Dreams’ Dark Kiss (7 page)

Ohana
, family, meant everything to Keoni. The ones you loved were to be cherished, protected, not tossed aside as barter for safe passage against your fears. Why would a mother do this? A blur washed over his eyes as if they’d been dilated. When his vision cleared, he discovered his hands closed around the red-cloaked ankou’s neck, tightening without his control. The creature clasped his forearms with its claws to no effect.

Sweeping the room, Keoni realized neither of the females had the power to drag him inside a nightmare. There had to be a stronger creature binding him, the little girl and Mommy together. That was the great thing about the kami form. It tired out the dream guardians, leaving their corporeal forms exhausted when they awoke, but it made taking out ankou an easier job. Holding a dream guardian in kami form inside a nightmare took more power than the average ankou could muster.

And there it was. From somewhere behind him the power of a creature Keoni hadn’t sensed before blipped to life on his mental radar. It was on the stairs, if his senses could still be trusted. He didn’t get the chance to turn and test the theory. The creature who had once been Emma bulged. Her body unfurled, billowing forth from her mother’s lap to take on new proportions. Fur of palest green expanded to cover a hulking new body.

Keoni drew back and coldcocked the creature before it could complete its transformation. The force of his spiritual energy sent it spinning to land butt down in the fireplace. The flames puffed out; the stink of scorched fur marked their passing and darkness took over the room, save his kami’s glow.

“No way I was gonna stand here watching while you hulked out.” Keoni scoffed. “This is not an action flick.”

Only protagonists in movies stood around waiting for their enemy to power up and go on a hero-stomping rampage. Lolo. If there was ever a good time to punch an opponent in the face, it was midtransformation when they weren’t expecting it.
Kapow.
Surprise, bitches!

Both Emma and Mommy snarled. The motion jarred the cowl from Mommy’s head. It slid back in a slow reveal. With one side of her face lit by the bluish glow of his kami and the other swallowed by darkness Keoni could clearly see why her family had fallen so quickly. He’d never witnessed a more finely wrought nightmare—the face of a were-hyena with double rows of sharp yellow teeth set into the maw and vivid blue eyes rimmed in red. As good a nightmare as any howler had ever devolved into.

Jay’s whoop erupted into the living room. Having taken out the rest of the pack, the other three members of his squad rushed in to find him.

The red-cloaked ankou rose to engage, but the other presence—the one with the real power—swooped in from the stairs. The pulse of energy hurled Keoni through a bay window. He crash landed on the front lawn. Glass and bits of wood pelted him. The presence sped over him fast enough to leave tread marks and blew down the road. Keoni made out the outlines of Mommy and Emma pulled in a third, indistinct ankou’s tow. Streetlights popped, shooting out sparks in the trio’s wake.

Three blue-white streaks rocketed past, kicking up the dust and debris of the bay window’s demise. Archer paused only long enough to calmly remind the sprawled Keoni to “move” before bolting out of view.

The moment the Hawaiian tried to rise and follow, a weight slammed into his chest, pinning him to the grass.

“Ciaran?”

Her scent surrounded him, staying his hand. By degrees he forced the ball of dream-made water oscillating against his palm to release. He’d formed the weapon to protect himself, but this was not an enemy.

The black dog sprung from his chest and toward the path it had opened between the Waking World and the Dreaming. Keoni pushed up on one elbow. “What the hell are you that you can open a path between worlds?” The dog didn’t have an answer. It watched him for a millisecond, then bounded back and pounced on him for a second time.

Keoni knew he must look the “big idjit” Jay always accused him—and everyone else—of being, but nothing in the two worlds made sense today and he was confused. Confused, nonplussed and thoroughly perplexed. Whatever worked best. This shit was not right.

The animal on his chest leaned forward to stare into his eyes. It had the look of a howler, but no. Howlers were lupine, and this bore the characteristics of a domesticated canine. Maybe a Samoyed but in reverse with a fluffy coat of spun onyx rather than the creamy white Samoyeds were known for. Gazing back, he saw Ciaran reflected in the dog’s solid yellow orbs. She was back in the Dreaming, and
dammit, if she wasn’t a magnet for trouble.

The black dog leaped off his chest for a second time. Rolling backward to pitch forward, Keoni sprang to his feet and raced the animal into the dreamscape. He spared a final glance over his shoulder, following the trail taken by the escaped ankou and his brahs after them.

