A Sliver of Shadow (46 page)

“What a dump.” The stranger flinched and released my arm. An unexplainable sorrow lanced through me. “I just meant as far as dreams go,” I amended hastily, somehow wanting his approval despite myself. “I mean, I live in a friggin’ tree palace, right now … you’d think I’d be dreaming with slightly higher standards.”

“You’d think,” he retorted. Abruptly he turned toward me. “Who are you?”

“You already know my name. You said it back there. Which reminds me, how
do
you know who I am?” It seemed like a fair enough question for a dream … but then, maybe that was my only answer.

“Name tag.” He pointed to my chest. Sure enough, I glanced down to see it—just a simple little plastic rectangle, the letters spelling out
ABBY SINCLAIR
in lopsided relief. I frowned.

“That wasn’t there before.”

He gestured about us. “Dreaming, remember? Shall we go inside?”

I shrugged, intrigued by his carelessness. “I guess.” I doubted there would be anything of interest in this run-down piece of crap, but I couldn’t remember another dream taking hold of my mind so vividly. Might as well let it play out.

The door opened beneath my touch easily and I crossed the threshold with a slight twitch of nervousness. For all my brave thoughts, it was still a creepy old house—and that wasn’t even counting the stranger who shadowed my steps with an aura of expectancy.

Inside was nothing special—hardwood floors and dusty shelves, lights flickering as though they might go out at any moment. “I wonder if there’s a fuse box somewhere.”

“Unlikely.” He glanced at me with a ripple of amusement and I flushed.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. Ignoring him, I continued until I stood in what looked like a family room. The fireplace guttered with old ashes, the dying embers banked into dull sparks. A record player perched on a narrow table in the corner, a stack of records before it. I dismissed them after a moment when I read the titles. Who the hell still listened to Tom Jones anyway?

Snorting, I circled the rest of the room, noting the tattered quilt on the faded sofa and the bowl of strawberry potpourri. The man leaned in the doorway, his arms crossed as he watched me with curious eyes.

“This is all very lovely,” I said finally. “But there’s nothing of any interest for me here. It’s so … empty.”

He said nothing, but his gaze strayed toward the mantel of the fireplace. “Who are you?”

“I thought we’d already established that.”

“I told you what your name was,” he countered. “I never heard it from you.”

“Abby. Abby Sinclair.” I tugged on the name tag. “For all that this is apparently some sort of
Alice in Wonderland
moment.” A smile drifted over my face. “I’m a princess, you know.” Which in theory was sort of true. Also true was that I had absolutely no recollection of anything else before the last several weeks.

At least being a princess was better than living in a cardboard box.

“Are you, now? Surely that seems a bit lofty of an achievement.” He brushed past me to the mantel, taking something from the top and tossing it to me. I caught it without a second thought, staring down at the pointe shoes bemusedly.

“Ballet slippers?” My brow furrowed. “What am I supposed to do with these? I’ve never danced a day in my life. Hell, even my betrothed admits I have two left feet.”

He halted as though I’d slapped him. “Betrothed, is it?”

“Of course. To be handfasted, anyway.” I stroked the satin of the slippers. No mere decoration, clearly. The well-worn toes were proof enough of that. “I’m not
really
a princess, though. Not yet.” I glanced up at him. “But I will be. A Faery princess, in fact.”

“Oh, a fine thing, I’m sure,” he said sarcastically. “It
seems your fiancé neglected to mention
that
particular detail. Typical elf.” He fixed me with a thin-lipped smile. “I suppose you truly have forgotten, though the Dreamer in you has not.”

“Forgotten
what
? You talk in riddles.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He sighed. “I had hoped things might be different, here. This complicates things immensely, but I will make the best of it.”

I threw the slippers onto the couch. “You can try, you mean. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I think it’s time I left or woke up or whatever.” I glanced up at the ceiling as though I might will it to happen.

“Stop,” he whispered, taking my hand. “Don’t leave yet.”

Slowly, I turned toward him, a flare of heat sliding up my arm like a welcome friend. I knew this touch. This feeling. His finger brushed my cheek, tipping my chin toward him. A dull thrum beat in my ears, the blood pulsing hot with sudden desire. A hint of gold encircled his eyes, flaring into a brilliant nimbus.

