Dreams’ Dark Kiss (10 page)

“It does matter,
ipo
…”

Ciaran blocked him out. When would it stop? Would it end when she became the mother of a demon onslaught unseen since the dawn of the great texts—the Old Testament, the Torah, the Koran? Would destiny finally grant her reprieve after she’d wrought hell on earth?

The chemical reaction within her reached critical, and all the fear and anger she’d held on to since she’d become a psychopomp exploded in a mushroom cloud of rage: the terror of those first soul-conductor missions when she was a child who had no business accompanying souls to their final destinations; the uncomfortable looks on people’s faces the few times she’d slipped and revealed how and when someone had died long before the news reported it; the helplessness of a tiny woman with a spirit too vast to contain yet not strong enough to turn the tide of Raphael’s fists; and the newly awakened shape-shifter who stood at the precipice of a demon uprising as a modern-day Lilith.

Always the victim. Always the tool.

Ciaran pushed away from Keoni so violently, it sent her hurtling backward. He didn’t budge.

There was an alternative. She could strike first; rip and shred; wound and kill. The opposite of a victim, she could do the hunting and the hurting. Ease the pain. Stop it cold. Be the death of the ankou. Rather than give them life, she could make the choice to shroud herself in their blood.

A strangled sound escaped Keoni. He closed his hands around her upper arms in a grip heavy as manacles. He must have been eavesdropping on her thoughts again. His concern barely registered, and still she resented it. Served him right to see things as she was beginning to.

“You’re no death bringer,
ipo
. You are sanctuary and comfort.” He rested his forehead against hers and took a deep breath. “I believe it’s why you are a convergence of so many powers. Don’t let the ankou change you.”

Ciaran couldn’t believe his nerve.
Don’t let them change me, but let you rule me. Yeah, ’cause you controlling me is completely different.

She brought her hands up between them and spread her arms in ferocious swipes to either side. The movement broke Keoni’s hold and he took a step back.

“When do I get to choose? You’re telling me the ankou hold my life in their grasp.” She screamed in frustration. The piercing sound dug furrows into Keoni’s brow but she couldn’t be bothered. “The Dream Guardian Guild forces a mate on me, and you order me around under the guise of protection. No! I won’t stand for it. I want to choose. My life on my terms. It should be on my terms!” She stamped her foot. “I don’t want this. I want to kill them all! And I. Don’t. Want. You.”

Keoni took a step toward her, the jovial man replaced by a wall of barely concealed emotion. “You. Chose. Me!” His eyes burned. “Somnian males are chosen, we don’t do the choosing. You think we wanted to parade ourselves before you, peacocks spreading our feathers in hopes of your acceptance? You think men like us designed it this way?” His incredulous snort bounced off the kitchen walls. “Dancing around like gnarly
wahine
at the luau?”

Ciaran stood before him, her chest rising and falling with reserves of unspent rage. Keoni took no notice and leaned down, touching his nose to hers.

“Do you? Huh?” He shook his head, crossing his arms and tucking his hands beneath them. “I was your choice. Whether you realize it or not, you sent out a mating imperative with your distress call. You didn’t have to. You could have just asked for help. We’d have been there. Don’t you understand? You, your subconscious or whatever wanted a life mate, and you wanted me bad. Something deep inside you wants to be loved,
manu
. All you have to do is let me.”

She stared back at him. Dark emotion swirled inside her aura, clouding her thinking, and she said what she supposed she must to protect herself. “Fuck you.”

The man growled and reached for her. She snatched the frying pan from its place on the stove. Keoni knocked it aside, sending it sailing across the room so fast she could only gape at her empty hand.
Bang.
A cabinet door dislodged and slid to the floor, crushed by the rocketed pan.

She screamed and rushed him. He took her by both shoulders and lifted her off the ground while she kicked and screamed a stream of expletives cruel enough to gut punch him in a one-two combination.

She knew the words wounded him. She didn’t care.

Keoni managed to set her down on the countertop and push himself between her legs, putting an end to her barrage of kicks. Ciaran pushed against him until he imprisoned her arms by firmly pressing them to her sides.

She heaved with the exertion, making the mistake of meeting her man’s gaze. Hurt darkened his eyes.

Agonizing moments passed before Keoni spoke.

