Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance (59 page)

“We are going to a very exclusive island tonight,” Serena continued. “One that this beautiful ship could never reach, no matter how far it sailed. The island literally exists on a plane dominated by imagination. You may wander it at will—stroll the midnight beach, attend a party under the stars, strike off into the trees for some privacy, or climb an active volcano for an unparalleled view. It is a
free
place, a place where you are all-powerful, where you can push the limits of experience with no threat to yourself, no pain. While the dream is shared, your interactions with others are voluntary; and if you become agitated or disruptive, you will simply be awakened.”

The
shared
part was what made Jordan’s stomach cramp. She didn’t want all these people in her head. Truth be told, she didn’t really want to be in theirs, either.

“But of course you all want to be lucid and in control of yourselves.”

Uh-huh. Yep. Absolutely. Those were the key words.

“So you will not be able to enter the party unless, in the dream state, you are able to reach out and open a door to let yourselves in. Likewise, you can leave at any time and simply doze until the time has expired.”

Sounded a little too simple to Jordan.

“No one can read your mind. No one can make you do anything you don’t want to. No one can make you want to do things you otherwise wouldn’t. You are simply experiencing a fantasy constructed by our dreamscapers.”

Jordan gnawed on her bottom lip. Maybe she should forgo the Rêve, just in case. That way
she’d
be okay if something happened to Maisie and could fight/scream/demand help if something went wrong. That was the right thing to do.

Screw the money. Stand guard over your sister.

Then again, what if something happened to Maisie during the dream? Her sis was so impulsive, didn’t think before jumping, had zero presence of mind. What if someone tried to mess with her on this island, and she couldn’t call for help? What if…
Hell.
The
what if
s became infinite in the dream scenario, each possibility more twisted than the last.

The best thing would be to go inside, to be there if her sister needed her.

This was insane.

“If you will move into the theater—” A wall slowly parted to reveal concentric circles of uber-simple, modern reclining chairs with attached headsets. “—we will make you all very comfortable.”

Oh Lordy.

Jordan squeezed Maze’s hand. She had to keep her sister close. Had to keep her safe. Taking care of her sister was all that mattered, all that
had
mattered for the last six years.

On Jordan’s left, Vince grazed her arm with the back of his hand. “Ready to make the leap?”

***

Rook had his first mark and he’d named her Wild Child.

Spotted her on the taxi over—the magenta hair was hard to miss—and he hadn’t found anyone more intriguing among the rest. She was young, the creative type who lacked inhibitions. Experience told him that she would embrace everything that Rêve offered…and she would lose herself in the process.

Happened every time.

Coll would hate her, which was Rook’s only consolation for bringing her in. She’d go down fighting and make Coll’s life hell.

Not that Wild Child was a sure thing. She was an educated guess based on more than eight years’ experience. Once inside the Rêve, he’d know for sure.

The trait often ran in families, but Rook didn’t get the same punch out of the sister. Beautiful woman, though, in that classic, creamy-skinned and minimalist kind of way—all polished up like a penny—and young as well, just too restrained and suspicious to let the magic happen.

Interesting, however, that Big Sis had connected with Mr. Millions, who also had the pulse of Rêve about him. Millions clearly wasn’t here for fun or curiosity. On the hunt for new talent as well? Coll would want to look into it.

Rook shifted his attention to the other side of the room. Blondie, another potential, was exchanging her empty champagne flute for a full one. She was almost too loose, as if she knew what was about to come and how futile it was to fight. Ten bucks said she’d have nightmares; no amount of alcohol could drown them.

Rook drained his own glass in one gulp.

No. Wild Child was the one.

With the exception of the experienced Revelers among the group, she’d be the first through the door. He’d bet his rep on it.

Then he’d mark her and he’d hold her under the dreamwaters until she became something else.

It’d happen anyway; might as well be him.

Sleep came abnormally fast and hard.

Darkness. She wanted to open her eyes, but couldn’t.

And the sound of weeping, terrible in its familiarity.

