The Dream Crafter (6 page)

D
amn
that magic.
It meant she couldn’t lie to herself and let herself accidentally-on-purpose forget the phone number given to her by Fallon. Hard truth, raw and ugly, beat itself through her brain.

If she didn’t make this call, the chance she turned away would haunt her forever. Even if one day she got her brother free without this, she’d be living with the knowledge that he was in prison weeks? Months? Years? Longer than he had to, because of her, because of her choice. That was assuming he survived being in a cage. Based on how he’d been doing the last time they had seen each other, believing he could keep hanging on was little more than wishful thinking.

Her brother’s time there was coming to an end, whatever form freedom took.

There was no choice. She could scream and cry and rail against gods and man, but when had that changed one second of her life?

With trembling fingers, Amana grabbed the phone and punched out the number.

“We’ve been waiting for your call,” came posh British tones, deep and resonant, something expected to be heard on the Shakespearean stage. “All the data you need to complete your assignment will be included in your packet.” The doorbell rang, causing her to jump. “There is your information. I suggest you go retrieve it.”

“One thing,” Amana interjected, not letting the man on the other end hang-up as he had seemed in a rush to do. “I want to do a straight swap. My brother needs to be out of jail and at the meeting.”

“That was not part of the agreement.” The man’s voice was hesitant, perhaps a touch wary. So he wasn’t someone in charge. He only followed orders.

“It’s the agreement if you want me to do this. If you don’t, no problem. I heard talk of a Plan B while I was sitting at the table. Good luck with getting that off the ground.”

“Hold please.” The long moments while she waited for the man to get back on the phone had Amana’s stomach take an acid bath, and only pure stubbornness kept her upright and waiting for the answer. The man came back. “Agreed. Now please, go get the packet.”

The call disconnected, and only now did feeling return to her hands. She’d done it, and triumph lit through her, momentarily drowning out the sorrow. The decision made, the path before her set, she walked to the door.

A large legal envelope had been placed against her door, so that when she opened the door it fell into her entranceway. It was thin enough to suggest only a few pages were inside. She grabbed it and closed the door, sliding every lock in place.

The path before her…
Nakoa would be free. Nakoa would be at her side. She willed every part of her to surround that thought, embrace it, use it to push down the terror clawing inside her throat at even the
suggestion
of truly using her powers again.

Nakoa would be free. Nakoa would be at her side.

She opened up the envelope and pulled out the first page, to see
his
picture staring up at her.

‡

N
o choice
,
pounded
the refrain through her head, a loop of constant syllables drilling itself deeper and deeper into her brain.
No choice
, because your brother will be free.
No choice
, because it meant no more running, no more hating herself for failing once again.
No choice, no choice, no choice.

His eyes were so blank in the picture, hooded as she had never seen them in the dreams. His dimple was on display, but here it was a shield, a decoy, not a display of pleasure as it had been when they were together.

Throwing his picture on the table, she curled into a ball, bringing her knees to her chest and resting her head against the sharp planes of bone.

There wasn’t much information given to her in those few pages, so either they didn’t know much about him, or this was all they believed she needed for the job. Her guess would be the latter, considering the majority of the file were pictures of the man. She would hope the Guild would have a better database on such a well-known opponent.

Though if he was so good they were using her as a sneaky way to get to him, maybe he was an enigma. They referred to him as Merc in one of the bullet points from the short one page bio, and wouldn’t they at least give her his first name if they knew it?

The other facts were stingy as well. Those tattoos she longed to touch were magical, though the paper didn’t give specifics. Their second meeting he had looked down and over the tattoos on his arm, and with this knowledge that action now made sense. The tattoos must have some degree of magical protection or detection, and he was making sure she wasn’t using anything to enter his dream.

Nice to know she was powerful enough that one of the most feared warriors of the realms was fooled. Her laugh became a choked sob, and she pulled her legs tighter into her body, willing her heartbeat to slow and taking deep breaths to achieve the action.

Couldn’t the gods give her any peace? Why did they have to destroy even this one ray of light in her world?

She rocked like a small child comforting herself, pressing her face hard into her legs to hold back the tears that gathered behind her eyes. Her body shuddered under the weight and strain, small jerky movements she couldn’t contain, sobs building in her throat she swallowed hard against. She stayed there, eyelids tight, body shaking, mind blanked by pure dint of will.

Endless time passed. Shivers passed. Thoughts. Passed. She was an empty vessel, and opening her eyes, there was the shape of the dream surrounding her, the weight of the nightly world familiar, oh so familiar to her.

He…
Merc
…was a stranger. Her brother was blood. It was time to let this go.

The choice was made. Living with it would be a different story, but now she would get her brother free.

Time to find the mercenary and put an end to this damnable dream.

‡

T
his time, Merc
didn’t look at his arms when she appeared. His smile was easy and his body relaxed a fraction. “I was wondering if I’d see you tonight.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” They were back on the beach, but now it was moonlit, the reflection on the water bright and clear, the moon big enough to cause the briefest of shudders, as if it could crash into the water on the horizon. A perfect night for lovers to stroll together, hand in hand, lost in each other.

