Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance (62 page)

The job was supposed to be simple: ID someone with talent. Usher them into Rêve, which Jordan had done of her own free will. Once a break had been made in that thin protective barrier of sleep, take her deeper into the dreamwaters to awaken her to the world of Darkside. She’d never dream the same, be the same, live the same. And there’d be no earthly refuge left to her but Chimera.

Would help if she’d gone to sleep last night. He could’ve met her there and demonstrated how dreaming would be for her now. But no, the stubborn woman had fought the pull hard. He’d had no choice but to join the surveillance team assigned to her building and watch over her, his darksight keen to anyone else approaching her apartment.

In fact, two suspicious persons had tried to approach her place last night. The first was a Seeker from the
Envoi
, but Rook had dropped him before he made it across her parking lot. The second one, however, had slipped away as soon as Rook had spotted him down the street.

Her life as she knew it had ended, but she still smiled up at the waitress and ordered—Rook waited—lemon water and a Sai salad. Girl food.

He’d love to get rid of Millions too, but Jordan was there of her own free will. Rook could do nothing but watch and wait. Unfortunately, patience wasn’t one of his virtues.

Millions was talking about some molten brownie, called it
decadent
, which for some reason Rook found irritating as hell.

Jordan was pale with exhaustion, but tonight he’d make sure she had the release of sleep. Too long without and someone like her—like him, too—would start seeing things. Not real things, but not imaginary, either.

Millions looked up at the waitress, and Rook heard the word
brownie
again.

“Really,” Jordan said, “I shouldn’t.”

Millions didn’t have Chimera-level skills, so he was using chocolate to get to her. Simple approach. Sensual. Provocative. But not what she needed.

Rook watched them hand the menus to the waitress and then chitchat, though he could only hear every other word. He strained for hers in particular. He liked her profile, the slope of her neck. Forgot all about the person across from her. Watched her smile. Watched her take her first bite.

He watched as, ever so slowly, she turned her head, her gaze penetrating the shadowy pocket in which he stood.

There was no way she could see him unless she had darksight, too—and she’d only had one dip in Rêve, not enough to waken all of her talents. Nevertheless, still she stared right at him.

So he smiled back. Hoped it would piss her off as much as he was. This was fun.

Her full mouth mashed into a line—she
could
see him—and she turned back to Millions. Stabbed at her plate. Took another bite.

For the first time in ages he thought,
God, it’s good to be alive.

Jordan turned the deadbolt on her apartment’s front door, then gave in to her mounting panic—exacerbated by skull-scraping exhaustion—and moved her narrow entry table to block the door. At the very least it would clatter over if someone tried to get in and she could call 911.

He’d been watching her at lunch.

When, speaking low, she’d told Vince about the meeting with Michael—she didn’t include the Maisie-related details, just that a guy from the Rêve had come to see her, wanted her to do work in Rêve for him, that she felt uneasy about him—Vince had been concerned, too. Had said he’d look into it personally.

So that was something, at least. Vince could tell the police who’d murdered her, if she didn’t get through the night.

Tomorrow she’d pursue a restraining order.

Jordan turned around and found Maze standing in her living room, toothbrush stuck in her mouth. She must have heard the loud scrape of the table against the floor and come to check out the racket. Lil’ sis was staying with her until they figured out all the angles.

Still frothing, Maze pulled the brush from her teeth and used it to point to the table blocking the door. “Really?”

Jordan didn’t care if barricading was stupid. “He came to see me at work. Followed me to lunch. What’s to stop him from coming here?”

“Better him than Mr. Blandman.”

Very funny. Vince
Black
man was not coming, either.

Maze pointed to her head with the toothbrush. “Besides, he’s not going to break through the door. He’d going to break into your head.”

“You’re spraying.”

Maze jabbed the toothbrush back in her mouth, turned on her heel, and went back into the bathroom. Slammed the door.

Jordan dropped onto the sofa and flipped on the TV to distract herself. The screen flashed with action but the light only hurt her eyes.

“Jory,” Maze said from the hallway behind her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you’d take to Rêve like I did. It’s supposed to be rare. I thought you’d just have a good time, maybe let yourself have a dream fling. God knows you need to unwind a little.”

