Dream Weaver (Dream Weaver #1) (13 page)

             
“Thanks. It's my cheap knock-off shampoo.”

             
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” and he rubbed his cheek and nose into my hair, with an incredibly purr-like groan.

             
“Nick?”

             
“Hmm?”

             
“What’s a memoryprint?”

             
“Hush. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Sleep.”

              I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. I wanted to know now, but perhaps he had good reasons not to explain now.

             
“Okay, then tell me this. You have to be in physical contact with a person to, uh, transmit a memory, right?” I was remembering his awkward hand movement toward Molly.

             
“Unfortunately, yes. Sabre and I have discussed trying to learn how to do it from a distance. But we haven’t had anyone to test it on except each other and that kind of doesn’t count.”

             
“Oh. Well, I would do it for you,” I offered innocently.

             
“I don’t want to use you like that,” he said haltingly, surprised by my offer.

             
“I wouldn’t feel used. I want to help.”

             
“We’ll see.” That sounded like a parental brush off, like he meant ‘no’ but didn’t want to discuss it.

             
We were silent for several minutes. “Nick?”

             
“Hmm?

             
“Did I wake you?”

             
“No. I don’t really sleep very much.”

             
“Very much?”

             
He shrugged, “Depends how much energy I use. Normally, an hour a week is sufficient; I nap a few minutes here and there. If I spend a lot of time weaving or…well, using my abilities, I might need another hour.”

              His answer was obviously edited. Did he not trust me? After what I said earlier, about protecting myself from him, how could he not feel distrust? Or was this information he feared would only frighten me more? “Will you sleep tonight?” I felt like a child again, bombarding my father with a million questions to keep myself awake and him talking.

             
“No. Not tonight.”             

             
I puzzled in silence for a few moments. Something in his demeanor the last few hours left me feeling like, maybe, there was something more than loneliness and bad dreams I needed to fear. “Nick?”

His chest rumbled with laughter. “Yes?”

              “Thank you, for staying, for protecting me.”

             
“Sure, Em. For you? Anything.”

             
My throat tightened and tears seeped from my eyes dampening his shirt. His body tensed beside me. “You can’t possibly know how much that means to me.”

             
“I think I have a pretty good idea.” He squeezed me and pressed his lips to my forehead.

              “Goodnight, Nick.”

             
“Goodnight, Emari. Sleep tight. I’ll be here.”

             
I closed my still-leaking eyes, and counted the motions of his chest the way an insomniac counts sheep, as his breath rose and fell in relaxed rhythm. I ravenously absorbed the warmth that radiated from him in so many different ways; not only his body pressed vigilantly against mine, but from his heart that long ago learned the worth of compassion and understanding.

             
I made a conscious effort to relax, forced my muscles to soften, my breathing and heart rate to slow. I continued counting his breaths, matched my own to his. Mentally scanning my body, I systematically shut down each tense and aching muscle until only the familiar and incessant pain of my broken heart remained. That pain that never died, never dulled, only shifted in levels of constant ache.

             
Nick lay so silent and still I’d have believed he was asleep if I he hadn’t given his word that he would watch over me all night. I couldn’t feel him in my head, but somehow I knew he was there, sharing my memories, conjuring a dream.

             
I shifted against him, nuzzled into his warm chest, ran my fingers along the sinewy muscles of his bicep. Tiny tremors rippled through his body and he melted beneath my touch. It was cathartic, the sensation of his skin under my fingertips, the glide of my fingernails, polished in glossy black, across his smooth skin. My mind and body grew heavy with sleep, my fingers slowed and stilled as I drifted into the nothingness of sleep. Every hardness evaporated. Every ache seeped from the confines of my broken heart, as Nick anointed it with more of his healing salve.

Chapter 12 Lost in the Shadows

             
My world was motionless all night, but for the intrinsic revolution into the next day and the rhythm of Nick’s breath in sync with mine. All else was still. I awoke, still within the protection of his strong arms, still laying with my head on the solidness of his chest. I couldn’t remember a time that I’d slept so soundly that my body found no need to move the whole night long.

             
We dragged ourselves from the warmth of the bed, and Nick watched me as I puttered around the kitchen making my breakfast. His silence hung heavily, an ache between us that found a tiny undamaged piece of my heart to shatter. In the quiet of the morning, as I got ready for the day, I apologized again for hurting him. He crossed the room to me and his hands and eyes found mine.

             
“Emi…”

             
Yes. I definitely liked how he said my name like that. Like no one else ever had.

             
“I forgive you,” he whispered, as if anything louder would break me. “I’m not angry with you. Or hurt,” he amended to forestall my next argument.

             
“You’re so quiet,” I protested.