No time for indecision.

He’d have to trust his squad wouldn’t need him. There was no way he could project his kami back into the Waking World from the Dreaming and find them quickly enough if they did. His faith in them didn’t allay his guilt, but as Archer had said, a man couldn’t protect everyone in his life at all times, and right now his
manu li’i
needed him. She’d become family too.

Ciaran faced the monster…the bane. The little boy she’d come to save lay pinned to the ground beneath the creature. It regarded the boy with such intensity it didn’t notice her arrival. Saliva dripped from the maw, and its psychotic human eyes stared a hole into the child’s chest.

The bane’s head twisted so far left it nearly spun round, then turned right to the same degree, the move calculated to terrify. Extending a slimy pink tongue, the creature licked a target on the boy’s chest. The forked appendage recoiled, and the bane sneered perversely. Suddenly its head reared back, then rushed forward, the jaws wide, intent on biting deep.

Ciaran launched into motion faster than she’d known possible. Doubt clouded her mind as she moved. Would her fists be enough to fell the bane, or would she be sacrificed to its hunger? She steeled herself, remembering the woman she had been before Raphael. Strong—maybe a bit arrogant—her skills in the kitchen a source of pride.

A surge of emerald energy lit through her veins. Flowing from her heart chakra, it blossomed into twelve radiant petals, then expanded through her right arm. Cold iron filled her hand where the power coalesced. She closed her fist around the comfortable weight and without looking brought the implement crashing into each feral eye in rhythmic succession. The melodic
clang! clang!
preceded an astonished howl of pain. The bane scuttled back a few meters, wiping at its eyes with a clawed paw.

When it came to bashing heads, nothing beat a cast-iron skillet. Thank god Keoni had tricked her into learning to manipulate the dreamscape when he had. Otherwise she’d be defenseless and crying for mummy. Ciaran spun the heavy black pan in her hand. Damage in the kitchen or damage in the Dreaming, she knew how to use a skillet.

Yeah, how do ya like the taste of that?

Ciaran turned back to the boy and went down on her knees to inspect him for injury. He sniffled, blinked back tears and hurled himself at her. His plump arms clamped around her neck. She used her free hand to soothe him, cooing while mentally scanning him for mental trauma and spirit wounds. Her eyes remained on the bane.

It shook its head violently, seeming to clear its vision. Scanning the area, it found and focused on her. The monster snickered, all signs of pain gone. It retreated farther and made wickedly slow circuits around Ciaran and the boy, but it only had eyes for her.

Oh wonderful, this monster wanted to hump her too. The horrible things could at least offer her a pretty word and a good meal before getting all frisky.

A shadow glimmered at the edge of her vision. If she cut her eyes in just the right way, she’d swear the black dog stood at her side. A turn of her head revealed nothing there.

His face filled with terror, the boy began to wail again. Ciaran held him tighter but kept an eye on the beast. After several agonizing moments, it lifted its shaggy head and emitted a bone-chilling call, the sound a convergence of snicker and howl. Faster than her mind could register, other banes began to exit the fog and join their pack mate. Lascivious sneers transformed slobbering maws the moment the monsters spotted Ciaran.

The boy’s wails turned to screeching. He scrambled in Ciaran’s arms, and it was all she could manage to hold on to him. She continued to coo, adopting a calm she didn’t feel. No need for them both to shit themselves. But her efforts to soothe weren’t doing the trick, and his frightened clamber forced her to keep both arms firmly around him, making it difficult to guard them against attack.

Ciaran whispered softly, slid her arm beneath the boy’s bottom and lifted so she could stand. From this position, she could spin to face off with the beasts, and the child could watch her back. Well, he could if he stopped screaming long enough to tell her when to turn round. There had to be some way to calm him. She searched her memory and found a song she and her mum used to sing when she was about his age, five maybe six years old. Perfect.

If I had the wings of a dove

The banes tightened their circle. The boy whimpered but stopped screaming.

If I had the wings of a dove

He calmed enough to lean back and look into her face. Freckles dotted his nose. Bright green eyes peered at her before filling with alarm. “Behind you,” he whispered and pointed.

Continuing to sing, Ciaran spun and dropped the edge of the skillet onto the oncoming beast’s skull.

