Dreamscape (2 page)

“Help!” I scream, kicking and
punching against his hard muscles.

No one answers as he plunges us
into the flames.

I expect death, but what I get is
deposited on my rear end in a spacious room with a wall of fire at my back. My
eyes sweep the perimeter of what looks like an upscale apartment with a bed
tucked in one corner and a living area in front of me. The dark paneled walls
lend an old world feel that is only mirrored by the heavy furnishings. There
are rich velvets and leather. Even the air is different. Instead of Justine’s
sweet scent, a dark musk fills the space.

How is this possible? We were just
in my hall closet.

The man steps away from me. His
chest lifts with each sharp breath he takes.

The flames should have fried me,
but I’m here. I have to be dreaming. The only thing is, I don’t quite think I
am. It’s absurd to think that, but the heat from the fire wall has intensified
now that the guy is standing away from me. Sweat drips down my scalp and my
shirt clings to my back. I’m going to have to move soon.

The only thing is I don’t know what
this guy will do. I turn my head and look through the flames, but all I see is
a huge pendulum, like from a clock, swinging back and forth.

All of the sudden the flames
disappear and all that remains is a crevice that runs the length of what should
be a wall. The pendulum is easier to see now, at least the lower half. The
upper part of it is cut off by the ceiling. Only darkness lies beyond the fire
pit, like it opens into a cavern.

This has got to be the strangest
place I’ve ever seen.

“I know you must be frightened,”
says the man. “I’m sorry about that. I have much to explain to you. Would you
please join me on the sofa?”

“As if,” I tell him. Even though
I’m still thinking this has to be a dream, I ask, “Who are you? What is this
place? Why am I here?”

His voice comes out low, guttural.
“You don’t remember me?”

“I’ve never seen you in my life.”

Intense blue eyes latch onto mine.
“Things are not always what they appear, Amelia.”

This is a dream. He’s a figment of
my imagination.

A smile stretches on his full lips.
“In time, all will be revealed.”

He takes a step toward me and I
jump to my feet. I move back and back until my feet are near the pit. Even this
close, I can’t see what’s beyond it.

“Stay away from me,” I tell him.

He spreads his hands, but his eyes
are wild. Veins on his forearms bulge as he puts his hands in his pockets.
“Please. Let me explain.”

I nod, taking a seat on the
floor again. There is no way I’m getting anywhere near him, dream or not.

Not much surprises me anymore.

This girl does.

She is delicate in every sense of
the word, except in her bold stare. Instead of cowering in the corner pleading
for her life, she hugs her knees to her chest and watches me.

I watch her in return, hoping she
really is the one I’ve been searching for, hoping she can free me from my prison.
After a long while she lowers her face, not out of fear or rage; it is
indifference I catch in her smoky green eyes. If I didn’t know her, the
performance might be convincing.

Although she has seen me every
night in her dreams for the past few years, no recognition lingers in her
expression. To be fair, I did not reveal my true form to her, but I somehow
imagined she would recognize my energy, our connection at the very least.

Despite the calm exterior she
presents, her heartbeat thuds through her chest like a bird trapped in a cage.
I stare, fascinated, as a single drop of sweat escapes her dark hair and traces
a line down her forehead—the only outward hint of her reaction to her fiery
surroundings, or is it to me?

I keep my distance from her, not trusting
myself to be close to her at the moment. I haven’t had the pleasure of real
company for thousands of years. My body vibrates from her nearness even though
she is ten feet from me. My mind can’t stop spinning with wanting her and her
intoxicating scent has me flying on a cloud of dizziness. I’ve never
experienced a Sibylline this potent.

I cannot take my eyes from her;
yet, something about her draws me nearer that has nothing to do with the fine
outward shell she dons. Even in her dreams, she was extraordinary.

Unfortunately, dreams do not always
represent well the dreamer. I never truly know who I have until the recruit is
in my domain. One of my first recruits was actually a man who only appeared as
a woman in his dreams. Since that mistake, I have learned to differentiate at
least gender. Luckily for me, I was not entombed in this prison and was able to
take the man back unharmed.

Everything from outward appearance
to perceived character traits can be different than what a dreamer shows me. I
curse myself for not showing her my true form in the Dreamscape, but I took
what I thought was a necessary precaution.

Amelia hasn’t responded as I hoped
she would. She does not recognize me in any way. I could tell her who I am, but
would she believe me? In the past, all I had to do was command a recruit and
she would obey me. It appears women have changed quite a bit in the last few
millennia.

I have to stick to the plan. My
team will not think too highly of me if I don’t. Maybell will throttle me for
sure. She is my best trainer, yet I will have to find the right way to
introduce her to Amelia. Not many mortals have accepted my team in their true
form, but we no longer have the option of concealing them. Perhaps Amelia will
be different. First, she has to acclimate to me and my reality before I can
introduce her.

Pink lips move, but nothing comes
out. Is she praying to a god that could never hear her in this place? Is she
saying goodbye to loved ones?

I shake my head. Impossible. She
has no one. Another reason she is here with me. I could not leave her in the
mortal realm a moment longer.

Her body tenses when I step closer.
Apart from her initial outburst, she has been calm. Finally, I make out her
words:
Wake up
.

I smile. She thinks she is dreaming
still.