             
Nick took my face in his hands, caressed my cheeks with his thumbs, careful of my still-healing wounds. A tiny smile played wistfully on his lips. “Emari, how long have you known me?” I rolled my eyes at the obvious and squirmed under his touch. “I’m thinking. That’s all. Not angry, not hurt. Okay?”

             
I searched his eyes as though I could read them and I thought, maybe sometimes I could, to a small degree. “Okay.”

             
After eating breakfast, putting on my face and fixing my hair, Nick and I drove into town to Cash’s to look for my missing bracelet. My heart, captured in white gold, engraved with the one message my parents lived by: Follow Your Dreams. Their love etched eternally as a declaration written in stone. I hoped it was there, sharing a space in a corner with the dust bunnies, and not in the greasy hands of the attacker. My stomach clenched at the thought.              

             
The store felt alien, a hostile planet; no longer a place of safety. I wondered if I really would ever be able to return to work within these walls. It seemed as if places held memories as well as the human brain.

             
My muscles hardened and locked as we entered the children’s department.

             
Nick pulled me aside. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.

             
I laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah. I do.”

             
“You don’t,” he protested.

             
“It's okay.” I placed my hand on his chest and searched the depths of those incredible eyes. His heart was transparent through those eyes, revealing his desperation to protect me—even from myself. “I can do this,” I reassured us both.

             
Nick gave a frustrated huff. I drew myself up, squared my shoulders and took in a deep, cleansing breath. I sucked in confidence, and released a controlled sigh, and with it my tight-wound nerves. After shooting a quick glance at his face to measure his attitude, I forced a smile on my own, and nodded, “I can do this.” I took Nick’s hand and towed him into the department.

             
Ivy’s piercing squeal rang across the store when she spied us walking down the aisle toward the quad. Her hug nearly bowled me over when she launched herself at me in a shower of tears. She gasped self-consciously then lurched away, her hands fluttering around me, afraid she’d damaged me. I’d been the walking dead the last time she saw me.

             
“I’m okay. See?” I held my arms out so she could scope me out.

             
Once the initial squeals, hugs and chick drama were over, she wasted no time in completing a thorough body scan of Nick. Her eyes paused significantly at his hand wrapped firmly around mine. She leaned in on the pretense of another hug. “Damn girl! Who’s the hottie?” Ivy whispered.

             
Nick averted his eyes and flushed a charming shade of crimson. His lips curled with a self-conscious smile as he pretended not to have heard. I giggled and introduced him as a friend from the neighborhood.

             
Ivy shook his hand in both of hers, and unabashedly, gave him the once over again from head to toe. I could hear the squeaky wheel in her brain rattle and spin as she noted our proximity and our joined hands. “Well, if you’ve got any more ‘friends from the ‘hood’ that are available, just give me a call,” Ivy teased.

             
“I was gonna check the—uh, stockroom. See if we could find my bracelet,” I told her.

             
“Em. No. Not a good idea,” Ivy protested.

             
“I’m good.” I feigned bravery.

             
She actually snorted. “Fine. Let’s go.”

             
The three of us headed for the stockroom. As the door came into sight, my blood turned to ice in my veins and I wobbled on my feet.
And your little amiga will be next.
Nick turned to me in time to see the color drain from my face, and felt my body grow rigid as we approached the ominous door. My stomach clenched in response to a phantom punch.

             
Nick pulled me to a stop. “It's okay, Em. I’ll do it. Ivy will help me look.”

             
No, not Ivy.

             
“Sure, Sweets. We got it covered,” Ivy chimed in, and squeezed one of my hands.

             
I nodded gratefully, and choked down the lump in my throat that threatened to suffocate me.

             
Nick pulled a pen light out of his jacket pocket and gave it a click, while Ivy led the way into the stockroom. I waited just outside the door, leaning against the wall for support. Bent almost in half with my hands on my knees, I inhaled slowly to cool the revolt burning in my stomach, and exhaled the riot that wouldn’t be calmed. I silently willed my taut muscles to relax, and wished Nick had left me some happy puppy memories to distract me. Guess I couldn’t do it after all.

             
Nick and Ivy searched the stockroom and in the furnace room. I worried what they were talking about. No doubt Ivy would embarrass me with legends of junior high, geek parties and movie nights.

             
I lurched away from the wall as they exited the room, hope trilled inside me. But one look at Nick’s hard, ashy countenance told me the answer. His hands were shaking when he took both of mine. Maybe this had been too much for him, as well. “Sorry, Em. No luck,” he whispered hoarsely in my ear. His body shuddered violently as he pulled me into his arms and buried his face in my hair. “I’m so sorry, Em.”

             
“’s okay,” I whispered and petted the taut muscles in his back. I wasn’t completely sure we were just talking about my bracelet anymore. “Thanks for trying. You too, Baby.”

