, I was returning to my lodging in Veral when her men overtook me. They drugged me with cerpsyllium, bound me with verstael restraints and I woke in her chambers in this very castle. If you send some of the vampire hunters, they will no doubt be able to detect my presence.”

  Morain flicked a glance at one of his advisors and Jax felt a loosening in his chest as the man bowed and moved away.

  So far, so good. The King wasn’t blood-red and ordering for his cock on a pike yet. Jax dared to lower his mental shields and sensed anger and disgust but it was directed at Kyrel, not himself. The king believed him.

  “She kept me without food or a female companion—”

  “What?” Morain growled, rising slowly from his throne. The blood was bad enough, that would starve him. But an ungelded male vampire needed more than the blood, he needed the sex. The hormones that pumped through his body would drive him mad if he didn’t have the sex. They needed it.

  Not just wanted, but needed. Once a vampire reached his or her prime in their thirties, sex was as important to their wellbeing as blood. Unless gelded before they hit their prime, sex became a need, as important to a vampire as feeding, as breathing. Without it, the vampire’s body would turn on him, as the hormones built and built, slowly turning into a poison that destroyed the mind.

  “Kyrel did what?” His hands clenched into tight fists and his eyes closed. Jax saw the denial on his face and felt his heart twist. It must be hard, learning that you had such a monster for a child. Morain had done nothing wrong, truly. Some people were just—evil. “How long?”

  Jax said roughly, “Two weeks. Three days ago she came into the room, and it was the first time I had seen her since she’d had me thrown in there. She had one of the castle’s magic workers preventing me from calling out to another vampire, else I would have already called for aid. She came in and cut herself, then stripped herself and painted herself with her blood.”

  “Did you willingly mate with her?”

  “No,” Jax growled, fighting down the anger. His fangs had dropped, and his eyes were burning, glowing with the rage that he couldn’t suppress. But losing his temper would do him no good here. “I would have fed only but she called her guards and they took me down. While they held me, she—”

  The red flush climbing up his neck told the tale and Jax turned his back. He didn’t turn when he heard the small chime that signified an incoming relay. But he heard Faraman’s voice and he turned his head. “My Lord King, I beg of you, I have heard of the Princess Kyrel’s claims, but I have proof—”

  “Proof is not necessary, but I fear, for my own good, I will have to see it,” Morain said, nodding to the golden-haired man in the relay window. “What is this proof, nephew mine?”

  “I’ve been watching how bad the Princess has become around him, how deviously she plots to get him. You know how little I trust her.” Faraman paused and Jax heard the second small humming beep as a different sort of relay came in and was accepted.

  “Jax is going to be mad—hell, he’s going to be fucking furious, Uncle, but I rigged his clothing with a relay device and I caught the whole bloody show. Watch it if you must, or have an advisor watch it for you, but be warned, it will turn your stomach,” Faraman told his uncle. “My cousin bloody raped him and she had her guards beat him. I said nothing until she voiced her accusations, because I knew what Jax’s feelings would be on the issue. But with his life possibly at stake, I cannot hold my silence.”

  “If you had him rigged, you knew he was being held captive,” Morain said slowly, his bushy gray brows lowered over his eyes.

  Faraman sighed and said, “Indeed. But I wanted proof of her treachery, something that I could use against her to keep her from stalking him. Jax would not dare to speak against a human—he doubts whether you’d believe him.”

  Faraman’s voice chilled and he said, “I have no such qualms.”

  Jax would have cheerfully beaten his best friend at the moment. So now his shame was for the whole fucking court to know.

  Later, as he refused the offer of a bed mate from one of the courtiers, he fought off the increasing sense of restlessness and rage. Morain had sent Jax to the healers, but Morain looked like he needed the healers more.

  The King looked broken.

  His beloved daughter was a whore, a murderous bitch, a viper. He had to send his own guard after her, and a brawl had ensued that had left six of the men dead. Her guard had fought, and four of the fallen were hers. The remaining eleven were under arrest, those who were badly hurt were in the hospital under guard, the rest in priso
n. All had known where the King’s most favored Warrior was held, and none had dared to tell. None had dared to help him.

  Seven had cheerfully beaten him.

