Dying Dreams (Book 1 of Dying Dreams Trilogy) (17 page)

When her sobs stopped, she rinsed her mouth with his mouthwash and washed her face, and Sloane carried her back to bed and held her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He felt her stiffen in his arms.

“You don’t have to talk about it. We can talk about whatever you want or I can just hold you and we can go back to sleep.”

“I died,” she said, her words crackling with tears. “I feel like I should be dead.” She twisted in his arms and pressed her body against him, wrapping her top leg around his hips. “Remind me that I’m still alive.”

He pressed his mouth against hers and kissed her long and slow, tasting his own minty mouthwash and a slight bitterness from her vomiting. He ran his hands over her and enjoyed the feel of her smooth, soft skin.

She pulled away, just enough to speak. “Not like that,” she said, her voice catching on a sob at the end. “I want to feel alive. I want it hard and fast and real.”

It almost felt wrong, after seeing her in so much pain, to want so badly to do exactly what she said. A part of him wanted to be gentle and protect her, but that’s not what she wanted. So he pushed the urge to protect and heal her down, and looked at her as a woman, a woman he still couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have in his bed, a woman who was so beautiful and sexy she took his breath away. He thought of her as a strong woman who was telling him exactly what she wanted and he gave her what she asked for.

He allowed his fear for her and his anger about what she had to go through to rise to the surface and he kissed her hard, tasting her and feeling her, until his lips felt bruised and she was sighing into his mouth and begging him to fill her. He wanted to give her what she needed, but she had scared him and he moved down her body and tasted her breasts, her perfect, full breasts, nipping at her skin and letting the sounds of her pleasure fill his ears, until the sound of her, the taste of her, the feel of her warm, silky skin was all he felt and saw and heard and tasted.

He started to move farther down, to continue tasting her, but she grabbed him by the ears and pulled him up. “Please,” she said, and all he wanted was to ease the fear and pain in her eyes.

As he pushed himself into her, she put a hand to his chest and he thought maybe he’d made a mistake. She just grinned at his uncertainty. “Slow first, I want to feel every bit of you. Then hard and fast.”

He moaned aloud and almost lost it right there. There was nothing quite as a good as a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and asked for it, especially when she had Liza’s sweet voice, made husky with desire. He took a moment to get control and then he slid slowly in, watching the way her eyes emptied of some of the fear and pain, and filled with heat. When he was all the way in, she closed her eyes as though it was too much for her. “Now, remind me that I’m alive,” she said.

He pushed away all thoughts of his own pleasure and his own release, and tried to give her exactly what she needed. He watched her face and her body, and paid attention to the sounds she made, until he figured out exactly the rhythm and angle she needed. He brought her to the edge and over, screaming his name, twice, before he couldn’t take it anymore and found his own release. When she felt him climax, she opened her eyes and the heat and the desire there almost killed him, she arched into him and went screaming over that edge again with him.

He collapsed against her, and rolled until she was curled up on top of him. He stayed inside of her and watched her until her breathing slowed and he knew she was asleep. She hadn’t said a word and he hadn’t tried to get her to talk. He lay there and just held her, not wanting to go to sleep, wanting to somehow protect her from any more nightmares, to protect her from the reality her life had become.

The next time Sloane woke up, it was to his alarm. He hadn’t needed an alarm to wake up since he was in high school, but he still set it every night just in case. He slapped the alarm off and reached for Liza, only to find the other side of the bed empty. He sat up and looked around, but she wasn’t there. Panic pinched his chest and he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He loved being alone in the morning. He loved eating breakfast and waking up quietly and not having anyone there to make him feel guilty about hitting the gym before work. He tried to shake off the feeling that something was wrong, pulled on boxers and jeans and did a quick scan of the small houseboat.

He found the note in the kitchen. She’d used his back-up cell to call Ellison, and had found out he’d stayed at his girlfriend’s house and her poor dog had been home alone all night. He understood why she’d left, but he wished she’d woken him up to tell him what was going on. He could have seen her home and she could have told him about her dream. He still thought she should lie to Reynolds unless the dream had given her some sort of solid proof of who the killer was.