Jordan hit the menu button to scroll through her viewing options, refusing to look around. “What do you courier? For whom?” She was accepting no apologies until her sister came clean.

“Ugh! It’s not your problem,” Maze said. “I’m handling it.”

Jordan snorted. “I witnessed how well you were handling it.”

Her sis came around the side of the sofa and dropped down next to her. “Yeah, well, I might’ve met someone who can help me. He’s with some sort of organization that polices Rêve. He’s legit.”

“And you know this how?”

“He seemed official. Was super uptight.”

Uptight?
Jordan shook her head. It was impossible to know whom to trust. Rêve was ripe for opportunists and speculators. Maze certainly couldn’t tell the difference. Criminals could be uptight, too.

“I’d like to meet him.” And judge for herself.

“I’ll ask him tonight.”

“Hell no. You’re not going out.”

Maze gave her a patient look.

“What?”

“I don’t have to go out to meet with him.”

Jordan shook her head. Still didn’t get it.

Maze grabbed the remote out of her hand. “I’m meeting him eyes closed?”

“You have a headset?” The
Envoi
’s headsets had been artfully designed, more like a low, spirally crown. Dress-up.

“Some of us don’t
need
headsets. He said he’d find me.”

“A random man is going to find you in your dreams?”

“Yep,” Maze said. “It’s just like…meeting at a bar.”

She was meeting men at bars, too? Shit. “It’s
not
like meeting a man at a bar.”

“Yes, it is. It’s just like the
Envoi
’s Rêve on that beach. You go up to someone, you talk. Not freaky.”

It was an invasion of privacy beyond all others. “All of it is freaky.” Then Jordan stood up suddenly, horror flashing through her. “You mean Michael Reese can enter my dreams when I’m asleep?”

From her lounge, Maze frowned low, one of her deep-in-thought expressions. “I suppose it’s possible. Not likely, though.”

Jordan was never sleeping again. She’d binge watch TV all night—there were so many series she’d been planning to try. Now was a good time. Then she’d call in sick tomorrow, ’cause she would be. Hold out as long as she could on caffeine and panic.

She gulped. “During the
Envoi
’s Rêve, Michael Reese touched me somehow.”

Maze gave a deep chuckle. “Michael Reese is welcome to touch me however he likes.”

“No, he’s not. He’s dangerous.”

“Dangerously hot.”

Jordan wanted to shake her. “Potentially deadly.”

“No argument there.”

Call the police? Have them laugh off her complaint?
Rêve is safe. Your sleep is safe.

“There’s no saving you, sister,” Jordan said. Lord, she’d tried. “You are totally screwed, and I’m not far behind.”

***

She was having trouble falling; he could feel her tension drawing out with each breath, each slow, desperate blink back to alertness. It was as if she hung off a cliff above the ocean, fingertips sliding toward the edge in grain-by-grain increments.

Wouldn’t take much to dislodge her, but she already didn’t trust him to catch her.

“Come on,” he urged.

Her nails clawed the edge, strength weakening.

And then: a sudden outward breath and the silent fall into the dark water below. Down she plunged, her exhaustion like stones tied around her feet. But the rest of her body, her mind, relished the swift sink.

God, she was beautiful, made of that silver and indigo light, with just the smallest hint of earthly coloring. She’d take on more definition the more lucid she became.

Yes, Rook thought. This was so much better than the psychopaths Chimera had had him hunting, their twisted dreams giving life to his own suffocating nightmares. It was time someone else went into that darkness, because if he did again, he wouldn’t come back the same.

Recruitment was a much better occupation. No wonder Coll stayed with it.

Beautiful and fearful, she hovered in the flotsam of an incomplete dream, its components—a crumbling wall, the strobe of an ambulance, skeleton trees—blurred and barely recognizable in the waters of sleep. She spotted him, and in a rush of color and minute detail—each strand of hair, the mini mole on her neck, the almost imperceptible vertical striations of her lips—she became herself. In light pink sweats.

For all her prickle, yeah, he liked her a lot.

