Hunted Dreams (9 page)

Chapter 5

Katana yawned and stretched. Her fingers and toes splayed, her back arched, and her gummy eyes cracked open. She was in bed, in a fair-sized bedroom. Flickering light from a bedside lamp stained the walls light orange. The ceiling arched, seemingly solid and real, above her.

She pushed aside a heavy blue comforter and sat up in her bed. In the dim light, she could identify a chest of drawers, a small table and chair, and a shuttered closet sitting opposite the bed. Black, or maybe navy blue, carpet covered the floors. The walls were bare.

I’m awake
, she thought with some wonder.

“Good morning,” she said to the room. Her voice sounded hoarse, exactly as it should after sleeping. She wore a sleeveless, stretchy cotton nightgown.

It wasn’t, however, morning. To her right, cheap, dark blue blinds covered a fully darkened window.

She grinned and tossed her legs over the side of the bed. Her toes squished into the thick carpeting.
My name is Katana
, she marveled.

Katana what? Her grin faltered.

Katana
what
? And whose bedroom was this? How old was she? What did the rest of the house look like? How did she get here? Where
was
“here”?

Eyes half-closed, smile absent, breath heavy in her chest, Katana looked beside her on the bed. Her sheathed sword sat half obscured by covers, tucked in for a quiet nap behind her.

I’m not awake
.

“No!” she half-growled, half-sobbed, slamming her fist into the mattress. Her heart throbbed in her throat. The orange-tinted walls, glowing like amber a moment ago, seemed to lean in toward her, crowding her, displacing the air her lungs sought. She slumped forward, dropping her head between her knees.

That’s not even real
, she thought.
My eyes are not really staring at blue carpet. My head is probably lying on some pillow somewhere
.

Stop it
. She had enough to worry about with working herself into a tizzy. She took a deep breath—whether virtual or real—and sat up straight. What had Reed said?
This whole setup belongs to you.
If, as he said, this was her world, surely she had some say in how everything played out?

From the closet came a quiet sound of rustling clothing.

Katana jumped up, snatching her sword on the way and throwing its sheath to the carpet. Her body vibrated, torn between backing up and advancing toward the closet.

“Be brave, be brave,” she whispered, and tiptoed to the closet.

Another sound, this one slightly metallic, issued from between the slots in the closet door.

This belongs to me. I’m in charge.

She reached out a hand and yanked the folding closet door to the right.

An orange-burnished body popped out before her. Karana squeaked in surprise, hardly the sound of a tough-as-nails mistress of the world, and defiantly raised her sword.

“Katana!”

Her startled eyes conferred briefly with her ears to issue a brief message: Reed. She stepped backward a few feet but kept her sword raised.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, but her voice held more relief than suspicion.

Reed raised his eyebrows. “Dreaming, apparently.”

“Any reason you’re in my closet?”

He turned and glanced at it. “I was about to ask you why you stuck me in there.” He relaxed his tense posture.

Even stained light orange and smeared with sooty shadows, Reed, clad only in a pair of plaid boxers, was a sight. Tall, solidly built, sensuous facial features: her subconscious had worked overtime in choosing a reassuring, not to mention visually enjoyable, spokesperson.

Reed, seeing something on her face, tilted his head in question.

Katana smiled very slightly. “I believe you,” she said. “I believe this is some kind of dreamworld.”

He nodded once, slowly. “What convinced you?”

“You, in part. That, and I noticed I haven’t peed.”

After a moment, Reed smiled and nodded. “Also, the kind of unlikely situations?”

“Mostly the peeing,” she said, smiling. “And the weird memory loss, the fuzzy, well, everything.

“But what does that make you? You’re a representative of my subconscious—the masculine half of me right? I was never a big fan of Jungian psychology, but my subconscious really seems committed to the animus symbolism. So if you’re an aspect of me and I feel safe, I should trust that feeling. If I think you’re a beautiful man, then I must be trying to send myself that message, right?” She stepped closer to him and put a hand to his face.

Reed’s brows drew together, but he didn’t stop her.

