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Another scent rose to greet him as well, something he associated with Natalie, the fae futurist that had helped him rescue Talya from the Graveyard.
His thoughts shifted abruptly to events of the night before, of realizing it was the woman who had fired the weapon and saved his ass.
Natalie.
She’d levitated beside him, knowing he’d been seriously wounded. She could have freaked out, instead, she’d gauged his abilities just right and together they’d saved Talya and he’d gotten the help he needed.
What a woman, even if she was fae.
As dreams often did, the garden shifted slightly. He glanced down at his feet and could see through the grass at least twenty feet below.
There she was.
Natalie.
Asleep on her bed, or at least he supposed it was her bed.
She slept on her side, her mass of curly brown hair spilling over her bare arm. She shifted her head slightly on the pillow then rolled onto her back. She grimaced and lifted her chin. Her lips parted. Somehow, it was the most seductive thing in the world. She even licked her lips.
Odd the way dreams could conjure so much detail.
What was she dreaming about?
For a powerful, lustful moment, he wished it was him.
But as quickly as the thought came, another memory intruded as hard as a slap across the face, of losing his wife because of the chaos of Five Bridges. He’d made a dozen promises to himself to keep his eye fixed on what needed to be done in their world. More than anything, he was committed to sustaining order within the Meldorin Pack and keeping everyone safe from Kryder’s ineffective and brutal leadership.
He drew a deep breath. He had enough self-knowledge to understand that the two thoughts were related: His desire for Natalie and his need to sustain order in his pack. Natalie threatened his goals, even in his dreams.
He lifted his gaze skyward. He was looking up this time and the sun was on his face. He loved it.
Then he recalled exactly where he was: The cloister garden at Le Mont Saint-Michel in Normandy, France.
Kiara’s Revel refuge had a painting of it not far from the emergency bays. He didn’t understand why, except in this painting the tide had come in and had made an island of the ancient monastery.
Five Bridges was that kind of island, cut off from the rest of the world by prison-like walls, guards and thousands of yards of barbed wire curled back and forth through each territory. The five alter species, created by a devastating serum, had been at each other’s throats for thirty years.
His gaze fell once more to Natalie below his feet. She rolled her head on the pillow and moaned softly. In the dream, he drew closer as though collapsing the distance between the grass of the garden and the vision of her on her bed.
Closer and closer until the grass disappeared and he was hovering above her. In her sleep, she lifted her arms and slid them beneath her head. Her eyes were still shut.
He’d noticed how beautiful she was at the hospital. But as he watched her, he saw a faint smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. They almost weren’t there.
She looked very young.
Her lips parted again. He resisted the urge to drag his thumb over her lower lip. She drew in a ragged breath, then spoke his name aloud, “Grant.”
Had she really said his name?
Of course, this was his dream and he wanted her saying his name.
She lowered her arms and pushed the covers away. She wore a silk nightgown. Her movements were sensual, and his body heated up.
A sensation of danger and distrust returned. She was fae. Her kind, with futurist abilities had hurt his kind. He wanted to leave the dream, yet somehow couldn’t. He pictured the cloister garden once more and, voila, found himself there again. Unfortunately, now, he had a raging erection.
What the hell was it with this woman?
~ ~ ~
