Hunted Dreams (4 page)

It was a little early for bed, but he found he was tired. His large body sprawled across the queen-sized bed, he closed his eyes and started to plan for tomorrow. Or that was his plan. The second he lowered his lids, sleep slammed into him like a breaking wave.

Chapter 2

The first thing she noticed was the heat. It felt almost like a living thing, crawling along her body and sizzling the words from her mouth. Her lungs drew in grateful gasps of air, even as they seared her tongue.

Flames surrounded her. Not literally—or, not exactly. She simply saw flames everywhere she looked. They didn’t seem to burn anything; they simply appeared—in clumps, walls, and towers, as far as she could see. The sky, or whatever it was, curved in a black bowl above her, and the ground beneath her feet shone with the same opaque blackness.

The sound was shockingly loud. How could fire, not even a solid substance, hiss and crackle so noisily? And if nothing fed the flames, why did they sizzle?

The woman took a few steps, wondering if the flames would follow or surround her. They merely continued burning, emanating gross amounts of heat, singeing the hairs on her arms. Her mouth had dried and her lungs begged for cooler air. She walked steadily, hoping to find an end to this nightmarish landscape.

Where—? She stopped, because she wasn’t so sure she really wanted to know.

Waves of air, as hot and sulfuric as the breath of Cerberus, blew her long brown hair into her eyes. As she walked, or, more realistically, proceeded forward in tiny steps, she wondered briefly about taking off her clothes to avoid catching on fire. Looking down, she saw bare, white breasts and the soft rolls of her belly. Oh, good.

She didn’t worry about her hair attracting the flames. That just wouldn’t happen.

The woman waited for the landscape to resolve itself, to begin forming into discernible objects. It never happened. She wondered about the ground beneath her feet, which should have burned her but felt pleasantly warm against her soles. Around her, never more than three or four feet from her body, bodies of flame snapped and lurched.

She tried to distract herself from the thought, but it kept wriggling back into her brain:
Where were the demons? When would they be back?

Don’t think it! Thinking calls to It!

Sure enough, to her right, she heard a sudden hoarse, groaning noise, different than the papery sounds of flame. They’d come.

Her head swiveled and her eyes darted in their sockets, trying to soak in every visual detail possible. Her legs trembled with the need to run, to move, to carry her far away, but what would she be running to? It’s not as if they couldn’t find her. She looked for something to defend herself; other than the blackness and the orange sparkle of flames, she had nothing.

She noticed she had taken two steps back. Not only was she uncomfortably close to a campfire-sized blaze, but she didn’t want to retreat. Legs wobbling only a little, she reclaimed those two steps.

And waited.

After a few moments, she’d finally grown tired and strained enough to end the standoff. “Who are you?” she yelled.

Silence.

“Come and get me!” she called. Oh my god, was she insane? “I’m right here!” Crazy, without a doubt.

Suddenly, no more than twenty feet from her, staring at her over the winding ribbons of fire, she spied a face. A
human
face. Broad, light brown, and handsome. The flames obscured much of his body below his naked chest, but he looked tall and wide, like some kind of athlete—maybe a football player. The man stared back at her for a long, silent moment.

“Who are you?” she demanded again, as loudly and fiercely as a naked woman amid flames can be.

The man moved his mouth, but no sounds emerged. He continued staring at her, eyes dark and intense.

She bared her teeth at him and growled—
actually growled
. “I won’t let you hurt me,” she hissed at him.

With a snap, the man’s head swiveled on his shoulders until he looked behind himself. The darkness, the pure, smooth blackness of sky and ground, had begun closing in on them. One by one, the flames extinguished as the darkness claimed them.

The woman watched the black wall move with blank, silent speed toward the two humans. Her companion looked as startled as she felt, but she couldn’t believe him. She turned to run and even moved a few feet before deciding once again not to let herself fall victim to the terrors of this place, wherever it was.

She halted, turned back to the man, whose eyes had widened. The shadow, as tall and impersonal as the heavens, swept toward them. She bowed to him.

Gobbling up fires and leaving only darkness and absence in its wake, the blackness continued toward them. It drew closer and closer to the man. His mouth worked furiously, silently spitting out words, as the dark wall swallowed him whole.