He didn’t like how he was feeling, he was worried about her, but there was also a sort of empty ache that he couldn’t quite pinpoint or explain. If he’d woken up at 4:30 like he usually did, he could have worked it off at the gym, but he’d set his alarm to give himself just enough time to shower and get to work. Since he went to the gym in the evenings, too, his morning workout was more a habit than a fixed necessity and he believed in the value of good sleep, so he’d set the alarm to wake him in the event he needed to sleep in for some reason. He’d always assumed the reason would be the flu, and not mind-blowing sex with a woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. Then he was remembering his hands on her skin, her mouth on him, how good it felt to be inside her, and he needed a cold shower.

Fulsom was standing by his desk when Sloane got in and he didn’t look happy. “Where the hell have you been?”

Sloane was five minutes early and he was still worried about Liza, who he couldn’t call, because her cell phone got blown up with the boat the night before and Fulsom seemed as good a punching bag as anybody. “Fuck off, Fulsom.”

Fulsom, ever contrary, grinned at him. “Awww, did somebody have a bad night? Your seduction plan of little Liza didn’t go so well?”

Sloane was used to Fulsom’s bullshit, but everything still felt off, so when Fulsom said that about Liza, he did something he would never have otherwise done. He grabbed Fulsom by the neck and slammed his face hard onto his antique wood desk. Fulsom just laughed, which pissed Sloane off more, and he leaned over and growled in Fulsom’s ear. “You don’t even say her name. Understand, Asshole?”

Fulsom raised his hands. “Yeah, I got it.”

Sloane let him go and stepped back, taking deep calming breaths.

Fulsom was still grinning, his hands in the air. “Don’t hit me or anything, but you need to get that shit under control or Reynolds is going to be able to tell and she’ll never let you two be partners.”

Sloane had to take another deep breath before Fulsom’s words penetrated. “Get what under control?”

Fulsom’s grin faded a mere fraction and he took a step back from Sloane. “I’m not saying her name, okay, but based on the way you’re acting, Mr. Cool himself losing his cool, I’d say you fucked her and are now bonded to her.”

Sloane had to take another deep breath to keep from punching Fulsom. He stepped up to his partner and spoke a bare whisper. “You mind not sharing that information with the whole office?”

Fulsom looked around like he’d forgotten they were in a cubicle farm and had the nerve to shrug. “It won’t be a secret for long if you tackle everyone who says her name. Everyone’s going to know you two have bonded.”

“Bonded? What the fuck does that mean?”

Fulsom fluttered his eyelashes at Sloane. “You weren’t very nice to me this morning, so I don’t think I’m going to tell you. Why don’t you go ask your grandmother?”

Sloane’s hands fisted and he could feel rage taking him over. He was lifting his hand to push Fulsom’s face back into the desk, when Reynolds stepped into his cubicle and cleared her throat.

“You filled him in, Fulsom? The car is waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I filled him in,” Fulsom said. “Come on, lover boy, we’ve got work to do.”

Sloane tried to remove the emotion from his face and unclench his hands, but by the time he’d turned to face Reynolds, she was gone.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Fulsom said, his grin widening.

An inexplicable panic rushed through Sloane and he found it suddenly hard to breathe. “Where are we going?” Usually, when a car was ordered for them, it was because they had a job out of town.

Fulsom slapped him on the back. “Not too far. There’s been another wolf-sighting and the boss wants us to spend a couple of days watching the pack house to see what’s going on.”

The wolves. He had a job and he was acting like an idiot. He grabbed his bag and followed Fulsom to the car. He stared out the window as the usual sights passed on their way to the pack house, which was in Cobb Town, about thirty miles outside Greenville, and tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Why did he feel so panicky about leaving? He’d wanted to be there for her after she told Reynolds about her dream, but it would be fine. Liza would be fine. He wasn’t even sure what her expectations were after last night. He’d said he wanted her in his life, but he hadn’t been specific about her role in his life and she hadn’t agreed to anything. They hadn’t made any plans and she wouldn’t be expecting to see him. She didn’t have a phone so she couldn’t call her. He found himself dialing his grandmother, instead.

*LIZA*

Liza arrived in Reynolds’s office, exhausted, confused, and homeless. She’d hoped to see Sloane on her way in, not because she needed anything, but just because she felt a weird sort of need to see him, and a bit of an ache of loneliness when she didn’t. Liza didn’t like that feeling. She liked her independence and she preferred not to depend on anyone for anything, especially not her sense of well-being.