Katana ran her thumb along his jawline, square and raspy. Just like a hero’s. “How is it I can feel your face?” she mused. “Your beard stubble, your lips—those are world class, by the way.” She pressed two fingers against his temple. “I can even feel your pulse. How can that be? Is my imagination that detailed?”

“I’m real,” Reed said quietly.

Katana’s hand flattened against his cheek. “As real as I need you to be, right?” With that, she dropped her sword, wrapped her hands around his neck, and drew his head down to hers.

Pressing her lips against his, she could smell the spiciness of his breath, feel the scrape of his stubble against her chin, taste the slight tang of minty toothpaste. Most of all, she felt the whirl and swoop of her own stomach as their breaths meshed.

Her fingers feathered over the skin of his neck as she moved her mouth against his, slanting her head to better taste him. Until now, she hadn’t realized how little sensory input she’d had, how watered down everything looked, felt, smelled. Reed’s hands slid around her waist, burning her skin through her thin nightgown. His chest and stomach pressed warmly against her.

“Mmmm,” she sighed in pleasure against his lips, and slid her hands into his hair. The soft, short strands curled around her fingers. Reed’s hands explored her back, lightly massaging, easing tight muscles and smoothing over hills and valleys of soft flesh. She flowed against him.

Reed moved his mouth to the corner of hers, nipping lightly before kissing down to her rounded jawline. With a sigh, she let her head drop to the side. Her breath dripped out of her mouth, warm and syrupy. Bees buzzed throughout her abdomen. He breathed lightly in her ear, and she shuddered against him.

Katana dropped her hands to his shoulders. Reed kissed her neck, and she swore she felt the lightest touch of his tongue. She pressed against him and groaned a sigh.

Reed hitched her nightgown to her waist. He hesitated, and then breathed into her ear, “May I?”

Katana drew back very slightly, smiling. “Polite, too. You’re adorable.”

He smiled back at her and drew her nightgown over her head. “No one’s ever called me adorable before.”

“No one’s ever called you anything before,” she teased, and kissed him again. Her breasts crushed against his lower chest.

Reed groaned against her lips, an unbelievably sexy sensation. His hands roamed her back, tangled briefly in her hair, and skimmed over the sides of her waist. He grabbed her hips to pull her closer, and she rubbed against him.

Katana licked the juncture of his lips, and he eagerly opened his mouth for her. Their tongues met, damp breaths mingling. They tilted their heads to gain better access. Her breath came hot and fast.

“You don’t strike me as the granny panty type,” he breathed against her mouth, then playfully nipped her lower lip.

Katana laughed and moved a hand to her hip. Sure enough, she felt sturdy cotton under her fingertips.

“I’m very sensible,” she said, and kissed the slight indentation in his chin. His beard stubble rasped against her tender lips. She grabbed him by the shoulders and drew him backward, toward the bed.

“Not the word I’d use right now,” he growled, and kissed her so fiercely she forgot all about the bed, about walking, even about that inconvenient breathing thing. Reed slipped his hands down the back of her panties. The rough warmth of his hands tingled against the curves of her buttocks.

She put her hands on his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones, his temples, his eyebrows. She cupped his cheek with her left hand, and he turned his face to kiss her palm. Her legs parted in another step backward, and one of his slipped in between. She pressed herself against his thigh. One of his hands cupped the heavy weight of her breast. It felt hot, dry, and
right
.

The tinny sound of hangers colliding drew them apart.

Katana jumped and Reed lifted his head.

“What was that?” he asked her thickly.

Looking up at his handsome, flushed face with its broad features, she felt a weary, and all-too-familiar, mixture of fear and anger. Teeth gritting, eyes burning, she took a deep breath. Her hand still on his face, she said, “It’s come for us.” She looked at the closet door, which had unfolded back into its original configuration.

Reed tilted his head. His breath hadn’t yet returned to normal. “Then stop it,” he said.

Katana stepped backward until her hand dropped from his face and she could no longer smell him. Her nostrils flared. “I’d love to do that. Tell me how, Reed.”

