Pleasures of the Night (Dream Guardians #1)

Pleasures of the Night (Dream Guardians #1) Page 16

For a moment Aidan paused, giving his heart and mind a last chance to object.

In the end, he knew he was making the right decision. He hoped he had in his possession the secrets he'd been searching for. Either he would discover that the Elders were correct and he could resume his fight with renewed determination, or he would find out they weren't, in which case he could enlighten the others. He would be helping his people however he looked at it. He wanted to believe in the Elders, he truly did, but Aidan saw no reason for them to hide information that wasn't incriminating in some way.

And then there was Lyssa, a sweet, wonderful woman who didn't deserve to be dragged into this struggle. A woman who'd already suffered a lifetime of sickness and discomfort because of her dreams.

But what would he find in her plane? A world he knew only from dreams and a lover who would not remember him.

But the possibilities… the chance to be with Lyssa and explore the tentative bond they shared… to touch her, kiss her, make love to her for real. Skin to skin. The thought was an oasis in an endless existence that had long been as barren as the desert.

"You do not have to do something so drastic," Sheron said in a low, urgent tone.

"Yes," Aidan said with a wry smile. "I do."

Sheron watched Captain Cross move beyond the console to the various slipstreams that formed pillars of lights connecting the floor to the cavern roof. Without hesitation, Cross stepped into the stream he'd been directed to and vanished, gliding into the semidream state of the chosen medium with an expertise born of eons of practice.

When Sheron was alone, he entered a series of keystrokes and reported, "Cross is gone."

"You did well, Sheron," echoed the collective voice of the other Elders. "Perfectly executed."

Tilting his head in acknowledgment of the praise, he moved to assist the fallen trainees. As he lowered to a crouch, his gaze moved to the nearby desk. "He took the book."

The feeling of satisfaction was tangible.

"Excellent."

He kept the knowledge about the other volume to himself.

Chapter 6

Aidan pushed himself up from the coarse carpet where he sprawled, groaning in pain. Every part of his body ached something fierce, even the roots of his hair. As he lifted his head, his gaze searched the room, taking in the pale yellow walls and the two people who sat just a few feet away. They were frozen in place, trapped in a single moment of time.

There was a portly man with one ankle resting on the opposite knee and a notepad in his lap, and another lying on a chaise, eyes closed, his stream of consciousness the vehicle Aidan had used to arrive.

Wincing with every movement, Aidan couldn't remember ever feeling this dreadful in his life. Lurching to his feet, he reached out and caught the edge of the nearby desk, sucking in deep breaths as the small room spun violently.

A slow, soft click sounded loudly in the room.

Aidan looked at the clock on the wall, understanding that one second had passed since he'd arrived. Time was beginning to recover, which meant he didn't have long. He knew a guy with a sword wasn't going to go over well here.

Shoving his physical discomfort aside, he moved to the nearby closet, which was distinguished by its smaller door compared to the two that flanked it. Inside, he found several garments covered in dry-cleaning bags.

A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that the hypnotist was about the same height, but while the man, at rough guess, weighed similarly, his body was mostly fat. Still, the extra large clothes looked as if they might fit, so Aidan grabbed a pale blue shirt, dark blue pants, and belt, then quickly left the room.

In the reception area, a young woman was paused in the process of stuffing envelopes. Looking over her shoulder, Aidan noted the return address—San Diego, California— and smiled. Sheron had done remarkably well considering how short a time the Elder had been given.

Reaching beneath the desk, Aidan caught up the burgundy leather purse there and rifled through it, withdrawing a hundred dollars' worth of various denomination bills and a set of car keys. He wrote a simple "Thank you" on a piece of paper, slipped it into her wallet, and set the bag back where he'd found it.

Outside the office, in the nondescript hallway that led to the elevators, Aidan found a restroom, where he changed clothes. The overly large pants necessitated some alteration of the belt to secure them around his lean hips, but this took only a moment, and he was quickly on the move. He kept everything with him, refusing to be in a strange world without his accoutrements of battle. The subsequent long trip down the stairs in his weakened state nearly did him in. He stopped often, holding the rail and gasping, while willing his uncooperative body to function properly.

Tick tock. Time was still passing for him, despite what the clocks said, and he needed to reach Lyssa before nightfall.