I can have fun with this. Fun does
not come easily to the keeper of the Netherworld.

When I’m two feet away she shifts
back and thrusts out a shaking hand. She speaks at last, and her voice is the
sweetest sound that could ever exist, although her words are a harsh command.

“Stop!” she says.

I don’t.

I can’t.

She scrambles backward and jumps to
her feet, facing me in a fighting stance. With the stealth of a cat she rocks
to her toes and shifts her upper body as if for a quick escape. Eyes wild, body
coiled, she might as well be hissing at me.

I want to laugh. There is no escape
from hell.

Disregarding my native impulses, I
let her thoughts congeal before I destroy her hopes. The giant pendulum behind
her punctuates the sound of her pulse.
Swoosh plunk, swoosh plunk, swoosh
plunk
…The sound usually soothes me, but in this moment I cannot countenance
another swoosh.

Even though I have no desire to
frighten her, she has to see this is real; I only have until morning to make
her mine, and I have wasted enough time as it is hoping to calm her before I
shatter the foundations of her existence. My mind twists on a dark thought. She
will know I am real if I touch her.

Working to still my breath, my
senses heighten, slowing time. She is not ready for my fake, and I easily catch
her wrists before she can bypass me. She kicks at my shins, and I let her
momentum topple us over. Her eyes fly wide while we fall toward the carpet, and
I know she expects pain from me. I eat her fear like a fine brulee, savoring
each moment. Her emotions drown me until I am overcome.

The instant we crash to the floor,
she struggles to get away. Her scent surrounds me, intoxicating me, threatening
to steal my focus. It has been too long since I’ve held a woman in my arms.
I’ve dreamed of this moment for years, yet somehow I imagined a different
scenario. “There is no escape,” I tell her. If there was I would not be here.

For the briefest of moments our
gazes merge. She swallows, her eyes searching mine as if she is trying to see
my core. My muscles harden in anticipation of her next move. Even though I
would never admit it, the words she utters cut me to the soul.

“You’re a nightmare,” she insists.
“You can’t hurt me.”

I hear the desperation in my voice;
however, stopping my impetuous reply is impossible. “Nightmare I may be, yet I
assure you I am as real as the blood that flows in your veins.”

Doubt flickers across her face. She
still does not believe this is her new reality. I glance over my shoulder
toward the fiery pit that abuts this room with no end—my prison.

My curse.

Flames burst forth at my bidding,
rushing toward us. She gasps, and her face contorts with fear the moment she
feels the heat. I take pleasure in her realization and let it go too far. The
inferno consumes the carpet, the sofa, even my prized hound succumbs. She is
unaware everything will reappear at my command—everything except her.

Her expression morphs into one of
utter terror. My own terror crushes my chest as a fierce cry escapes her
throat. A few seconds more will find me holding a pile of ash. My blood freezes
in my veins. Why have I done this?

The instant I sever my connection
with the flames, they plummet into the abyss until the next time I call them.

Her voice rushes out on a gust.
“What are you?”

I should be used to this question,
yet it pierces me. She will not accept the entire truth at this time, so I
offer her a slice of it. A muscle in my jaw jumps, and she stiffens. “I am the
darkness, and you are now mine.”

A shudder finds me as I lie in the
darkness, remembering the last thing my captor said before he plopped me on his
bed and left through the only door in this massive room.

He thinks he
is
the
darkness.

No doubt he’s a monster, yet the
world has never seen a more beautiful horror. Neither have I. An angel pales in
his shadow—with his dirty blond hair and blue eyes that are deep as the darkest
ocean one second and the next the color of a morning sky. Add a strong jaw and
towering height to the mix and what you have is a man that should grace the
cover of a fashion magazine.

Yet in those beautiful, terrifying
eyes I see my death. I’ve been telling myself to wake up for hours.
Unfortunately, the burn that covers the majority of my left arm keeps me from
sleeping. Where his body shielded mine, the flames didn’t touch me. Unfortunately,
the rest of me aches from the contact. It’s the idea of his actions as much as
the pain that freaks me out. What a psycho.

I still don’t know what he is or,
worse, what he wants from me. I have to find a way out of here. I have to find
a way to escape him. This can’t be real.

This can’t be real.

My eyes blur with unshed tears.
What the hell is happening to me? Justine tried to prepare me for life, but she
could have never prepared me for this.

The lights flash on, making me
stiffen. I wipe my eyes and squint against the sudden glare. Not waiting for
him to speak, I spin toward the wall, even though his quiet approach tells me
there’s no way he’s gonna leave me alone. A soft touch hesitates then rests on
my shoulder. I shrug his hand away as if it’s acid.

His grunt makes my muscles bunch.
If he were an ordinary man I might have a chance in combat. I’m quick when I
need to be—even held my own with some of the roughest thugs in Seattle, Vegas,
and recently the hopping metropolis of Provo, Utah.

It doesn’t matter where you go.
There are always people hoping to bring you down with them.

My captor’s hand flits over my arm,
rubbing in some sort of salve that takes the sting away but singes my nose. I
would thank him, but he did this to me so he doesn’t deserve it. My jaw
clenches against the velvet strokes of his fingers. I’m gonna ignore his soft
touch if it’s the last thing I do. There’s something seriously wrong with him.
There’s something seriously wrong with me. Have I totally lost my mind?