“This is your world.”

“But you’re here to help me,” she insisted.

He stared at her, and then walked to her and brushed a strand of hair behind her shoulder. He stroked down her shoulder until he came to her hand, which he grasped. “Okay,” he said. “Then let’s go look in the closet.”

After a long moment, Katana nodded. Releasing her hand, Reed retrieved her nightgown and handed her the sword. She nodded her thanks and even managed a slight smile while dressing.

They walked, side-by-side, to the closet door. All was quiet within. Katana stood before it for a few heartbeats before extending a hand to the fake doorknob.

“If I don’t see you for a while,” she all but whispered, not meeting his eyes, “thank you.”

Reed laid a hand on her shoulder.

Katana inhaled, held her breath for a few seconds, and then snapped open the closet door on her exhale.

Nothing. She poked a tentative hand inside the closet but encountered only sweaters and dresses. Slowly, she drew the closet door closed.

“It’s gone,” she breathed.

She heard Reed draw in a breath. “Well, it has shitty timing,” he remarked.

She turned to him in surprise and found a small smile on his face. Laughing, she grabbed his hand and drew him toward the bed. When he raised his eyebrows, she grinned. “It’s the comfiest place to talk.”

They sank down on the bed, she near the headboard, he in the middle. To her surprise, he spoke first.

“Katana,” he said, “I know this is hard to wrap yourself around, but I’m a real person. I have a life, I get up in the morning, I work, I—well, lately I interact with some wack jobs. I only see you when I sleep.”

She considered his words for a minute, all the while chewing the inside of her lip. “Of course you think that. I probably created you with a whole set of memories.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then chuckled. “Good point,” he acknowledged. “I don’t know what to say except I know I’m my own person.”

She shook her head slightly. “If I’m in some bizarre, never-ending dream, why would some anonymous guy—granted, a crazy sexy guy with really nice hair—come visit me out of the blue?”

“That’s one of the big questions,” he said. His hand moved absently to his hair, and she grinned at him.

After a moment of thought, she shook her head. “I don’t buy it. I think you’re some crazy Jungian symbolism. By finding you sexually appealing, I’m, what, trying to reincorporate aspects of myself?”

“Okay, fine,” he said slowly. “I’m you, only male, Black, and five years older.” He gave her a straight-edged look, and she smiled.

“I’m the first to admit my subconscious has great taste,” she said, and put her hand on his.

Reed turned his hand over and tightly grasped hers. “I have some ideas why I’m here. No,” he said significantly, “it’s not because I’m you in drag. My question is what the hell are
you
doing here?”

Katana shook her head slowly. Her smile faded. “I don’t know.”

He leaned forward. “Who are you, Sword Woman?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated, more slowly this time.

“Those seem like good—” Reed began, and a loud
whump
from the closet interrupted him. His glance at the closet door featured both apprehension and annoyance.

Smiling very slightly, Katana rose from the bed. She took a step toward the closet and stopped. Reed had not relinquished her hand.

“Interesting timing,” he told her quietly. She squeezed his fingers and pulled her hand free.

Katana paused in front of the closet. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, not bothering to turn around and look at him.

Reed drew in a breath, perhaps to respond. With a jerk of her hand, Katana twitched the closet door open. She almost didn’t gasp when a rough, scarred arm reached out from the blackness in front of her and snagged her around the waist.

Reed’s shout was the last sound she heard before the closet door slithered closed behind her.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Cor drawled as Reed entered the living room. She sat sideways in one of the chairs, her legs kicked over one of its arms. Her hair, freed by the shower from its spikes, feathered like blue grass atop her head and across her forehead. Three-quarters of a giant croissant sat in her hand; crumbs sprinkled the front of her bright orange tank top.

Reed nodded and sat down on the couch a few feet from Maricruz. Quina sat with regal stiffness in one of the room’s other stuffed chairs.

Apparently interpreting his quick glances around the room, Quina said quietly, “Paul is working and Berto has class this morning. Cor already chatted with them. This meeting is for you, Mari, and me.”