Brush of Darkness (21 page)

“I almost forgot about the feeding thing,” I said, realizing
it was true. “Between Katy and everything else. Not that I’m backing out.” I turned his head toward me so I could catch his gaze, my tone serious. “I keep my promises.”

The incubus’s nostrils flared. “I know,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”

“Are we close enough?”

“Yes,” he whispered, his mouth lowering. My eyes closed at the brush of his lips and the taste of his tongue as it slipped past mine. He shifted and the CrossRoads fell away into the darkness.

M
y vision rippled as the CrossRoads looped into the darkness like a silver ribbon. Something fluttered in the distance, my nightmares battering against the edges of my mind with their ravenous mouths. I closed my eyes and pressed my face into Brystion’s shoulder. His throat rumbled, a questioning hum vibrating against my cheek.

Immediately, the shadows receded; relief swept through me with an almost violent twitch. I watched as a cocoon of light enveloped us, warding off the gloom. “What’s that?” I pointed to the shimmering glow that webbed its way in pulsing beams around us. The magical illumination bled across his face, causing his swollen bruises to shine in stark relief against his skin.

“A shield of sorts. It will keep the nightmares at bay for a little while.”

“Can you afford to do that? I thought you were running out of energy.”

“Nearly,” he conceded. “There’s a bit left in reserve—enough to get us to your Heart, anyway.”

“Small favors.”

He shifted his hands, relaxing his fingers so that my
weight was comfortably supported. “I’m going to be fairly weak when we get there, so just bear with me. Once I get my strength back, we’ll figure out the rest of it.” He nuzzled my ear gently. “And keep in mind that I’m going to be horrendously jealous of your time, Abby.”

I flushed like a schoolgirl. Christ, all I needed was a short skirt and pigtails and my transformation into bumbling idiot would be complete. I peered out past the ambient cocoon. The darkness was fading, leaving us in a cold, gray fog.

“First things first,” I said. The mist was shedding around us, sloughing away like the fine tufts of a dandelion’s late bloom. “‘Anyone lived in a pretty how town, with up so floating many bells down,’” I quoted, glancing down to see the house. We hovered above it for a moment, and then the roof grew larger, expanding as we descended. “There’s more here now.” I gestured at the edges of the yard. And there was. Where before the clearing had been empty, now the beginnings of what looked to be wild rosebushes sprouted up between towering willow trees.

“How odd,” I murmured.

“Your Heart is responding to you. Now that you’ve acknowledged it, it will shape itself to your will.”

“I didn’t know I could do that.” My gaze strayed to the far side of the clearing. It was still cloaked in shadow but if I stared long enough I could almost swear I saw the gossamer silhouette of an ancient oak, its branches twining together as though hiding a secret.

Brystion followed my line of sight and smiled. “You’ll see, Abby. You’re a Dreamer. Now hold on, we’re going to land.”

My grip tightened around his shoulders, but I shouldn’t have bothered. The incubus spun us gently onto the silver grass, the shield dissipating like fireflies into the mist. He slumped beside me as he set me on my feet with a tired grin.
“Safe as houses,” he quipped.

The gate still remained locked and I frowned. I hadn’t had time to get back here since the other night, and I certainly hadn’t had time to figure it out when I was attempting to break through to the CrossRoads. I eyed the sandy road with a shiver.

“Seems we’re at a bit of an impasse,” he said, mouth pursing as he ran a finger over the gate. “Still.”

I shook the lock with frustration. “Well, doesn’t that just suck. You picked a hell of a Dreamer to set your cap for. I’m not entirely sure why you bother, honestly.”

The edges of his pupils flared golden, capturing me in their aching brilliance. “Can’t you tell?” I blinked stupidly and then his lips ensnared mine. Unbidden, I wrapped my arms around his neck as his tongue lingered like liquid velvet in the dark recesses of my mouth. His hands crept down the ridge of my spine, fingers cupping my ass. I moaned, a soft sound of longing, and he pulled away with a knowing grin. “Protest all you want, Abby, but in the end, you’ll be begging for me.” His voice lowered as he bent to suckle at my neck. “I swear it.”

