Disciple: DreamWalkers, Book 2

Conquer your inner demons...before they break free.

Dreamwalkers, Book 2

When student dreamwalker Maggie Mackey was first discovered by Zeke Garrett, now her mentor, their sexual attraction blazed off the charts, as did their tangible dreamspace bond.

Three months later, their relationship is as stalled out as Maggie’s training. Zeke isn’t sure what’s to blame. His clumsy mentoring, Maggie’s stubbornness, or something more sinister.

When the pair is summoned to a restricted outpost for troubled and sick dreamwalkers to investigate the deaths of several patients, a nightmare from Zeke’s past resurfaces to further complicate Maggie’s training. In fact, there’s a better-than-good chance she’ll be yanked away from him and reassigned to a curator. Disciples sent to curators are rarely heard from again.

To survive the secretive inner workings of their organization and the deadly new force emerging inside the sphere, Maggie and Zeke must confront their inner demons as well as their feelings for each other. Because in the world of the dreamwalkers, inner demons never remain politely inside one’s tortured soul. They prefer to manifest...and eat people.

Warning: Book contains sex, cursing, more cursing, T-Rexes, dire peril and explosives.

Disciple

Jody Wallace

Dedication

For Matthew. Rarrrrrr!

Chapter One

Zeke glared at Maggie from his side of the bed and tossed another pillow to the cold tile floor of his utilitarian quarters. At least he hadn’t tossed the pillow at her.
Cantankerous ass.
Three days without shaving lent him more of a dangerous appearance than normal, and the fresh scar from a wraith skirmish last week certainly didn’t soften his angular features.

Normally, Maggie would have been eager to hop into bed with a single, sexy, physically fit, intelligent, heterosexual male. A man devoted to her mental wellbeing, so to speak. A man with whom she shared an involuntary, magnetic allure known as a tangible bond.

Unfortunately, the alucinator training program didn’t sanction that type of bed hopping. Even if it had, she’d been such a disappointing student, Zeke might have turned her down anyway.

He wound his old-fashioned alarm clock and addressed her in a surly tone. “You don’t have to wait for our chaperone to come to bed. We’re adults. It’s late. Put the damn magazine down. We have work to do.”

“This article about gender’s effect on transnationalism is very interesting.” She tore her gaze from his exposed chest and shoulders and directed it at her latest journal of cultural geography. Just because she was beholden to the Somnium now didn’t mean she intended to let her PhD to go waste. “When I graduate from training—”

“If you graduate.” Zeke kicked another of her pillows to the floor, and she hid her frown behind the journal. “I’m starting to think you’re one of those professional students.”

She wasn’t going to take that bait. “When I graduate, with my background I’m a natural fit to oversee popular culture and predict manifestation forms.”

Alucinators—individuals whose psyches accessed the dream dimension—could drag monsters out of the ether and into the terra firma. New dreamers were assigned a mentor, like Zeke, to teach them to control it.

All evidence suggested Zeke sucked as a mentor and Maggie sucked as a student. Either way, they’d passed the Somnium record of “most days in nightly rotation” a week and a half ago, and they had to share a bunk until she advanced. They hadn’t acknowledged the milestone…aloud.

“You want to waste yourself as a couch potato when you could be out there making a difference?” Zeke scoffed. Her mentor wasn’t the desk job type. Though the Somnium needed agents of all stripes, his respect seemed reserved for alucinators who physically battled any manifested wraiths.

That meant Maggie got approximately two percent of his respect, which was how often she avoided flinching when someone came at her with a practice sword. It was an improvement. Plus she’d lost ten pounds in the past two months. Boobs and hair, mostly, but she’d take improvements where she could get them.

“It’s not a waste of time to perform as a watcher, Zeke. The Somnium needs all types of personnel.” Her progress in the physics of the dreamsphere dimension hadn’t been as sluggish as her progress in terra firma combat techniques and in-dreamsphere shielding. “Didn’t you read Joseph Campbell? Myths and popular culture affect our subconscious. Our subconscious creates the wraiths. If we know what neos might dream about, we can predict patterns, coach our field teams, and—”

“You sound like Adi,” Zeke said.

“Of course I do,” Maggie answered as calmly as possible. Her curly, short bob tickled her nape when she nodded. “I have frequent Skype appointments with her. Please quit interrupting me. It creates unnecessary hostility, and she wants us to be more amicable.”

If she climbed into bed pissed at him—again—it would make their sleep session problematic—again. Adishakti Sharma, one of North America’s seven vigils and a talented assessor, had counseled Maggie about their protracted training. Adi had concluded that Maggie and Zeke’s shared frustration with her meager headway had deepened the gulf between them. That gulf meant he couldn’t impart the much-needed dreamsphere lessons.