“I … know you,” I said hoarsely, my knees going weak.

“Yes.” And then his mouth was upon mine, and I knew I wanted him. Dream or not, stranger or not, the wanting of him burned the edges of my skin, flooding my limbs like liquid fire.

“What is this?” I gasped, letting him wrap his arms around me, his hand snaking down my hips to cup my ass.

“A gift. The last I can give you.” He kissed me again and my eyes shut against the intensity, even as his tongue swept deep. He captured my soft groan. “Look at me, Abby.”

My eyelids fluttered open and I blinked in surprise. We were no longer in a house at all … but a ballroom? I gaped as a cluster of masked dancers twirled by us in spirited laughter and hazy silks. Beneath my feet gleamed a checkered marble
floor, the black and white tiled in a dizzying pattern. A flush of soft light shone above us from a great crystal chandelier.

“I don’t understand.”

“I owe you a wooing of sorts, I suspect. Consider it a parting memory.” He gestured with his fingers, and the soft strains of a violin echoed from the far corner of the hall before I could ask him what he meant. I caught a dim glimpse of a cloaked player, but clearly my would-be suitor had other plans than allowing me to discover who it was, for he turned me neatly, his hand upon my waist.

A moment later and I was dressed the same as the other dancers, but in pastel blues and silver threads. “A corset?”

He shrugged. “You might as well get used to it,
Princess
. Besides, I’ll like trying to get you out of it.”

“Easy for you to say,” I grumbled. “You’re wearing pants.” Which he was. Tight, low-slung leathers and a scarlet lawn shirt. “You look like some sort of ridiculous vampire.”

A genuine laugh rolled from his chest. “Can’t have that, can we?” He dipped me low and his shirt melted into a shimmering blue to match my dress. “Better?”

“A bit cliché, but I’ll manage.”

“That’s my girl.” He pulled me close again. The gold of his eyes gleamed brighter than before. The music took on a sultry tone, something slower and seductive. “There’s only time for one dance, I’m afraid.”

“Well, then, I guess we’d better make the most of it.”

His lips curled into something predatory, but he clung to me harder in a desperate motion that didn’t quite touch his eyes. Unaware of anything but the delicious way he swiveled his hips, I let my feet go where they would. Strangely enough, the steps flowed into each other as though I’d been doing them forever, each movement graceful and unhesitating.

Odd things, dreams.

And my partner was no slouch either.

The skillful movements soon turned the dance into something else entirely. Fingers stroked over my neck, my shoulders, tracing down my back. His hips ground into my mine, his mouth upon my jaw. And all of it subtle enough to seem as though it were part of the dance itself.

It felt as though we might have done this before.

Halfway through the piece, I realized my stays were coming undone. Struggling to keep the corset from sliding off my chest, I paused in my movements, catching a smirk upon his face.

“Charming.” I snorted, wondering if he’d been undoing them by hand or by other means. Not that it mattered, really. Dreams were dreams and I was enjoying the hell out of this one. Immediately I stopped squirming and left the corset to slip off as it would.

Spinning away from him, I swayed my hips enticingly. The other dancers faded away, and even the music became nothing more than a distant echo. My suddenly bare feet touched the softest of carpets, the lights retreating to only a soft glow.

The dream had changed again.

I glanced demurely over my shoulder at him, one brow arched in challenge. My heart hammered in my chest at the thought of what I was about to do, but a certain calmness had taken over my mind. Whatever was happening here felt terribly right, even if my head couldn’t quite wrap itself around the concept.

My dance partner stood several paces behind me, the rise and fall of his chest suggesting a severe lack of oxygen. “When you look at me like that, I forget why I’m here,” he said hoarsely.

My breasts were about to break free from the top of the
corset—the barest of motions would send it tumbling past my waist. “And why
are
you here, exactly? Assuming this isn’t pre-wedding jitters taking place by way of a dream.”

“Hush.” His mouth compressed at my words and I arched my back in apology, one hand casually stretching up to push my hair behind my ear. His gaze became half-lidded and hot, drawn to the taut nipple that had escaped from its confines.

“Now, how did that happen, I wonder?”