“You testing me,
tita
? Huh? ’Cause you can stop now. I’m not gonna hurt you, hit you, curse you, belittle, demean, or do anything to make you even a little uncomfortable. None of it. I’m a man,
tita
. A real one. And I know it’s not what you’re used to, but you better get acclimated real quick. Unless you’ve decided to live a half life, cut off from one another in a warped version of what life mates are meant to be, you’re gonna have to cut this shit out.”

He walked a furious path around the granite island and came back around. Placing his big hands on either side of her, he leaned in. Ciaran opened her mouth, then shut it, her eyes filling with tears.

“That choice enough for you? You wanna keep this up? Fine. We’ll live in separate houses, neighbors with visitation rights. ’Cause I won’t live my life fighting with you. No matter how much I need you.”

“Fine,” she said.

“Fine?” A humorless snort punctuated the question.

“Fine.” Keoni turned away and stared out the window above the sink. Without warning, he whirled back to face her. “No. Not cool. Why’re you so angry with me,
tita
?”

“Because.” Her jaw trembled, and she lowered her eyes, unable to face the intensity of his gaze.

“What?”

Because I’m not good enough. Because I’m rude. Because it’s always my fault. Be—

“—’cause you’re too perfect, and I’m scared.”

Her sobs broke the confession into pieces. Keoni exhaled sharply; a variety of emotions seemed to wash over him: shock, puzzlement, compassion… Finally he threw back his head and laughed.

Ciaran began to bawl in earnest. Her shoulders shook with the force of the release. Keoni grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her so tenderly, it scored her with shame. More shameful, she shed her fight and armor, offering him everything she’d been holding back. All the love and care she’d saved for the One.

She had hoped to give it to Raphael but, in truth, never had. She’d never laid herself bare for that bastard the way she’d opened up for her joy-filled Hawaiian. Never known reciprocity until now, when she finally grasped what her spirit had known surfing a dreamscape bay at Keoni’s side. He was the One. And he’d already given her his all.

She returned his kisses, raining them over his mouth, cheeks, scar, and forehead, each interspersed with a thank-you. His happiness fueled her. His hands made her flesh burn for more. Their minds and spirits suffused, and she still wanted more. Keoni was happy to oblige.

Ciaran dipped her head to kiss the center of his chest then licked between his pecs, beneath his chin, along his jawline, and up to the junction of his jaw, neck, and left ear. His moan let her know she’d found his spot, and she used her teeth and lips to tease it while she shucked his multihued board shorts—and only clothing—down his gorgeous legs and to the floor.

His erection leaped between them, and she leaned back to give him her sexiest smile. Keoni raised an eyebrow and ripped her tiny, hot pink sleep shorts right off her. She gasped, playfully swatting his chest. He shrugged, making a show of letting the tattered garment slip from his fingertips and onto the countertop. Raising the other eyebrow, he lifted one of her legs to rest on his shoulder, running his hand seductively along her thigh.

Her turn to give a saucy look. It stuck midway, and humor melted into mindless ecstasy as he slid his index and middle fingers into her welcoming heat and used his thumb to work her clitoris into a throbbing frenzy.

“Oh. My. Damn,” she breathed in staccato rhythm.

Reaching down, she sought to pleasure him manually, needing to give as good as she got. The broad tip of his penis jumped in her hand. He answered with a twist-twirl-press maneuver. Her fingers clutched his sable locks, and her back arched as far as humanly possible.

“You can’t touch me right now,
manu,
” he said into her ear. The impassioned tone of his voice rippled through her.

Ciaran responded by grabbing his shaft with both hands, her mouth returning to the sweet spot beneath his ear. He cursed, grabbed her hands and sank deep inside her.

“Damn this man is so good, so thick… Ooh damn, oh damn, oh damn.”

She curled her body to rest her forehead against his chest and peered down. She wanted so badly to see the joining of their bodies. The sight of his length pistoning in and out of her doubled the sensations, drawing sharp cries of pleasure from her diaphragm, the sound fluttering in her throat. They were beautiful together.

Keoni gripped the edge of the counter. Ciaran’s hand dived beneath her lifted leg. Cupping his balls, she followed each stroke and retreat, hoping to amp his pleasure until he went mindless.

“Shit,
manu!
Keep doing that…”

He slipped his hands beneath her T-shirt. The pads of his thumbs found her nipples, and he continued his hard pumping motion. Ciaran loved every bit of it, making sounds she knew would fuel his passions to the brink. He leaned in to rest his head on her right shoulder. Passionate nips brought goose bumps to the skin there.

“Oh shit,” Keoni said.