Maggie hadn’t needed anyone to tell her that squabbling with Zeke made for a terrible training relationship, but it helped to quote Adi when he got on her case.

“Adi says,” Maggie began, lowering the journal, “our lack of harmony is interfering with our link in the dreamsphere.”

“That’s funny. We have a chaperone to make sure we don’t get too harmonious.”

When she positioned her arms just so, her forearm muscles twinged less. Exercising today with a weighted bo staff had done a number on her. She’d been bruised and battered inside and out since day one of her new life.

If only one part could be easier. Like, for example, Zeke.

But no.

“We have a chaperone because it’s standard procedure for alucinators with tangible bonds during sleep training,” she said.

“Standard as of two months ago.”

“Standard nonetheless.” When she and Zeke had met, when he’d rescued her from the monsters she’d accidentally created, they’d been attracted to one another. The tangible bond, a phenomena that had evolved to help high-level dreamers stay in contact in the dreamsphere, had augmented their desires. They hadn’t had sex, but nobody trusted that they wouldn’t.

That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

The last time Zeke had slept with one of his students—a woman named Karen Kingsbury—she’d used his susceptibility to conceal the fact she was psychotic and had manifested hundreds of wraiths that killed many innocent humans before the Somnium could stop her.

“We have a chaperone because nobody wants me to screw up again,” Zeke said in a rare moment of candor. He was no liar, but the past two months, he’d been gruff, irritable, almost accusatory. Maggie had no idea what had happened to the man who’d kissed her the night they’d met. Several times. Several arousing, pulse-pounding times.

“Which is stupid,” he continued. “The guard outside is enough. You and I both know we don’t need an actual chaperone.”

Yes, because apparently their attraction had soured into dislike.

Or Zeke’s had. If he snapped his fingers, if he let down his barriers, Maggie would be hard-pressed not to get physical with him. Despite Somnium strictures. Despite common sense. Despite their agreement to wait until she graduated.

The things he’d promised to do to her…

Yet they hadn’t revisited their initial agreement. It seemed to be—a future relationship seemed to be—completely off the table.

“I’ll come to bed in a minute,” she said. “I just want to finish this article.” She’d have to start over. It was hard to concentrate with a mostly naked Zeke waiting in bed. His bad attitude had yet to cancel out her appreciation of his positive qualities.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he asked.

Maggie fingered her bookmark. She could put the magazine down…but then he’d be getting his way. “It’s obvious what I’m doing. Reading.”

Zeke flipped off his covers and slid out of bed, lithe and bruise-free. Unlike Maggie.

He had a king-sized mattress—all alucinators expected to train students got king-sized mattresses—in his quarters at the East Coast base. He might be a sentry, but his rank was grounded in his skill as a field agent and not as a mentor.

He approached her with a sigh. “Give me the rag.”

She pushed the desk chair out of his reach, her thighs protesting the movement. “I’m not finished.”

Wearing nothing but white boxers and a few tattoos, he halted, glowering. God, he was sexy—even like this. Mad at her. Disappointed in her. Rejecting her.

“I’m tired, Maggie. I bust my ass when I’m awake teaching neos to fight and bust my ass all night trying to make sure you don’t manifest wraiths.”

“This is hardly night.” The Somnium was a twenty-four-seven organization, and Maggie and Zeke’s agenda scheduled their sleep between four to ten PM instead of a normal bedtime. Because they required an in-room chaperone due to the tangible, they got stuck with a less desirable shift.

“That’s beside the point.” His boxers rode lower on his hips than was good for her libido. “I need six hours of sleep, and so you do. But you won’t come to bed.”

“If our schedule could be normalized,” she argued, staring at the ceiling instead of his body, “it would be easier.”

“Everyone has to deal with disruptions, not just us. That never changes. Manifestations don’t respect schedules. When we’re not here, I’m leading a field team and worrying about you getting eaten.” Mentors and mentees in phase one weren’t supposed to spend their sleep time apart. If Zeke’s missions stretched past twenty-four hours, Maggie had to go with him, no matter how dangerous it was.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” She worried about herself enough for the both of them.

“No? You can’t shield for shit, and you haven’t shed your fear. It’s the fear that attracts all the damn wraiths. Surely Adi told you that too.”