             
“No problem, Sweets. Gave me a chance to regale your new beau with tales of days gone by,” she giggled, and tugged playfully at one of my copper spikes.

             
“Great,” I groaned. Reluctant, Nick released me so I could poke Ivy in the ribs, and pull her into a comforting hug.

             
“Miss you, Sweets.” Her voice was paper thin, on the verge of tearing. I pulled her tighter.

             
“Miss you too, Baby.”
My girl. My Ivy,
I thought possessively. I felt my throat constrict around the words, felt her body relax against mine in relief at just being able to see for herself that I was alive and well, and doing okay. To Ivy, Nick was definitely a big part of ‘okay.’ Now that she actually saw me, touched me, she knew I was all right. That simple knowledge brought immeasurable consolation and relief for her, and a reciprocal comfort for me.

             
Nick stood by patiently, waiting for us to stop being mushy girls. Despite whatever happened in the stockroom, whatever it had cost him, he still sensed my continued anxiety, felt me turning giddy from hunger and being back here ‘at the scene of the crime.’ “Come on. Let’s go get you a coffee.” He wove his fingers through mine.

             
“Hang on,” I turned back to Ivy with a teasing smile. “You should come out to the house Friday night. We’ll have a little Christmas party. Besides, there is someone else I’d like you to meet.”

             
Ivy stepped closer, grasped my free hand and whispered, “If he’s got a brother who’s half as hot, I am all in.” She giggled and backed away with a wink.

             
“Better,” I promised. Ivy’s grin was dazzling.

             
Nick escorted me to my favorite coffee shop, Urban Blends, just across from Cash’s, and ordered an amoretto breve, my ‘usual’, without even asking what I wanted.

             
I giggled. “This could have its uses,” I whispered to him.

             
The barista, Tessa, was a pretty girl who styled her raven locks in dramatic spikes around her tanned face. She was one of those sweet souls with an effervescent personality that brightened even the gloomiest of days.

             
“I heard what happened,” she whispered over the counter, cautious, afraid she might upset me. “Are you doing okay?”

             
I shrugged. “Yeah. I’m all right. Nights are a little rough.”

             
Nick faded back a few steps, but Tessa’s eyes continued to wander to where he stood. Sparks of curiosity flickered brightly in her eyes, but she hedged on asking. I knew she would grill me the next time I came in alone.

             
She smiled and nodded back. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. You’re so sweet.”

             
“Ha. Yeah. That’s me,” I said, not sure she even knew my last name.

             
Tessa patted my hand affectionately and said, “I hope you feel better soon.”

             
“Thanks, Tess. See ya.”

             
Nick touched the small of my back and I melted against him. He nodded at Tess and flashed her a thankful smile as he guided me away. The warm, sweet coffee soothed my throat that still ached from days of crying. The heat of the cup in my hands, and the rich almondy steam kissing my face were a pleasant, familiar comfort.

              Christmas music blared overhead and the mall buzzed with conversation. Children cried, tired and bored; teens laughed and ran, darting in and out of the crowds. We strolled, hand in hand, down the Christmas-bling adorned halls. My favorite Goth store had strung their hell-black walls with blood-red and putrid-chartreuse ribbon and Santa skull lights. As we perused the band and movie t-shirts, Nick told me how he used to lurk out in the woods near my house, listening to the music I blared through open doors and windows—one of the perks of having distant neighbors; I could play my music the way I liked it—LOUD! A little dark and morbid, and true classic rock was an absolute must.

             
“I felt like a spy,” he jokingly confessed of his musical espionage. Occasionally, his tone or words made me wonder how often he’d spied on me from out in the woods—and his motives for being there in the first place. There was so much more to this man, and his kind, that he had yet to divulge, so much that he was hesitant or even unwilling to disclose.

             
Then again, what about this Sabre guy? Could Nick get in trouble with him for telling me what he already had? That was why he was so reticent in the beginning at telling me anything.

             
By the time we were ready to go, we had tentative plans for a party Friday night. We stopped by Cash’s store office to invite Collin and his wife and a few other associates over to the house, too.

             
We ran into Jesse on the way out. I released Nick’s hand to hug Jesse, and introduced him to Nick. They shook hands; a bit longer than I thought was necessary. Some kind of testosterone thing maybe. Jesse grew quiet and fidgeted uncomfortably, while a gentle, confident smile played on Nick’s lips. A mischievous sparkle danced in his dark eyes, a glint of iridescent sun off a raven’s wing.

             
“Jesse’s got a thing for you,” Nick said on the way to the car.

             
“What? Jesse? No, it's not like that. Jesse’s a good guy, a good friend. He’s just very protective,” I stammered.

             
“Well, that’s not really what
he
thinks,” he chuckled softly.