Tonight he wore a leather jacket, and tonight he wrapped that jacket around her, putting his arm over her shoulder and pulling her close as they walked the silent stretch of sand.

Though this would end in betrayal, Amana would hold onto this last meeting. She would surround herself in him, absorb him, until that final moment where she would have to let him go. She snuggled closer, nestling her cheek against the hard wall of chest. “How was your day, dear?”

“Could’ve been worse,” he replied, humor in the tone. “It would have been if I hadn’t seen you.”

“That was almost too sweet. Warn me next time so I don’t go into sugar shock.” Did her voice waver? Was that the right amount of tart, or did it go into bitter?
No, stop, enjoy this. Enjoy this until it has to end.

They stopped to look over the waves, and he fitted her into him so he could rest his chin on her head. “I’ll remember that.”

Walking the beach at night was always her favorite. As much as she enjoyed the daytime energy, it was the calm dark of the night that always soothed her soul, brought her peace. At night, it was only her and the moon, the mist of the ocean and the warm, gentle breeze. It was freedom with no judgment, no well-meaning but sharp-tongued relatives to poke at her family yet again.

If only she could have known Merc back then. Whatever he was in the real world, here he was quiet strength, and this Merc would have paid the stories around her and her family no mind. He would have held her hand and walked beside her, no matter the stares and whispers that followed them.

His face in moonlight was a study of planes and shadows. Her mother would have said he had a strong face, with a strong chin. That was one thing her mama always disliked – men with weak chins.

Strange, remembering Mama now. It had been such a long time since Amana thought of her.
Unlucky in love
, that’s what the old women talked of while playing Go, smoke thick in the air, fingertips yellowed and fingers gnarled.
Good girl, but so unlucky. Maybe if she listened more, she wouldn’t be stuck with those babies.

She pulled Nakoa away, the words absorbed and the damage done.

Listening to those women, she vowed she’d never have babies without being married. She’d never give them a reason to talk about her, in those half-pitying/half-delighted scandal tones. Her babies would have a daddy who loved them, who would never leave them. Her babies would ride on their daddy’s shoulders, and he would take them to ice cream shops, all the while telling them
don’t tell your mother
. A daddy who would protect them from every bad thing this world could surprise their family with – and that was a lot of bad things.

Merc had wide shoulders and gentle hands, and a bearing that proclaimed he could take down any enemy.

She closed her eyes and pressed tighter.

“Hey, what’s this?” He lifted her face with gentle fingertips underneath her chin. There was a crease between his eyebrows, his mouth turned down, and when he ghosted his thumb underneath her eye, only then did she feel the wetness.

“Bad day today.”

“Anything I can do?”

Merc had wide shoulders and gentle hands, and she had only one chance to feel them, even if only in a dream. With that desire strong in her mind, her soul, she said, “You can take me home.”

As her meaning sank into him, his gaze grew heated, molten, and he wrapped those large hands around her waist and picked her up, laying her against his chest, holding her weight steady and showing how strong he was. Her arms encircled his neck, but she made no other move. She trusted him to hold her safe.

The scenery dissolved until they were now in a hotel, basic and boring but clean. That was all that registered before he lowered his head to place his lips on hers, asking without words to be let inside. She complied, eager to again experience this hard, hot side of him. The gentleness was still there underneath everything, but with her permission he grew aggressive, demanding, moving forward with a strong sweep of his tongue and using his mouth to open her wider.

While they kissed, Amana pushed his shirt up, pulling at the offending fabric of the t-shirt. She broke away, turning her attention to getting him undressed. Desperation clawed inside her, demanding she experience everything possible in these few last hours. “I want this off,” she breathed, and if she had the strength, she would have ripped it from his body.

He went back a step, but only one, as her hands grabbed at the bare skin of exposed waist and refused to let him go any further. In swift movement, the t-shirt was gone, and the long, lean, muscled lines of his torso were on display.

First she took him in with her eyes, and then she let her fingers help with the exploration. The skin on his chest was the same gorgeous shade of brown as his arms, and though her fingers itched to pull at his pants to see if that shade was universal, the lure of his tattoos won the temporary war for her attention.

Four black lines curled around each side of his waist, twisting around the muscles in his chest and stomach as if placed to highlight each firm stretch. Underneath her fingertips, the tattooed skin was velvet, lush and luxurious with the slightest roughness, a roughness that only highlighted the decadence of feeling.

Amana circled around him. His back was even more covered by tattoos, as the thick black lines curled over his shoulders and down his spine in addition to circling his torso. From the way the tattoos looked against the waist of his jeans, there was no doubt they were drawn even farther down his body.

She pressed herself against him, reveling in the feel of the skin against her as well as the sharp intake of breath. Her fingers clenched against the denim of the jeans. “These need to go as well.”