By the time Aidan reached the lobby, time was advancing full speed ahead. The elevators were once again functional, and humans scurried industriously through the foyer that led to the outside. He wondered if anyone would stop him and question the scabbard he held at his side, but aside from blatantly appreciative female glances, no one paid any attention to his glaive. Clinging to the weapon with white-knuckled force, Aidan longed for the comfort the feel of the hilt normally imparted. While he wasn't afraid, he felt very much alone.

Lyssa.

He was assaulted by a variety of smells, some pleasant, some not. In dreams, this plethora of sensory input was muted or overlooked. Not so in actuality. The sounds of this world were many, a cacophony of voices and machinery that increased his nausea. He stumbled out the front glass doors with a desperate need for circulating air.

Using trial-and-error in tandem with the alarm remote on the key chain, Aidan located the early-model white Toyota Corolla, the interior of which smelled like something stale and burnt. Once he realized the hideous odor came from the ashtray, Aidan tossed the entire thing out the window. He'd shared postcoital cigarettes in dreams, but never had the true rankness of the habit been revealed to him.

Altogether, his first impression of the new world was not a positive one, which only made him long for Lyssa with a biting hunger.

A torn map, endless one-way streets, and drivers who couldn't stay in their lanes made getting to the freeway beyond frustrating, but Aidan was determined, and he used every bit of memory Dreamers had given him over the years to get on his way.

Toward the woman of his dreams.

"That sounds wonderful, Chad," Lyssa murmured into the phone while absently drawing doodles on her puppy-shaped notepad. "Really. But I'm not up for it tonight. I'm wiped out." Glancing up at the clock on the kitchen wall, she noted the time—six o'clock.

"Okay, forget the movie. I'll cook."

Sighing, Lyssa rolled her tense shoulders and dropped the pencil to rub the back of her neck. "Dinner sounds great, it really does, but it's been such a long day, and—"

The ring of the doorbell interrupted her.

"You work too hard, babe," Chad chastised softly. "You need to learn to say, 'Come back tomorrow. I've got a man who wants to be with me.'"

She smiled. He was so patient with her, never pushing her to give more than she was ready for. There were a couple of times she had been really close to inviting him to spend the night, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was …off.

Had she now developed a fear of intimacy? Did the certainty that she wouldn't live to a ripe old age make her wary and standoffish?

"The mailman's at the door." Sliding off the stool at her breakfast bar, Lyssa stretched weary muscles. She was going to let Chad get close to her. No matter what. "Tomorrow's Friday. Wanna take a rain check for Saturday?"

Chad's frustrated exhale sounded across the lines that connected them. "Yes. Saturday. For sure."

"For sure. I promise. See you then." She set the receiver back into the cradle and crossed her small living room to the front door. Jelly Bean fell into step beside her while rumbling a low warning.

"Kick back, attack cat," Lyssa scolded, knowing that JB would ignore her and hiss with his usual grumpy fervor.

The bell buzzed again, and she jogged the last couple of steps. "I'm coming." Lyssa turned the knob and pulled the door open. "Do you need me to sign or some… th-thing…?"

Her voice stuttered into silence as her gaze lifted and met eyes of deeply intense sapphire brilliance. Well over six feet of pure, unadulterated, gorgeous male stood on her porch step.

She gaped.

He was so tall, so broad of shoulder, so overwhelming that he filled every inch of her doorway. The scent of his skin, something exotic and spicy and scrumptious, hit her at the same moment as the wickedly provocative curving of his sensual lips.

JB's grumbling came to an abrupt halt.

"Holy shit." Her hand clutched the doorknob with white-knuckled strength. She had to force herself to breathe. In and out.

His gaze slid along the length of her body as a hot, tan-gible caress. Her knees went weak. She stumbled, and he stepped into her personal space, catching her elbow and anchoring her upright.

"Lyssa."

She blinked, the shock of that low-timbered voice with its soft brogue flaring across her skin. She'd heard that voice before, had heard her name spoken by it, and the heated awareness of his touch was near painful in its acute-ness.

The man on her doorstep was delicious. Impossibly so. Dark hair with silver-streaked temples, winged brows over eyes that devoured her, a firm jaw, and masterfully etched lips. A pale blue dress shirt was parted at the neck, revealing a light dusting of hair on a bronzed chest, and an opal-like stone hanging from a silver chain. Strong arms were revealed by rolled-up cuffs, arms that pulled her closer to that mesmerizing, erotically charged stare.

I've kissed him before.

No. She shook her head. She hadn't. There was no way she could forget a man who looked as he did. He was almost otherworldly handsome, a man who was too hard, too chiseled, too dangerously male to be truly beautiful. But he was damn close.