The sourness in Zeke’s voice when he mentioned Adi surprised her. Did he not like the vigil? Adi might be at the top of Somnium hierarchy for the North American division, but there was nothing objectionable about her. She was friendly, smart and patient. Maggie could understand not liking Zeke, because he could be an ass, or Rhys, another East Coast sentry, because he could be overly political. Even Lillian, a third sentry here, had a grudge against upper management that could raise hackles.

“Are you upset with Adi?” Maggie asked. “Oh wait. She’s making you do counseling sessions too, isn’t she?”

A closed-off grouch like Zeke wouldn’t enjoy that. Why she continued to have feelings for him was a mystery.

“That has nothing to do with you being such a chicken shit in the dreamsphere that we can’t get anything done,” he snapped.

His language and tendency to blow off steam no longer fazed her. Sometimes he targeted her, sometimes himself, and sometimes he just cursed about the “fucking tangible” or “goddamn Rhys being smug.” He’d toned it down since Adi had started counseling Maggie—and presumably him too.

Today, though, something was eating him. He was prickly and mean, like the early weeks when she’d seriously considered asking to be reassigned to a curator. Only a curator could take over mentorship of a high-level alucinator after an initial training link had been formed, but alucinators sent to the curators tended to disappear. Lillian had convinced Maggie to stick with Zeke, and the counseling sessions with Adi had begun shortly thereafter.

She wondered, briefly, whose counseling sessions were more important—hers or Zeke’s. Instead of pestering him about it, she channeled Adi’s calm demeanor and responded to his rudeness. “Why are you so fussy tonight? Bad day?”

“I’m not fussy.”

“And I’m not a coward. My fear is not our only impediment. I read the newsletters, Zeke. The entire division has registered an increase in wraith presence in the dreamsphere—to go with the increase in new dreamers. The wraiths sure as heck have noticed me. It’s hard to relax.”

“I know you’re not a coward, but…” He raked his fingers through his hair. “If you’d quit being so timid, they wouldn’t cluster like they do around dreamers in comas. I wish you’d man up.”

“That’s not at all sexist,” she said dryly. She remained in the desk chair, at faux ease, while he radiated tension.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, but that’s no reason to perpetuate sexist terminology. There are actually more women in positions of power in the Somnium than men, and—”

He scowled. “Okay, it’s a stupid phrase. Lill has more balls…” He stopped and kind of laughed.

She hadn’t heard him laugh in days and couldn’t help herself—she smiled at him. When his gray, changeable gaze locked with hers, when he smiled back, she remembered all the reasons she wanted him.

Until he continued talking.

“Lillian is braver than anyone I know, man or woman. Adi ain’t exactly a cream puff. But you’re changing the subject. If you don’t master the fear, you don’t master the dreamsphere. If you don’t master the dreamsphere…” He trailed off ominously.

If she didn’t master the dreamsphere, she’d be sent to a curator anyway. Or worse. L5s couldn’t be cast adrift with nominal training like L1s and L2s. “Did you have to deal with a wraith baby boom when you were new at this? I feel like a wraith magnet in there.”

“They’ve always come after L5s hard,” he said. “More of them can manifest through a high-level alucinator, provided they can get at you.”

“It seems like they’re all trying to get at me. Every last one of them. You said yourself you’d never seen this many. Cut me some slack.” When she was in the sphere, wraiths clogged the area around her so thickly, she and Zeke could barely see outside the shield, and they’d only entered the sleeping sphere so far. There’d been a number of close calls on the field team too, when manifested wraiths inexplicably attacked Maggie instead of the neo who’d created them.

Sometimes Maggie wondered. Wondered if the others believed she was nursing a psychosis like Karen Kingsbury. Wondered if they thought she was biding her time before unleashing a horde of monsters on the world. No other neonati got twice weekly counseling.

No other neonati had Zeke as a mentor, either.
Asshole.

“I cut you all sorts of slack,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what people are saying.”

Maggie leaned farther back in the desk chair, studying his expression—his high cheekbones, his messy, dark blond hair, his scruffy whiskers. Good Lord, the man was gorgeous.

If she kissed him, he’d quit talking. That would be nice. At least until he pushed her away and yelled at her for coming on to him.

“What are people saying?” she asked, trying not to think about kissing—or about being pushed away.

Most alucinators didn’t chat with her beyond what her training required. She couldn’t tell if they were avoiding her or too busy to breathe, like she was. She wanted to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but it reinforced her suspicion nobody trusted her.

Zeke shrugged. “Stupid shit. It’s probably sexist too, and you hate that. So it doesn’t matter.”

“It does or you wouldn’t have mentioned it.” She riffled the pages of her magazine as if she were about to start reading again. “Are they saying I’m like Karen?”

His lips thinned. Yeah, they were saying it, all right.