The disorientation was like the constant sense of uncontrolled falling right after Mom died. The world just wasn’t as solid and safe without her in it.

And what about Maisie? Who was going to take care of Maisie?
Where
was Maisie?

Jordan couldn’t find her—vertigo had ripped the ground from her feet and scrambled her up-down orientation. She knew she wasn’t going about searching in a smart way. Mom would’ve known what to do, she always knew what to do—but not Jordan.

She ran toward the sound of tears, only for the cries to bounce in another direction like a thrown voice. Empty shadows pulsed with the red-blue whirl of an ambulance light. The atmosphere was rough, chafing her skin like sandpaper as she drove forward in her panic. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were on fire from her breathless run.

Ahead of her a red door appeared—home!—the front door to their old house before that really bad day. The worst day. Maybe her little sis was at home. Please God, let her be here.

Jordan reached out, reached as far as she could, reached for the only family she had left. She gripped the knob and burst inside, yelling, “Maisie!”

***

Rook wheeled around at the deep, gut-wrenching sound of panic. He knew that sound well; it echoed around his own hollow chest. Loss and loneliness.

Onto the midnight beach of the Rêve’s dream island a woman emerged, frantic with worry, and yet also luminous with pulsing feminine energy. The powdery sand lifted with each of her steps and was slow to settle again.

I’ll be damned.

Seemed Mr. Millions had picked the right sister after all.

And not only was she the first of the newbies, she was the second after him to enter the Rêve space, and he’d been plugged into shared dreaming since it was the illegal and preferred high on the street. Who wanted to live in the real world when a better one waited behind closed eyes? Of course, the dreams he’d shared back then had been much darker, some black enough that a mind never got clean. All these years later, the grit still clung to the walls inside his skull.

From the shadows of the jungle tree line he watched her acclimate.

Her energy settled into a low, sensual simmer as her gaze darted over the setting: the pristine, powder beach, empty but for her, with its rushing waves and an ocean as full of stars as the sky above. She stared briefly at the way the water struck out into dreamspace and flowed like an infinity pool into nothingness. The sense of vastness was part of the experience—proof that this was indeed located beyond anything where physics dominated. Her mouth parted when she got a load of the volcano, lazily erupting ruby lava. No danger there. And then her gaze scraped across the beach and settled on him.

Beautiful woman in a dream? The body ache that rushed him was natural, blood chug-chugging south. He’d be rock hard in the real world, where he slept. Luckily, in dreams he had more control.

Similarly, a forced composure came over her—the one that had fooled him into thinking it was her true nature. Turned out she was something else entirely, all her electricity condensed into the form of a beautiful woman. Nevertheless, it was there, zapping just under the surface.

She’d spotted him effortlessly.

Coll would say he was losing his touch, the hunter caught. But Rook was intrigued. He hadn’t been surprised in a good way in so long.

Her eyes narrowed—angry?—and he tried not to laugh as she strode fluidly toward him in spite of her high heels digging into the sand, all the normal, subtle hitches smoothed from her stride by the dream.

“Where is everyone else?” Her voice had the Rêve’s bell clarity over the rush and hiss of the waves on the shore and the
boom-boom-boom
of the dance music from deep within the jungle.

This close, he could enjoy her wide-set eyes, silver in the moonlight, like light on water. Her face cut in smooth and delicate planes, accented by the tip of her nose and a lush, full mouth. God, her mouth. She was long-limbed, like a dancer, but her figure flared in all the right places.

Maybe he should’ve shaved, like Coll had suggested. She was too…
graceful
to go for him.

Didn’t matter anyway. Chimera had rules about fraternizing with marks, though the organization turned a blind eye where other agents were concerned. The dream medium was inherently sexual.

Point was, he couldn’t touch her, but it was good to feel human again.

“Well done, you.” He raised his hands and applauded, and he meant it. “That was a very fast entry. Really. Not everyone can do it, even those with experience.” For example, no Mr. Millions yet, which meant her natural aptitude was greater than Millions’s clearly amateur skills.

“The others?” she demanded.