She was his now, of her own volition. She’d chosen to give herself to him as surely as she’d chosen him as her life mate. They sought to imprint themselves onto one another’s very souls, each branding their scent into the other’s flesh and making sure neither of them ever forgot whom they belonged to.

Ciaran chose to reward him simply for being him. She curled the fingers of one hand deeper into his hair and tugged his head up for a face-to-face. Locking eyes with him, she watched and waited, squeezed his balls with the other hand then ran a finger between them and toyed with the base of his shaft. He came so hot and fast, he shouted the bliss of it and filled her body with life.

Keoni’s curse turned into a low moan.

Her body made him wait only a millisecond before it began to pulse and release around him, kicking off another orgasm for her and emptying his sac in wave after wave of ecstasy.

“Was it necessary to rip my knickers off me?” Ciaran squeezed Keoni’s fingers, intertwined with hers, and led him toward the stairs. They’d have to bathe in her second favorite shower since they’d kind of destroyed the first.

“You’re the one who bent the showerhead.”

“Yeah, but you made me…and stay out of my head.”

A sound smack landed on her naked backside.

She tossed him a saucy glance over one shoulder and struck a pose. Keoni chuckled, inclining his head in an obviously appreciative perusal of her half-clothed state—a teeny T-shirt on top and bare on the bottom.

He whistled on a long, slow exhale. “It was definitely necessary to rip them off you.” His expression turned philosophical as he stroked his chin. “I’d regret it if I hadn’t.”

She snorted. “Hullo, what’s happened to your accent?”

Keoni shook his head. “I’ve been speaking in Hawaiian since breakfast. You just didn’t notice. Faker.”

“Faker?”

He nodded. “You’ve understood me since we met. You just had to be difficult.” A beat. “Faker.”

They spent a few more minutes in pleasant banter. Ciaran welcomed the reprieve from worry it provided. One look at her man and she knew he needed a break from the madness as well. Nothing could erase the weight of foreboding bearing down on the pair but at least they could enjoy a smattering of calm before the world sailed to hell on roller skates.

She clucked her tongue in time with a sudden doorbell chime, squeaked and jumped behind Keoni. Ciaran wasn’t certain she could be seen from the front door but she wasn’t certain she couldn’t be either. Of course, whoever had rung the bell stood square behind the intricately carved door, unseen, so there was hope her modesty would survive. Curious. The guard at the front gate normally called in guests and deliveries.

Keoni pulled her back into the kitchen, body blocking her as they moved.

Ciaran’s confusion cleared. “I think it’s the gardener,” she said. “He probably forgot his keys to the shed and mudroom.”

“You want me to let him in?”

“No!” She pressed a hand against his chest. “You great hulking half-naked man, you’ll likely scare the geezer into fainting.”

Keoni licked his lips and flattened them between his teeth, holding back laughter. “Then we’ve got a problem.”

The doorbell chimed again. The beginnings of a headache crowded the edge of Ciaran’s awareness. Her thinking slowed to sluggish. The melody hadn’t left her all morning. Why couldn’t she get the thing out of her head?

Keoni came to her rescue once again. He divested himself of his shock wave-patterned, yellow, blue and orange board shorts and held them out for her to step into. She obliged, and he secured them at her waist, pulling the drawstring tight.

“Stay out of sight, please,” she said, rubbing her temple.

He nodded. “Where the hell is the music coming from?”

“You hear it too?”

“Started about an hour ago. It’s driving me nuts. I know this song but it doesn’t sound—”

“Right,” Ciaran said. “It’s been grating on my nerves all day.” Two more chimes. She laid the fingertips of one hand on his chest. “Let me take care of the gardener, babes. Then we’ll figure the rest of this out.”

* * *

The little woman in the large, colorful baggies exited the kitchen cautiously enough to give him pause. Apprehension tensed Keoni’s muscles. If only the song would relent enough to let him think. No doubt he received it secondhand, directly from Ciaran’s mind rather than hearing it himself, but where was it coming from?

He closed his eyes, envisioning an indigo bloom sprouting from his psychic center. As he meditated, the blossom’s twin petals unfurled between his brows, peacing him out. Their psychic abilities were one of the few things the Somnians retained in the Waking World: telepathy, elevated strength and healing.

The song solidified in Keoni’s third-eye, the perversion of its meaning so intense it had nearly been obliterated, leaving behind tainted chords. The notes struck his mind in discord. Snatches of lyrics ebbed and flowed in churning waves.