“Mmmmm.” I tipped my head back to allow him greater access, shuddering when he dipped to my pulse point, teasing it with a wet tickle. “And how do I know you’re not just using me, seducing me for your own nefarious purposes?”

“You don’t.” His hips ground into mine, the hard outline of his erection rubbing against my belly. “If it makes you feel any better, I can’t really seduce anyone who doesn’t want to be seduced. And you”—he ran his tongue along my collarbone—“have been practically praying for it since we met.”

My belly quivered, butterflies born of anticipation and arousal sending sharp waves of heat through my limbs. I gazed up at him. “You look like shit.” The words tumbled
out of my mouth before I could stop myself, but he only laughed.

“I imagine I’ve looked better,” he admitted, touching his swollen eye.

“So now what?”

He shrugged. “That’s up to you. I wouldn’t mind getting washed up, though.”

“Open Sesame,” I intoned dryly at the gate, unsurprised when nothing happened. “Enough of this,” I snapped at it, jerking back hard on the bars. “Open or next time I bring a blowtorch and melt your ass down.” I blinked as the hinges squeaked in response, the lock turning with an audible click. “Damn. If I’d known it would be that easy, I would have tried that sooner.”

“You are Mistress here,” he murmured. “You just needed to find your voice.” He took my arm and led me to the front door. It was a gallant gesture, but his muscles trembled with the effort. I flushed with shame at the thought of my earlier words. The incubus had already given up so much for me—how could I do any less? I stiffened my shoulder, offering him a subtle sort of support, but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

My thumb traced over a rough spot on the rail, the splintered tips pricking my flesh. Even this was mine. I snorted softly, remembering the day I’d ridden my bicycle off the stoop, cracking my chin on the rail. The back wheel had flattened as it wedged between the railroad ties and the brickwork of the front walk, punctured by a loose nail. And I . . . I had wiped the blood off my face with the back of my hand, marched straight back into the house, and tried to convince my mother that I needed some glue to fix my bike.

What I’d gotten was a trip to the ER and six stitches, but there’s twelve-year-old indignation for you.

It was dark inside, but everything burned with familiarity.
I hit the light switch on the wall and watched as the foyer flooded with golden ambiance. My eyes welled up, and I pulled away from Brystion. Stumbling past him, I clutched at my grandmother’s circle quilt, which was casually draped over the back of the worn leather sofa in the living room. “It’s like home,” I said hoarsely, staring down at the quilt.

Christ, it even had the stain in the corner.

I rubbed it against my cheek, closing my eyes. “It smells like my mother.” I sighed, wiping away my tears. “I haven’t seen this quilt in years. It got lost when we moved to the city so I could go to the dance academy.”

“Memories can be very powerful,” he agreed, his breath suddenly hot in my ear. I shivered, the heat from his body rolling over me. His arms slid around my waist and he moved his chin to rest gently on my shoulder. I let out a soft grunt, leaning into him.

“I had visions of setting up a Dream for you when we got to this point. Something horribly romantic.” His cheek brushed mine, setting off another wave of flutters. “Very old school, a seductive dance of music and sex, our bodies twisting in the dark to the thrum of the beating of our hearts. Doves flying. Heaving bosoms.”

“And listening to Tom Jones as we bump uglies in front of the roaring fire? Sounds like someone’s been reading too many romance novels.”

“I like the classics. Ah, well,” he sighed, his grip tightening for a moment. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to forgive me. You just taste so damn good.” He nipped at my ear, lightly at first and then harder, his hips pressing into my ass. I let my head tip back as his fingers worked up my neck to the soft edge of my hair, stroking, pressing, pulling, over my scalp and by my ear . . .

“Wait!” I jerked my head away. “Don’t touch me there—please.”

Realization crept into his eyes as he released me, chagrin edging his face. “It’s not there, you know. Not if you don’t want it to be.”