I’d take flight, fly away

“Nice one,” the boy said in response to the blow. He relaxed enough to snuggle against her neck.

Kids were easy? Yeah right.

And fi-i-i-nd solace

The banes halted their advance. They swayed in time to her voice. Lulled. Their eyes glazed over, huge, shaggy heads rocked in time to the music, and their expressions took on a far-away look.

Ciaran took note of the effect the song had on her enemies and began again. The child’s weight became less substantial in her arms as his breathing steadied. She could feel the pathway to the Waking World reopen within him and knew he would return safely to his bed soon.

More concerned with her own safety now the boy knew the way home, Ciaran regarded the hypnotized banes while continuing to sing the song over and over.

Pop!
The child disappeared as though the channel had changed on a very old television. Though she’d expected his departure, the abruptness of it shocked her into silence. The banes snapped out of their lull and lunged.

Ciaran pushed her awareness toward her body. Shrouded in dreamscape fog, it slumped vacant in front of the bathroom mirror. Damn, it looked creepy draped over the sink like an unmanned marionette. Electric shocks of foreboding struck her system. What if something or someone took possession of her body and used it, used her, in the truest sense? Fear of losing her corporeal form brought a rush of nausea to her throat, and the sensation shaped itself into a set of shadowy figures. A man and a monster, not unlike the ones she faced now.

Time. To. Wake. Up! Please work. Please work. Please work.
She reached for herself, the substance of her spirit stretching—close, closer, so close—before snapping back in place to face the charging horde.

No.

No!
Anger, hot as acid, hit her system.

“Fine,” she said, through clenched teeth. “C’mon then, boys. If this is how it is, let’s have at it.”

She started singing again and, knowing it wouldn’t be enough, she brought the skillet into play, bashing the banes in their snouts in a style she’d read worked for repelling sharks. Each
clang
of skillet on skull rang in time to Ciaran’s melody. Pain-filled yelps met cast-iron blows, and courage fueled reawakened self-esteem.

The black dog exited the fog, startling Ciaran as it ran several circuits at her feet. Monsters scampered out of its path. The dog continued to run, tongue lolled to one side, body flattening in airborne lopes resembling flight. Completing a seventh loop, oblivious to the banes around it, the dog disappeared back into the mist on the opposite side from its entrance.

“Your disappearing act is getting old fast,” Ciaran yelled after it.

Out of nowhere, Keoni landed beside her in a huge splash of water. It drenched her from head to foot. A guppy on dry land, Ciaran gaped, swiping her free hand across her face. As unhappy as she was about the super-soaking, his presence reassured her, and she bit back an expletive.

His arrival had the opposite effect on the banes. Their demeanor changed. Bestial, bordering on lewd, leers transformed into distorted snarls as they began circling, their hackles raised. When it came to Keoni, they had a whole new intent in mind. Clearly they wanted blood.

Ciaran stole a glance at her hero. He wore a puzzled expression. It gave her pause. She wanted to ask what was wrong—beyond a bunch of nightmares prowling for a mate—but the big Hawaiian wasn’t in a talking frame of mind. He grabbed her wrist, urging her into a back-to-back stance with the motion. From there, slight movements of his body led her to rotate with him, perfectly in sync. His close proximity caused the affinity she’d had for him earlier to reawaken, and she almost heard his mind working.

Was it possible for him to be as confused about all this as her even with his superior knowledge? His mind opened to her more fully. Apparently banes weren’t normally so versatile. The first beast had yearned to devour the boy’s fears, the pack had appeared in a mating frenzy, and now, in a complete one-eighty, they had adopted murderous fury.

Ciaran hadn’t envisioned a nightmare as a malleable thing. Not in the sense a nightmare of falling could suddenly become a killer clown at your bedroom window. Each bad dream was meant to have only one purpose, be based on one fear. But these banes were different. She’d guess feeding on the totality of human phobias lent them infinite emotions and motivations to pull from.

Keoni continued to spin with her. She moved with him, using the movements of his body as a guide. They waited—for what she wasn’t sure. Moments felt like hours.

Ciaran stared out at the attackers. They still “wanted” her in a sexual sense. She read their objective through their eyes. Similar to the way she gleaned the dream of the Last Hurrah from the souls she accompanied to the Otherside.

“Kill the male…shred and claw…the woman…mate and breed.”