…force the tears that aren’t falling…bleed so they know you still strive…

He surfed the chords through swell and lull, tracking the melody to its source.

His eyes snapped open, and he launched into motion, yelling for Ciaran to stop.

* * *

The icy notes of the distorted love song continued to rise in volume. Ciaran’s temples throbbed, synchronized with the beat of it. Her bare toes caught the edge of the floor runner, its silky texture comforting beneath her. The thing had been a nuisance since she arrived but just then it warmed her feet, a barrier between her and the cold floor.

A black shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. She jumped but relaxed when she recognized her imaginary friend. The black dog padded silently at her side. He had never appeared to her in the Waking World. Nothing from the Dreaming ever had, but so much had changed recently, perhaps her new powers allowed it to come to her. She hoped. She prayed the answer was simple.

“You here to look after me? Actually going to help this time?”

The dog angled his head as if affronted by her question.

Keoni yelled for her from the kitchen.

“In a minute!” she shot back to him.

The shadow-dog turned to regard her but continued toward the door, matching her strides. Time hitched. Glowing yellow eyes fixed on her face, and an ache similar to the healing of an old wound—stretchy but good—bombarded her consciousness. All…right.

Realization dawned. Had the dog? Yes, it had brought Keoni to her when the banes had her surrounded. She should have realized before. Her fingers slipped through the animal’s ruff when she reached out to stroke it. The dog was but wasn’t there and its thicker-than-air substance intimated fur and flesh. “My apologies, pup,” she said. “You done good.”

Keoni yelled her name again, this time from much closer. She turned in order to give him fits for his impatience and threw the door open. “What?”

Ahn-koooou
, Keoni mouthed, reaching down to grab the carpet runner beneath them.

Whipping back around, Ciaran prayed the man had lost his mind. Wrong. The Ice King stood at the door, the most heinous smirk possible splitting his face near in two and revealing vividly pink gums. His too-blue eyes glared down at her, inhuman in their intensity.

Well fuck me. He really is an ankou.

The Ice King reached for her, but she quickly glided back and away, her face registering the shock of moving without initiating it. The runner worked as a conveyer belt. Keoni made swift fist-over-fist tugs to bring her to him.

Time caught and slowed to a tenth its regular pace.

The Ice King’s arm elongated, chasing her across the slick stone floors. Her mind shouted for Keoni to hurry as the fiend’s reach gained on her. The big Hawaiian made one final tug, and she flew backward.

“He’s one of you,” Keoni yelled.

What? Ciaran couldn’t focus. The Ice King’s talons distended and closed with a sharp, clicking slice, taking a line of skin from the tip of her nose.

Keoni caught her midflight, flipped her like luggage, and tucked her beneath his left arm. All this while running pell-mell—in slow motion—for the kitchen.

Ciaran guarded their backs, her vision blurred from the jostling. Keoni connected with her and shared the image of two female ankou entering behind the Ice King. All three creatures loped after them.

The smaller of the two females wore a crimson cloak and nothing else. Her blue-gray hair floated behind her in a glossy mantle; matching lashes framed blue eyes rimmed in sickly red. Eyes conveying all too clearly, whether Ciaran became the ankou queen or not, the crimson-cloaked ankou would one day take her head. Ciaran dubbed her Evilena the Red.

Funny how the mind will focus on anything to keep from panicking.

The larger of the two stood as tall as the Ice King but twice as wide. Naked. Yellowed fangs filled the creature’s mouth, and her claws caught the light in ivory glints. Corn silk tresses erupted from her head in a wild mass of cowlicks, and her brutish visage earned her the moniker Abominable Snowbitch.

* * *

Keoni slid into the kitchen and set Ciaran on her feet. The three ankou rounded the door behind them. The same presence he’d sensed back in Mommy and Emma’s house filled the room. Regret at his inability to save the child burned in his chest. The Ice King, as Ciaran called him, was going down.

Keoni went straight for the cooking utensils, grabbing two ten-inch knives. The watered-steel blades had the look of mini-machetes, and they’d cut clean through bone.

“Oooooh, Damascus chef knives,” Ciaran said, popping up from the other side of the island with a medium-sized black skillet. She gestured toward the blades. “I didn’t know they had those!”

Keoni jerked in disbelief. Slow motion or no, the ankou contingent was almost on them. Still, he spoke with calm. “Aznuts,
manu.
What the hell did you grab a skillet for?” He threw up both knives and shook them. “Waking World.”