Last night, she’d gotten lost in Sloane, and her dog, home alone, had barked all night and let everyone in the building know she’d been hiding animals in an apartment that allowed no pets. At least she’d been able to convince her landlord to evict only her and let Ellison stay. At the moment, her dog and cat were with the security guard at the front door of the building. He hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of babysitting her pets, but forty dollars had convinced him to change his outlook.

Reynolds sat behind her desk, in her crisp pants suit, and smiled at Liza, who was in jeans and a t-shirt, with no make-up and bed-head. At least she’d made it to her appointment on time, which was pretty amazing, considering her morning. Now, she had to re-live her dream in front of this woman who looked at her like she was something foul she’d stepped in. “Good morning, Miss Simmons. How was your night?”

The tone of Reynolds’ question made Liza wonder if she knew where Liza had been last night, and remembering where she’d been made her cheeks warm. Liza tried to finger comb her hair, but her fingers got stuck in tangles and she gave up. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a bit of a rough morning. I was evicted from my apartment.”

Reynolds’ brow crinkled. “Because of your new fae status? You should have your lawyer contest that.”

“No, because of my dog who… wait, what? How could I be evicted for something no one is supposed to know about?”

Reynolds had the decency to blush. “We do our best to keep a low-profile, but if your landlord was another fae who didn’t like banshees, or someone who was related to or had met the fae before, they could have noticed something different about you.”

“So this secret about the fae,
not
such a secret, right?”

“More people than we would like are aware of the fae, but the vast majority of the population don’t believe and think those who do are a bit crazy.”

Considering that Liza’s mother was full-blood fae and she’d had no idea the fae existed, she could actually believe Reynolds’ theory. “Huh.” She said. “Well, I was evicted because of my dog, and there’s nothing my lawyer can do to help me with that.”

“There’s an apartment in my building that’s available.”

“Thank you,” Liza said, thinking
hell no
. “I’ll look into it.”

Reynolds nodded, and cleared her throat looking a bit uneasy. “Did you dream last night?”

“Yes. I dreamed of the girl who died.” Liza’s hands shook and she clenched them together in her lap. She was not only recounting a horrific dream, she was committing herself to a future of more such dreams. “She was out to dinner with a friend, someone she’d known for a long time, and he told her he had feelings for her. He told her he was in love with her and she was so…” A sob caught in Liza’s throat and Reynolds pushed a box of Kleenex across the desk to her. “She was so happy. But she was worried, too, because he didn’t know that she had fae blood and, if he might want to marry her and have kids someday, she’d have to tell him. She didn’t want him wasting time on her if her fae identity was going to be a problem in the long run.

“She told him she wanted to take their relationship to the next level, but she had to work that night, she was an intern at a local ER and she had the late shift. Her date walked her to her car and kissed her. It was a perfect kiss. The sort of kiss you could build a life on, you know?” Liza looked at Reynolds for understanding, but Reynolds just stared blankly back at her. “Anyway, she drove straight to work, but someone grabbed her when she stepped out of her car. He grabbed her and put a cloth bag over her head. She couldn’t see and it was hard to breathe and she was so scared. She was so fucking scared.” The tears started and Liza didn’t even try to hold them back. “And she was sad, because when her friend kissed her, she’d imagined a future with him and she really, really wanted that future.”

“What happened next,” Reynolds asked, her voice flat.

Realizing that Reynolds didn’t care what or how Alexa was feeling, Liza stopped giving her the emotions. “Her name was Alexa, by the way. I didn’t get a last name. Anyway, she was taken somewhere and the bag stayed on her head. It was somewhere cold and it echoed, like a basement, there were tiles under her feet and she could feel how cold they were through her shoes. The man who’d grabbed her, he asked her a series of questions. The questions weren’t clear in the dream, I could tell he was asking her something and she was refusing to answer, but that’s all I got. He promised that if she told him the truth he’d let her live, but she knew he wouldn’t. When she didn’t answer his questions… he started to hurt her.” Liza pressed her nails so hard into her palms, she felt blood flow.