The woman in question tightened her fingers around her weapon of choice. Mate and breed? Not bloody likely.

“Don’t worry,
manu,
” Keoni said, his voice light and lyrical. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’ll keep myself safe.” Ciaran lifted the cast-iron pan and spun it in her grasp. “I’ve got my skillet.”

His responding bark of laughter startled her. She glanced over her shoulder to see the banes had taken his amusement as an opportunity. They sprang for the kill.

Two nightmares leaped at Keoni’s throat in unison. He grabbed each by the neck and slammed them together. Spines broken, their heads lolled to either side like rag dolls. Tossing them away, he brought a fist down in the center of the next attacker’s skull. Its neck compressed into its chest cavity. Ciaran heard each vertebra shatter in a domino chain.

She instinctually turned back around to meet her own barrage of banes. A symphony of
clang! ca-clang! bang! bong! clang!
sounded as the frying pan connected time and again.

“Damn, she’s doing serious damage with her frying pan. A frying pan.”
Keoni shook his head.
“Women.”

Ciaran rolled her eyes—unintentionally eavesdropping. He’d soon be on the receiving end of her skillet with any more chauvinist nonsense… His stomach growled. Loudly. Earthquake loud. Amusement transformed her expression. All right, maybe she’d need to use her skillet the way it was meant and help him out with a meal. She would too. If they ever escaped the Dreaming.

One particularly shaggy bane sought to take advantage of Ciaran and Keoni’s pause. When would they learn? Keoni bent backward. Bending his knees, he pitched his body at an impossible angle, parallel to the ground. Ciaran was grateful for how his balance kept him from toppling and crushing her while they continued to fight.

She bowed forward, matching him, and sent her skillet out in a wide arch. The heavy pan broke bones, taking the legs from under several attackers. Turning the pan sideways, she brought the edge down—one, two, three—between each set of ears. Whack-a-mole quick.

The shaggy bane flew over the synchronized pair, landed, and rebounded for a second leap. Keoni stood. Ciaran rose with him to face off with the bane. She steeled herself, staring it down in a game of chicken. It leaped again. Close. Closer.
Oh shit.
She ducked at the last second. The beast smashed face-first into Keoni’s fist. Its maw crumpled beneath the force, and the big Hawaiian took out two more of its pack mates before the body hit the ground.

“That’ll learn you,” Ciaran said, mimicking her American cousins.

Keoni chuckled but kept her moving with him as he surveyed the battlefield. They’d made quick work of the beasts. Bane corpses faded all around them. The bodies turned to prisms, slowly reabsorbed by the Dreaming. As they diminished, they left the sweat-tinged and burning stench of fear behind. Keoni nodded, revealing his satisfaction with the job they’d done.

Adrenaline kept Ciaran’s breaths coming in huffs. “You’ve got a serious white-knight thing happening.”

“Bodda you?”

There was his damn fabulous accent again—deeper than it had been earlier.

She turned to face him.

“Um…no. I’m not bothered. Just an observation. Thanks. I didn’t get to say that before.”

He smiled, somehow sarcastic and endearing at the same time. His eyes continued to scan the thick fog, but something in his stance said he was fully in the moment with her. “Before you knocked me on my ass or before you tried to kick me?”

Oops.
He’d noticed.

“Before I knocked you on your arse. What’s happening with your accent?”

Keoni inclined his head questioningly.

Dammit. Gorgeous bastard. Justin Timberlake didn’t have a chance of bringing sexy back. Keoni had it on lockdown.

He smirked, stoking the fire. “I go into da pidgin when I’m excited or angry. Otherwise I use classic American English dressed up or down to fit the sitch.”

“Shit,” Ciaran breathed.

Keoni reached out with one arm, maneuvering her to reassume their back-to-back positions. In the same motion he came around to see what she’d seen.

“Shit,” he echoed her, but his swear held giddy anticipation.

Ciaran didn’t find the situation at all amusing. More banes melted out of the fog, nearly double the count they’d just put down. In seconds, they were surrounded.

“This is lolo,
manu.
No way these banes should be on after you like this.”

“What do they want?”

When he answered his voice held an edge of soothing excitement, but fear seeped in at the edges of her courage. She already knew the answer. Still, delusional as ever, she hoped he would disabuse her of the notion.