Reed jerked awake
. Man, crazy dream
. As he lurched over onto his left side, thumping his pillow into a feathered brick, he heard himself mutter, “Gotta find her.”

Opening the bedroom door the following morning, Reed found himself staring into large, soulful brown eyes.

“Morning, girl,” he said quietly, petting the dog’s sleek head. Mina sighed and rubbed her head enthusiastically against his hand.

After a minute, he treaded down the hallway toward the gigantic living room. It was only six in the morning and still dark outside; he doubted anyone but him, and Mina the dog, had left the warm comfort of bed.

When he’d awakened twenty minutes earlier, he’d discovered some saint had placed his freshly laundered and folded clothes in front of the doorway. Right now, clad in clean jeans and a blue T-shirt, padding in his bare feet on the expensive flooring, he felt cleaner than he had in days.

With the help of various nightlights, he soon found the kitchen. The light was already on.

Maricruz paused, a spoonful of granola cereal halfway to her mouth. “Morning, Reed,” she said, smiling. She had propped herself against the bar in the middle of the enormous room.

“Maricruz,” he said, nodding. “Any more of that cereal?”

She gestured toward a box on the far counter. “If you like the pure sugar stuff, Berto has way more than he needs in that cupboard.” She jerked her chin leftward.

“This is fine.” He grabbed a bowl and spoon from a dish rack and helped himself.

After a minute or two, Maricruz spoke again. “I don’t need a lot of sleep, either. A lot of us find that to be true.”

Reed hesitated, and then nodded.

A lovely smile cupped her heart-shaped face. “Not a chatty guy, are you?” she teased.

Feeling a bit like a teenaged boy, he shrugged. He hadn’t had opportunity to make small talk in a very long time.

“Have you made any decisions about staying here?” she asked casually, scraping the last few oats onto her spoon.

Staring at a row of honey-blond cupboards, he said, “Not really. I thought I’d hang out today, see how it goes.”

“Good plan.” She strolled to the sink, shapely hips swaying. Maricruz wore only a tank top and bottoms that looked suspiciously like boxers, but she still exuded genteel femininity. As she sashayed by him on her way out, he inhaled. Damn, she even smelled good.

She angled her head upward and smiled slightly as she passed. Yeah, she knew the effect she had on the average straight male.

“Meet Quina in the gym at eight,” she called as she strode away.

Quina stood on his right, pointing downward. On his left, Alberto struggled to snuff out a conspiratorial grin. Unless he was one of the conspirers, Reed didn’t like anyone feeling conspiratorial around him.

The trio stood on a narrow, second-floor balcony encircling a sizable gym. Below them on the right, exercise equipment sprouted from the floor. The rest of the shiny wooden floor space lay bare, with the exception of the space directly below them, on which lay a crumple of . . .

“Workout mats,” he told Quina.

Her mouth pursed. “I didn’t expect a metaphysical response, Reed, but I would have appreciated something a little more imaginative. I’m more interested in what you see and feel when you look down from heights in general.”

Eight in the morning, and she looked just as fresh and fierce as she had yesterday. Her hair was carefully arranged into peaks and spikes that, he imagined, would work almost as well as brass knuckles in a fight. Her expensive workout outfit, in a surprisingly vivid green, clung to her thin frame. Her lips, on which she’d carefully applied light pink lipstick, perched like a rosebud atop the narrow green stem of her body.

Like Reed, Alberto wore jeans and a T-shirt.

Reed shrugged. “I don’t have acrophobia, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Quina’s left eyebrow quirked. Probably surprised he knew any word greater than two syllables. “Not what I was after, but good to know,” she said dryly. “We’re endowed with several physical gifts, among them superior speed, strength, reflexes, and healing. I’m not telling you anything about yourself you don’t already know. However, we spend a lot of time training to maximize our physical potential. It’s important for us to hone our natural talents.”

“Why?” Reed asked. “It’s not like we’re citizen soldiers.”

“You’re wrong,” Quina said, lips pursed in a razor-edged smile. “That’s exactly what we are, and defending ourselves and humanity is what we do.”

