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“She called Endelle a mule, an ‘ornery, ill-tempered, incorrigible mule!’ I smiled for days.”
Thorne chuckled. “Kerrick found himself one helluva mate.”
“And that door swings both ways.”
“I’ll say an amen, Havily Morgan.” His heart swelled. Yeah, she’d become a bright spot in their dark days and nights.
What the soul craves, the dream reveals.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 3
At two in the morning Havily got a fold through the dimension back to Mortal Earth. Bless Jeannie. What would any of them do without her and the rest of the support staff at Central? Havily had some power; she could fold anywhere on Second Earth. But she still couldn’t fold between dimensions.
She was now back at her condo at the base of Camelback Mountain. She stripped off her socks and Nikes, jeans and T-shirt, bra and thong. She slid the cream-colored nightgown over her head, adjusted the lace straps, then climbed into bed. She fell face-first onto the pillows and groaned. Yep, exhausted.
Thorne would remain at the clinic through the night, standing guard, just in case any death vampires got the clever idea to attack Luken when he was out cold. Come morning, he would contact the Chief Militia Warrior for Metro Phoenix Two and have a detail assigned to the room, but not an ordinary detail. With death vamps around, at least a score would be needed to keep watch. Death vampires were considerably more powerful than the average Militia Warrior. To bring down a death vampire, a minimum of four Militia Warriors were required.
Havily rolled onto her back, took the edge of the top sheet in her fingers, and rubbed back and forth, the motion soothing. She stared at the multitude of paper butterflies she had hanging from the ceiling, all decorated with colored ink and glitter, each one a miniature work of art. Each butterfly was different in design and suspended so that when she looked up she could see the wingspans. From every angle they were beautiful.
She often counted them when she couldn’t sleep.
She had stayed at the clinic until the medical staff had entered the room to turn the massive warrior onto his back. The sight of the rest of Luken’s burned flesh brought on a serious gag reflex, which she had only barely controlled. When she started weeping again, Thorne ordered her to go home. She protested, of course, but he added very gently that he would appreciate it if she would still come to the Cave at seven to bring the warriors their usual coffee and doughnuts.
It was the least she could do when the Warriors of the Blood were all that stood between Endelle and her administration and a monster bent on taking over two worlds. Darian Greaves had been positioning himself for decades to do just that, building an army comprising both death vampires and regular Militia Warriors, seducing High Administrators around the globe into his camp, and generally winning an overall public relations war.
Havily loved Second Earth with a passion that went beyond comprehension—but then part of ascending to a new dimension involved a great deal of yearning and longing, the call of a new world, of a new experience, of a new everything.
She touched her incisors and felt her vampire fangs throb in response. She even loved being a vampire, having the ability to take blood, to give potions, as weird as it was. Except that it wasn’t weird once the ascension process was complete. Then being a vampire just felt right.
Her thoughts turned to her long-deceased fiancé, her beloved Eric. She had shared blood with him, and the act had been one of the finest experiences of her life. But she rarely allowed herself to think of him, because she was still sad, even after fifteen years. He had been a decorated Militia Warrior and had died battling death vampires. Once more the tears began to flow.
She folded a tissue into her hand and wiped her face. A rough sigh tumbled out of her exhausted body. She never stayed up this late. Working for Endelle during the day was an incredible challenge and she needed to be on her toes, all ten of them, to keep up with Her Supremeness and to not let the spiteful, ill-tempered scorpion-woman ruin her day.
Her gaze drifted from butterfly to butterfly. Her eyelids grew heavy. Maybe given the level of her fatigue she wouldn’t be drawn into the bizarre sexual fantasy-dream she usually experienced. Surely just this once she would be spared the horror of waking up while engaged in full-on sex with Warrior Marcus.
Whatever. She was too tired to fuss anymore.
She heaved one last sigh. As her head rolled on the pillow, sleep claimed her.
* * *
Marcus drifted from deep sleep into a half-waking state because he felt her again, the weight of her on his hips, her knees pressed into the mattress on each side of him, her body moving against his profound arousal. He wasn’t buried in her, not yet, but oh … my … God.
Then he awoke the rest of the way. Havily was here and she was safe and she was with him.
He resisted the urge to grab her arms and make certain she was whole and unharmed. Despite Jeannie’s earlier reassurances, he was worried for her safety. However, any brusque movement on his part would awaken her from what he knew was still a dream state. And if nothing else, his four months’ experience had taught him that the moment she awakened, she’d recoil from him in horror and slip away.
That he didn’t have the power to stop her from disappearing when she woke up still fried him.
So for the last four months he had experimented, testing her limits to see what he could do, or not do as was the case, to see how long he could keep her in a half-dreaming state so that she stayed with him.
He glanced around his bedroom, which was not quite his bedroom, but a dream-like place that included his bed, okay, a bed, and felt like his home on Bainbridge Island, but wasn’t, even though he could hear wind rattling the windows. He was in his bedroom … but not … so where the hell was he?—which was the same question he’d been asking himself since this whole madness began.
The room was dark, especially around the perimeter, as though fading to a blackness that had no end. The symbolism wasn’t lost on him—the only way he could have what he most wanted, what he craved, was in some kind of dream state.
Weird.
Whatever.
As she moved against his cock, he suppressed a moan. No loud noises. Her eyes as usual were closed, and he knew she wasn’t awake, yet not quite asleep, or not very deeply.
He still didn’t get what was happening. For one thing, Havily detested him because he’d quit the Warriors of the Blood two hundred years ago. She saw him as a deserter.
Yet despite her dislike of him, she came every night to his bedroom that was not his bedroom, in this peculiar aberration of power and dreaming. He had never heard of anyone on Second Earth possessing this kind of ability, yet here Havily was moaning in that sweet melodic voice of hers as her honeysuckle scent infused the air of his somewhere bedroom.