“The mind boggles,” he purred. “I suppose the only thing to do is to make a matched pair.” His hand found the other breast, his thumb rolling it behind the corset with the faintest of pressure. “It might get lonely.”

“Can’t have that …” I tipped my head as though to expose more of myself to him. Soft heat pooled at the base of my throat, and I realized he was kissing me there, his tongue tracing hot circles at the pulse. Something about the gesture niggled at me, its familiarity ringing true, and I said as much.

He grunted in reply, clearly too caught up in what he was doing to care, but a moment later he pulled away. “Change in plans, Abby.”

My body shuddered with disappointment. “I wasn’t aware there was supposed to be an agenda. This is
my
dream, right?”

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “As much as it ever was, I suppose. Don’t worry about it just yet. I’m going to ask something of you in a bit. There isn’t any time to explain, but I need your word that you will do it.”

My eyes narrowed. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Not exactly. Not you, anyway,” he admitted. “Promise me you will do what I ask? I’m not going to get another shot at it if it doesn’t work.” The intensity of his expression became despairing and I could only nod in answer.

“And until then?” There was nothing glib about my
words, but my body continued to thrum with thwarted desire.

He leaned forward to kiss me, even as he gently laid me upon the bed that had mysteriously appeared behind us. “I’d think that would be obvious,” he murmured. “I take what is mine.”

As though this last interchange had freed him from whatever thoughts had been tormenting him, he tugged at the top of my corset, growling with approval at the newly revealed flesh. “Gods, but I’ve missed this.” And then he was silent, suckling at the nipples until I jerked toward him, an electric pulse of pleasure shooting to my groin. I rolled my hips at him, but he was already there, one hand rucking the skirt up to my waist.

If I’d been wearing underwear, it was gone a moment later, his hand sliding between my thighs. I scissored them wide and bucked up to meet his fingers, letting out a gasp of relief when he slipped one inside. I tore at his shoulders, ripping the shirt away from him like paper. My palms stroked his naked chest and down the muscled ridge of his abdomen.

With a groan, he laid a bold claim to my mouth. I rocked in time to his movements, echoed in the way he slid against me. He chuckled at my whimper.

“Too easy,” he sighed, his eyes glowing brighter still. I caught the flicker of what might have been antlers sprouting from his brow, but he turned toward me and they were gone.

“You talk too much.” I brushed my lips over his jawline, grinding harder against him. Small ripples of pleasure radiated with each clever stroke. “And what’s too easy?”

One dark brow arched in amusement, his fingers crooking up as his thumb pressed down. “This.”

Rational thought fled as I tumbled over the edge, the orgasm hitting me fast and hard, leaving me almost sobbing with its intensity. A satisfied croon rumbled from his chest. Was he laughing? My eyes fluttered open, my body continuing to vibrate happily along.

“Delicious.” His lips parted as though he was … drinking? His face lowered, his gaze burning at me. “Whatever happens, Abby, I have no regrets. About any of it.” Confused, I frowned at him. “The mechanics are going to be too difficult to explain right now. Just do as I ask. You have the power, Dreamer. Please.”

“What are you going to do?” I shifted as though to roll out from under him, but his hands tightened around me. A tremor ran through him, but it wasn’t sexual.

It was fear.

Clasping me to him, he pulled me onto his lap. His erection remained beneath me, but it was as though it was merely an afterthought for him at this point. One hand stroked my cheek, the other cradled my head. “I’m going to kiss you now, Abby.”

“All right,” I said slowly. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, a bitter smile crossing his face, and then he lowered his mouth to mine. It was a strangely chaste kiss, hovering and light as though he couldn’t quite find the right rhythm.

What the hell. I’d make it easy for him.

My fingers twined through the dark locks of his hair. He stiffened slightly, but I tugged him closer, opening myself to him as well as I could. He nipped at my lower lip, our breath mingling hotly.

“All of me I give to you,” he whispered, the words slipping away into the darkness. His eyes flared painfully bright like golden waves in an infinite sea. He shuddered, his exhalation
filling my lungs until they burned. “Now drink
my
dreams.”

I struggled to pull back, but his hands held me firmly in place. I heard the distant chime of a bell as visions darkened my sight, wrapping me in the memories of an …