  Jax was going insane here.

  He couldn’t continue to live like this, not free, not happy, little more than a fighting machine.

  There had to be more to his life than this.

  Sometimes, there was a yearning that filled his heart, a need, an ache. Like he wasn’t supposed to be where he was. He was so focused on that, and still so drained from the beating and two weeks of starvation, that he let the footsteps behind him go unnoticed.

  By the time he was struck on the head, it was too late.

  He awoke just in time to realize he was restrained, once more, by the verstael restraints, and two men, lovers of the Princess’, were carrying him outside. And the dual orange suns were rising, the deep fatigue rolling through his mind.

  Just then, a soft, half desperate voice whispered, in his mind, Damn it, you’re supposed to be here. Come and find me!

  That voice…it stirred him, called to him. It felt like…home.

  In his panic, Jax gave a desperate laugh. Too late, darling. I’m about to become nothing more than ashes.

  Chapter Three

  The Arrival

  Caris knew the moment she awoke something had happened. She woke slowly, feeling something subtle, but powerful, something life-altering. She just hoped she hadn’t done anything major. She had been watching a special on Egypt one time on the news screen, one of her passions. She was so fascinated by that ancient, forgotten time and had one time fallen asleep wishing that Sphinxes hadn’t fallen into so much decay. Egyptologists to this day still couldn’t figure out how the damaged monoliths had been one day nearly fallen to pieces and then the next, pristine and untouched.

  A miracle, some called it.

  A hoax, others said.

  A pity.

  A scandal.

  It had been dubbed anything and everything in between.

  Her major gift was one a teacher had taken to calling dreaming. Sometimes, things she dreamed and wished for simply came true. But they had to be true and heartfelt. And they so rarely happened. She hated it. It was useless. What did it matter if she fell asleep the day before her prom, wishing she could have a dress she had seen, and it was there the next day? Could she bring her parents back?

  No.

  Could she stop the world from hating them?

  No.

  Anything that truly, truly mattered—could she stop it? Change it? Fix it?

  No.

  What she wanted was for the children to stop living in terror. For them to stop dying. And no matter how many times she dreamed it, wished it, it never happened.

  Sage had told her once, in his deep gravelly voice, her dreamings were things that affected her, or those around her, or small populations. She couldn’t affect the whole fucking world. What was the point, then? He had smiled as he stroked her naked back, soothing her into sleep, preferably a deep, dreamless one, and whispered softly, “We don’t know yet. But we will find out.”

  Caris swung her legs over the chair, wincing. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep like that. She arched her arms up high, working the kinks out of her back. She eyed the book lying on the floor and nibbled her lower lip. No more reading before falling asleep.

  But damn it…she was horny. Sage came around less and less. And she was selective. She had to be. Even among the Firewalkers. Sleeping with a man who wasn’t an empath or telepath could be a painful experience—they often thought, “her breasts are too small, or too big, or is her hair really that color? Damn it, she knows how to suck, or I wish she’d suck longer”. She couldn’t block when she was touching someone. An empath could link with her and all they felt was the pleasure. Another telepath could think whatever the hell he chose, but if he was feeling critical, he could at least keep her from hearing him. The nicer ones at least bothered to do so.

  The jerks never did.

  Ungifted men were painful lessons she no longer tried.

  She moved around the house first.

  Nothing changed there.

  Then it had to be outside. If she didn’t find anything there, she’d check the news later. Somewhere, she’d find something that had changed. But the only thing she could remember thinking was wishing for a—

  A vampire. Just then, a rough, deep male bellow sounded from outside. Followed by a stream of liquid language that she had never heard before. Oh, shit.

  * * * * *

  Jax bellowed, flinging his arms in front of his face. A blinding vortex of light and dark swirled around him and he felt as though he was being pulled into a million pieces. And that voice, the yearning female’s voice, Damn it, you’re supposed to be here. Come and find me!

  He kept waiting for the burning to start.

  He landed on something and smelled grass, not the stench of his own flesh burning. He felt warmth on his face, warmth, not painful burning. The dual suns of Oslina hurt. He had felt them before. His fear and the vampire’s instinct for survival kicked in, chasing away the fatigue.