She meant her sister, Wild Child. “The others are most likely pondering their doors, trying to remember where they lead or how a doorknob works. A few people always bug out at the last second, scared they’ll arrive naked or something.”

Her nostrils flared for a sec. “So we wait?”

“We could dance.” The beat of the music beckoned. “We could fly.” And then there were other activities. For example, he was very curious to discover what Big Sis could do here, would dare to do here, if she let go.

He needed to feel the awe of Rêve again, needed to remember what it was like to wonder—and she had the perfect combination of freshness and natural ability.

Would she share?

A shift in his senses, and he looked up, beyond Big Sis.

Another
Envoi
guest arrived on the beach, one of the experienced Revelers, a sad sack of a man with a worn look, stumbling into the moonlight. To enter the Rêve this quickly, he had to have a reasonable degree of both punch and skill. In the early days, someone might have recruited him. But not now; he was clearly an addict, living in dreams more than the real world, his life reduced to glimpses of fantasy.

Proof positive: the man’s appearance altered—his expression smoothed, shoulders loosened. Since Rêve was artificial, most people arrived in the clothing they wore when they were put to sleep—like Big Sis and her classic black dress. It took skill to consciously alter your appearance, and more to hold it for the duration. This sad sack guy gained some faux muscle, lost the paunch in his belly, and erased a decade from his face. Yeah, he had some control, but one look at his stressed pre-Rêve self, and it was clear that the dream controlled him right back.

Not that Rook could judge. Even here, in this cheesy predesigned place—

A mere thought, and the darkness in the trees suddenly gathered into a dense wave, a weight that threatened to smother him. Breathing became difficult; good thing he didn’t need oxygen here.His monster hadn’t taken long to find him, like a shadow tied to its master. It was always there, waiting for a moment of weakness.

Shit.

Danger worked differently in dreams—sometimes, if he didn’t look at the nightmares, they couldn’t see him, either. A kid’s game, obviously, but then children had to have learned it from somewhere.

He gritted his teeth and concentrated on his mark. She was the one he wanted. “What’s your name?”

It’s not there. Not there. Not there.

She’d turned to look at the sad sack newcomer, too—had to have
sensed
him since he was behind her—and had taken a backward step toward Rook.

“Jordan,” she mumbled. “Nice to meet you.”

She was the real deal, all right. Twitchy, but if she’d come this far, she’d just have to be brave enough to go deeper. No going back.

What nightmares would
she
waken?

Didn’t matter to him. Couldn’t. He had a job to do.

He moved to her side so that he could talk to her without blocking her view—God forbid he should get in the way of her watching for her sister.

“Nice to meet you too, Jordan. I’m—” What was his fake name again?

She wasn’t listening anyway. Her attention was completely absorbed, but not by the surreal starry landscape or the tropical jungle behind him. Now Jordan was looking around
before
each new
Envoi
guest broke through the Rêve barrier, anticipating each eruption, though they came from all directions onto the beach.

Coll was going to wet his pants.

Rook smiled as charmingly as he could. “I’ll bet there’s a bar on the other side of the trees. Can I buy you a drink?”

She didn’t bother to turn her head, but her gaze slid over, a brow lifting at the irony of his offer.

Old, tired joke. Money didn’t matter here—not yet—and there were no real drinks to be had. The Rêve high was in the euphoria that came from pure creation, being liberated from the restrictions of the rules. For those in pain, release.

There were lows too, which was what Coll had led with when he’d originally scouted him from that filthy deserted warehouse where he’d been crashing with a bunch of other runaways.

Jordan suddenly smiled, so bright with emotion that it was near blinding to someone with darksight like him. The feeling was direct from her heart, intensified by the dream. He’d bet her sister was on the brink of arriving.

A Technicolor flash, and sure enough, Wild Child broke through the Rêve barrier.

Arms out, Jordan ran toward her and they met in a movie-style hug. The dream cheesing it up again? Or were they for real?

“I couldn’t grab the doorknob,” Wild Child said, pulling back. “It kept moving every time I reached for it.”