She gave him her now-infamous glare, punctuating each word with an agitated index finger. “I’m going to whoop those bitches’ asses with this skillet.”

He shrugged in response.
Women.

The ankou who had once been Emma bounded over the center isle, barreling into Keoni. The force sent him flying back and into the sink. Ciaran goggled at the size of the creature. Keoni didn’t blame her. It was tough to accept the child had been transformed into such a perversion. It wasn’t possible. He knew that for a lie even as he worked to reconcile himself to the fact he’d have to kill Emma. Keoni had no such trouble plotting Mommy’s death. A mother who could do this to her child deserved to be exterminated.

* * *

Ciaran turned away from Keoni’s battle with Snowbitch in time to catch Evilena square in the forehead with cast iron. A ringing
bong!
met the blow. Evilena snickered, completely unfazed. Well, that settled it. She wasn’t going to whoop this bitch’s ass with this skillet. Ciaran dropped the pan on Evilena’s toe, dipped beneath the creature’s arm and flung herself into the mudroom.

The Ice King stood in silent vigil, enjoying the show. He reminded Ciaran of a lion. He watched as the females in his pride did the heavy lifting. Ciaran and Keoni telepathically shared one goal, to wipe the sneer off his face and make him eat it, and Ciaran knew exactly what weapon she wanted to use.

Seconds later, she had to smirk at Evilena’s response to her exit from the mudroom. The electric whirring of Ciaran’s latest weapon had stopped the monster cold. Evilena turned her head to one side in a marked effort to make sense of what she saw. Ciaran lunged, forcing the monster back.

Weed-whacker time. Demon-slayer Ciaran powered to level two.

Whap, whap, whap! Whap! Whap!
The centrifugal motion of the gardening tool’s cutting string sliced weeping welts on Evilena’s arms and face. Quickly sprouting fur lessened the effect, but the gardening tool held the creature in a stalemate.

This was one nasty bitch. Ciaran gave thanks the monster couldn’t delve into her mind in the Waking World. Keoni had assured her they didn’t have the power yet. He must’ve been right, and it was the reason they needed to add someone like her—a psychopomp and a shape-shifter—to their mix. Lord only knew what horrors Evilena could wreak with more than generic fears at her disposal. The ankou had to be stopped.

* * *

For Keoni, ivory claws deflected knives at every turn. When a blow landed, it had little effect. A thick coat of fur the color of honeydew melon now shielded Emma’s flesh, and part of him still didn’t want to hurt her. The child’s image remained a prohibitive force within his mind. He spun low with an out-sweeping leg. The maneuver took the balance from under the creature. She hit the floor heavily enough to shake the entire kitchen.

Keoni moved in, seeking to capitalize on the advantage. Emma lifted her legs and fought him off with the clawed toes on her feet. Damn, she was dexterous. He dove to the side, barely missing getting skewered on a furry limb. The ankou spun on her back, break-dancer-style, and struck Keoni on the arm with a downward sweeping ankle. The blow bruised to the bone. He dropped the knife in that hand but managed to slash the creature across the chest with the other when she lunged for the kill.

Dammit, it couldn’t be helped. Nothing of Emma remained, he reminded himself again. He had to end her.

A second swipe. She caught the blade, her head skewed to regard him as she broke it off at the handle. Blood poured from her palm and pooled around the discarded weapon.

Unable to use his left arm, Keoni swung with the right. Emma caught his fist at the wrist, sank the claws of the other hand into his side and lifted him high over her head.

* * *

Ciaran watched in awestruck horror. Time slowed to a greater degree. Her heartbeat drowned out all sound but the insistent melody. It continued to play, a soundtrack to their destruction. The ankou holding Keoni pitched back and hurled him at the Ice King. The master ankou moved from his relaxed pose against the far kitchen wall and positioned himself. His talons elongated, finding the perfect angle to impale the plummeting man.

Driven by pure emotion, Ciaran instinctually shifted her hand into a jaguar’s paw, tossed the weed whacker aside and gouged three bloody furrows into Evilena’s chest with her claws, all the while bellowing neither a no, a scream nor a plea, but rather a piercing amalgamation of the three. Vapor burst through the Waking World in bright puffs of Dreaming, sudden as popping corn. Reality shifted, and all five combatants were transported back to the dreamscape by the sheer force of Ciaran’s will.