“There you are,” he said. “I’ve been waiting.”

She backed away, but she could never lose him. And he’d watch over her until she conquered this plane and didn’t need him anymore.

“What do you want from me? Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“I won’t hurt you—” Rook paced a circle around her, an uncomfortable compromise with the part of him that want to reach out and touch. “—but there are things here that can.”

“You followed me today.”

“I made sure no one hurt you, no one snatched you from the street.”

“You
threatened
me at my work.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

“I don’t need to threaten you. You’re already in danger, and you did it yourself.”

She nodded, went stoic. “I should never have tried Rêve.”

“Not if you had wanted a normal life, but that decision’s behind you now, because you’re here.” His circle had him at her back, and he paused there to feel the waves of her energy vibrate out of her. Felt like the sun shone solely on him.

“Who are you really?”

“I told you. I’m Reese.”

That didn’t sound right. “
What
are you?”

“I’m a Chimera. I help keep Rêve safe,” he said, “And I want you to join me.”

“You want to recruit me.”

“Yes. I want you badly.” In dreams, sometimes, the truth was hard to disguise. Hard to deny, too.

“And if I say no?”

“Eventually you’ll have to agree. Others are sure to find you soon, if they haven’t already. I’m your best option, such as I am.”

She looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes. “Is there a way to go back to the way things were?”

He’d answered this already, but he would again and again until she understood. She’d changed. “No. And you don’t want to, anyway. Admit it, you
like
lucid dreaming, and when you discover what you can do here, the real world will pale in comparison.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want it.”

Want?
There was that word again, piercing through the conversation.

He
wanted
to put his hands low on her hips and feel her arch back into him. He could forget what haunted him with her. He knew he could.

“Are you making me feel like this?” she demanded. “Why do you make me feel like this?”

“Like what?” Did she feel it too, then? This atomic attraction, like molecular bonds straining to attach?

But her eyes just got wider, her glare accusatory.

“It’s your dream, Jordan,” he said. “I can find you within it, but I can’t make you feel anything.” Though there were some agents who had the knack. He was just a humble tracker.

“Well, you don’t have to stand so close.”

“Your dream,” he said again. “Push me away.”

He knew she could—it was well within her ability—and soon she’d be able to do so without thinking. Her dreams were her playground. It was only deeper into the waters of sleep, Darkside, that she’d have difficulty.

But she didn’t push him back.

Okay, still scared. Still disoriented. He needed her trust, so he’d give her the space she requested, and he would back off.

Except…his backward motion was met with stiff resistance. She wasn’t pushing him away; she was keeping him close. He could break her hold. However strong she was, he had considerably more experience. He could break the dream, but he didn’t.

A smile of deep satisfaction pulled at his mouth, an entirely foreign feeling to his face, to his soul. If he begged, would she let him stay here? He’d promise to keep the darkness at bay, because it would come. It always did.

“Michael?”

The false name was a reminder. There are rules. There are rules. There are rules.

She rose on tiptoe, drawing closer by the pull of attraction between them.

His hands found her hips, knew just the angle to his grip—she didn’t protest. He tugged her flush against him, and her back arched, just slightly, exactly as he’d hoped it would, her ass pressing—good God—into his groin.

Warmth coursed through his gut and spread out to his limbs and mind. It was part lust—no helping that—and part peace. It was a full-body sensation, burning out pain and loneliness, leaving only this feeling of want and connection.

She tilted her head back.

All her little adjustments meant
yes, yes,
and
yes
.

At the moment, hers was the only permission that mattered.

So he kissed her.

***

Michael Reese’s mouth on hers was like being struck by a prolonged bolt of lightning. Every nerve crackled, her blood heating and rushing faster, beating her mindless and throbbing at her core. She
needed
as if she’d never needed anything before, like oxygen in space or water in a desert. She needed him in order to survive, because she’d gone without feeling like this for so long, too long, since Mom had died. She’d starved herself of the pulse of being alive, of indulgence, of desire. Until now, she’d only chosen romantic fictions of men she could keep at a comfortable distance, and her soul was weaker for it.