Reed stared at the glossy gym floor below while Quina’s voice wove around him.

“We fight battles all the time. You think we’re the only ones with these abilities? There are other groups, and not all are as benign . . .”

“Yeah, man,” Berto interrupted from slightly behind him. “You remember those fu— uh, those people who were trying to kick my ass, right? You think it was a case of mistaken identity? They hate us, man. All I did was try to walk to my bike, and they jammed to me like White people to a Starbuck’s. Um, no offense.” This last part he muttered, probably in the light of Quina’s glare.

“Who are they?” Reed asked, turning around and staring at Quina.

“The Clan,” she replied evenly. “They’re strong like us, fast like us. They heal quickly also. Like us, they tend to live together in groups.”

“And they hate you?”

“They hate
us
,” she said, leaning ever-so-slightly forward, partially into his space. Reed raised his eyebrows but didn’t otherwise move. “For some reason, their women can sniff us out, and they use that to hunt us down.”

“You’re engaged in some kind of superhuman war?” he asked slowly, mockingly. He glanced at Berto, expecting a smile or snicker, but the young man was surprisingly serious.

“Yeah,” he affirmed, nodding. “Because the Clan won’t leave us alone. They’re determined to wipe us all out. If they backed off, we’d stop fighting. We’re only defending ourselves.”

Reed glanced from face to face. “Is this some kind of hazing thing? A practical joke for the new guy?”

“
Vato
, did it seem like a joke when they were trying to beat me into pudding?” Berto demanded.

After a moment, Reed turned back to Quina. “Why?”

“Why do they hate us, or why do we fight?” she asked quietly.

“All of it.”

“Because they’re assholes,” Berto volunteered.

“Alberto,” Quina said sharply, and he slumped against the wall once again. “From what they tell us, they see it as some kind of holy war. Apparently, we’re some kind of evil menace that harasses the rest of humanity: the evil Broschi who feed off humans, sucking out their life like juice from an orange. Seeing themselves as the protectors of humankind, they’ve made it their mission to eliminate us and protect those poor, weak humans we so ruthlessly victimize.” 

Reed rolled his shoulders and walked a few steps toward the stairs. After a moment, he returned. “But you do feed off other humans,” he said.

Slowly, Quina nodded. “We do,” she said. “But we don’t take anything from them. They give to us and we take, knowing it doesn’t hurt them. Where’s the harm?”

“But if you feed off them without giving back, it’s not a symbiotic relationship. It’s paras—”

“Don’t you dare,” Quina hissed, her sharp features sliding forward into a pointed scowl. “Don’t you start spouting Clan propaganda. We’re not leeches, sucking the life out of hapless, helpless humankind. All of humanity feeds off the life force of others. Why else do we eat the flesh of animals, the fruits and herbs that sprout from the earth? Is it so crazy to think some people have evolved to feed on living beings’ emotional energy? We don’t even take life to do it; no one suffers.”

Reed was silent.

“Are you an evil person, Reed Jayvyn?” Quina asked. “Do you deserve to die simply because of some roll of the genetic dice?”

After another moment of silence, Berto spoke. “The Clan hates you. They don’t even know you, but to them you’re
mierda
. Remember how Gabriel and his woman acted when they figured out you’re Broschi?”

“He’s one of them,” the woman had spat, hatred wringing her features.

Reed shook his head. “I don’t want anything to do with your turf war,” he said. “I got enough problems without a bunch of people I don’t even know hating on me.”

Quina laughed. Even her laugh was sharp. “I’m surprised you’re still alive. You’re, what, early thirties? That the Clan has left you alive this long speaks more to luck than any skill on your part or kindness on theirs. Whether you walk out the door or remain here with us, they will target you. You’re strong and fast, but so are they, and they’re trained.”

“You’re old,” Berto said. At Reed’s look, he amended, with a smile, “Old for a Broschi newbie. Most of us are born into the Family, but when a stray pops up, they tend to be pretty young. We try and locate them when they’re kids so the Clan won’t get them.”

“I don’t know these Clan people,” Reed said slowly.