My hands flew to my head, the quilt dropped and forgotten. Frantically I looked for a mirror. The bathroom had one. I raced down the hall, heedless of the remaining dark, and flipped on the bathroom light. Fingering through my hair, I peered at my reflection, searching for the bare patch.

Nothing . . .

I looked again, but the skin was clean and whole, fully covered in hair.

“The Dreaming is controlled by you,” Brystion said from the doorway. He was watching me intently, focus switching between the mirror and me. “Or it can be. Particularly your Heart. You are here as you wish to be, as you truly are, or as you truly see yourself. They’re not always the same.”

“And what about you? Are you affected by my Dreaming?”

He averted his gaze, shifting away. “I’m beyond it, at the moment. But yes, it is possible for you to . . . influence my appearance somewhat, though I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Of course.” His skin seemed to be paling rapidly, its amorphous fading more pronounced. Now or never, I supposed. “What do you need from me to . . . feed?”

“Your climax.”

I blinked. “My what?”

Amusement lit up his face. “I think you heard me. Mind if I use the shower? I’d like to wash off the blood.”

“Sure. There should be one upstairs, assuming nothing’s changed.” I slipped up the stairs in front of him, his eyes raking over me like burning coals. “I’ll start up the water for you.” Did dream houses have hot water heaters? “How is, uh, the climax thing supposed to work?”

“The usual way, I’d imagine,” he retorted dryly as he
followed me into the bathroom. “It’s a trade-off, really. The better the orgasm, the more energy you produce, the better I eat. So it behooves me to make sure you have the best damn orgasms possible.”

“Ah. And here I thought you said I didn’t need to have sex with you.”

An ineloquent
hmmmph
emerged from his throat. “You’re dreaming,” he pointed out. “Technically we won’t actually be having sex. But you’re right. All I need is the orgasm, however you produce it, so if you’d like to go solo . . .”

A strangled snort worked its way through my nose. I turned the hot water on, felt the pipes clank in their old way as the water came hissing out. There was a slight breeze behind me, followed by a soft whoosh. I turned my head, and swallowed.

The incubus was naked, bloodied and utterly magnificent, from the dark hair that poured like liquid silk over his shoulders to the pale musculature of his chest and abdomen. My gaze lingered over his slim waist, dropping lower toward the dark thatch of hair below his belly button. My cheeks heated considerably as he coughed, and I jerked my focus back to his face.

“Ahem. First things first.” He kicked away his clothing, eyeing himself in the mirror with a frown. One hand traced the dark bruise on his cheek. “I owe him for that one,” he muttered dangerously.

I could only nod dumbly at this, unable to tear myself away from the perfect sculpture of his ass. It had lived up to its promise and then some.

“Are you done?” Brystion’s voice trembled with laughter lightly brushed with lust.

“No,” I breathed, my heart racing beneath my rib cage.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said slyly, brushing past me as he glided toward the shower. The mirror had fogged up with
steam, but I wouldn’t have said that it was the hot water causing it. I watched him pull back the light blue curtain, my blood simmering in response. He winked at me and drew it back into place, groaning softly as the water hit his skin.

I unbuttoned my jeans slowly, some small part of me wondering if this was wise, but I was past caring. After all, it was still a dream, right?

Undoubtedly there would be repercussions, but right now, for this moment, I was going to take what was offered and not look back. The denim fell to the floor in a heap, followed quickly by my bloodstained shirt. My bra. My Hello Kitty panties. It was just me now, standing on the damp tile with nothing between us but that curtain, the water beading against it in constant taps.

Now or never, Abby.

I pushed back the curtain and stepped into the tub. I didn’t look at his face. I wanted this, yes, but I’d lose my nerve if I actually admitted what I was doing. Chickenshit of me, but there it was. A crimson trickle trailed into the water at the bottom of the tub, and I remembered the ugly gouge on his arm. Instinctively, I turned toward it, but it seemed smaller than before, less angry.