  Awake and aware, he could possibly find a place to hide if they hadn’t taken him into the desert. So now, he’d be awake for his own burning as the fear in his body chased away the chemicals that rose with the sun, the chemicals that drugged him into a catatonic sleep.

  I’d rather sleep through it, thank you very much…

  It would take time for the suns to char his flesh from his body, but Kyrel’s men would have taken him far into the deserts and the suns would have plenty of time.

  But when he felt only a slight stinging, and no pain, he opened first one eye, then the other.

  One sun. Yellow, not orange. Grass, not sand.

  Mountains in the distance, covered on the caps with snow, soft grass under his body, and a large, sprawling wooden-framed structure. There was a woman there, and she was staring at him with big, wide golden eyes, the color of the Altamyrian moon, her pink lips parted.

  While he watched, she lifted one fisted hand and pressed it to her lips, still staring at him with those amazing eyes. Jax rolled onto his back, staring up into the sun, for the first time in his life, with amazement. It did not burn his flesh, and he felt no fear of it. And the sleep that should have closed in on him as his fear faded didn’t occur.

  Astounding.

  But more astounding was when the woman who should have been running and screaming, came and knelt by his side, her brow puckered. Her mouth opened and she spoke, but he shook his head. He knew the sentiment, he could feel it coming from her. She wanted to know if he was all right. But until she touched him, or he her, he wouldn’t know her tongue.

  His body tightened. Her tongue. Before, it had just meant the language of the land. But suddenly it meant more.

  He received another shock, in a day that was apparently meant to be full of them, when her mind brushed his. She was a psy, like him. I’m not going to hurt you, she was telling him more, in pictures and thoughts instead of words. She showed him how she wanted to undo the restraints but didn’t know how.

  He responded in kind, showing her the locking mechanism, but he didn’t expect her to grasp the concept.

  More the fool he, he realized when he was rolling to his feet moments later. He wanted to thank her.

  But first, he turned and stared hard, at the pale yellow orb, harsh and shining, high overhead. So many years of artificial light, of moonlight, starlight, firelight. So many years of falling prey to the drug of sleep as the sun rose.

  The sunlight…never had he been in the sunlight without cowering, flinging his arms over his face, wondering if that would be his last moment. He had been tortured with it, thrown into it in battle by his captors and taunted with it by his enemies, but never had he been able to simply stand and absorb it without fear.

  It made his sensitive eyes water and hurt. He could feel his flesh, after fifty years of night, going pink, but he continued to bask in the
warmth. The moon, well, it was lovely, but he had never seen anything as glorious as this sun.

  Slowly, he turned and studied the woman in front of him who was staring at him with her dark, golden eyes. Her eyes and hair were nearly the same color, golden-brown, warm looking. She had tiny freckles, like gold dust across her nose, a pink, plump mouth, a heart-shaped face. A tall, slender body that curved exactly where it should, and long, sleekly muscled thighs showing beneath the hem of her white shirt, the only garment that she wore.

  Her mouth moved and he shook his head. Then he held out his hand, focusing his thoughts. Touch my hand? He projected the thought at her, hoping she would understand. She was human, but there was something different, he could scent it on her skin, in her blood. The humans he knew had no psy skills, but many had magic. This wasn’t exactly magic he was tasting in the air, it was something unique.

  She smiled slowly, and lifted her hand. He wondered if she could read him and suspected, by the glint in her eyes, that she could. He placed his palm to hers, folding his fingers around it.

  Her back arched, his arched, they fell against each other and sagged to their knees on the ground, as Jax took her language inside him. Bits and pieces of her flowing into him before he could stop it, and no doubt, bits and pieces of his life flooding into her brain.

  * * * * *

  He may not be a vampire, but he was something. His gaze stared into hers, glowing and hot, filling her entire field of vision until those magnificent sapphire eyes were all she could see. She felt his hand—hot, hard, rough—slide over hers, over her wrist, up her arm, over her shoulder. It lingered on her neck, and he shuddered.

  She felt some massive need roll over him but he moved on until he cupped her cheek in one hand, then the other, so that he held her face in both, while he stared down at her as though fascinated.