The Dream Crafter
Entwined Realms Book 2
Danielle Monsch
Romantic Geek Publishing
THE DREAM CRAFTER (ENTWINED REALMS, BOOK 2)
Romantic Geek Publishing
Copyright © 2015 Danielle Monsch
Print Book ISBN 978-1-938593-12-3
Ebook ISBN 978-1-938593-19-2
Kindle Edition
Publication Date: October 2015
Content Editor: Grace Bradley
Line Editor: Sara Lunsford
Copy Editor: Eilis Flynn
Cover Design: Nathalia Suellen
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.
To Saranna DeWylde, my own personal Guardian Amazon Goddess. I’ve said this in private, but I want everyone to know the truth – your words to me were a real turning point in my heart, and I’m not 100% certain this series would exist without you. Thank you so much for your kindness, your generosity, and your willingness to help those struggling.
And, as always, Mr. Jim Garner.
Fairy Tales & Ever Afters Reading Order
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Entwined Realms
Modern-Day Fantasy, where Sword & Sorcery and Romance Meet
There Are No Dragons…Are There?
Stone Guardian
–
From the Shadows He Watches Over Her
Stone Embrace
–
In the New Realms, Love Can be the Most Dangerous Battle of All…
The Cage King
–
He Will Claim Victory
The Rooftop
–
Only the Stars as Witness
The Dream Crafter –
Reality is Optional
Fairy Tales & Ever Afters
Slightly Twisted and Very Sassy takes on Fairy Tales
Loving a Fairy Godmother
–
Don’t Fairy Godmothers deserve a little lovin’ too?
Loving an Ugly Beast
–
Can’t an Ugly Beast get a little lovin’ here?
Loving a Prince Charming
–
When you are Prince Charming, everyone wants a little lovin’ from you.
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D
reams began in
black and white. Color crept in slow strokes, a saturation that went from sepia to the muted hues of a Rembrandt, only to brighten in one flash to the full and glorious spectrum.
Now was black and white. Now was a thick, dark liquid, a multitude of droplets in languid descent down white walls, branching into lurid and twisted design.
Now was sepia, the hilt of the knife lighter than the dark wood of the dresser it rested on. Now was her brother’s broad chest as he held her to him, the skin the same color here as it would be in the real world, a tanned hue that was warmth to the touch.
Now color burst forth. Now planes sharpened and images became crisp, and now she looked at the scenery surrounding her.
As was the way with dreams, disparate elements of her life came together in weird juxtaposition. Sitting atop the low stone wall that guarded the front of her city apartment building, Amana glanced down to see herself clothed in a beautiful blue Hawaiian dress embroidered with white flowers, exactly what she would wear while walking the beach back on the island. Below the hemline her feet were bare, ready to dig toes into sand that was not there. Hair tickled her shoulders and back, and the faint pressure on her forehead told of a circlet of flowers upon her brow.
A man stood before her, his back to her. Nice wide shoulders, and the sleeveless hoodie he wore showed tan, toned arms with evident muscles, covered with thick lines of black tribal tattoos.
He was close enough she wouldn’t have to extend her arm fully to touch him, and in sudden want, Amana’s fingers itched to do just that, stroke along the bold lines across his arms that promised an untold story waited under the skin.
They were in a dream. Here was indulgence without consequence. Here the only limits were the ones she imposed upon herself – and she didn’t want to impose any.
Her palm molded around his bicep, her thumb grazed where the design was thickest, on the long sweep from where shoulder rounded into the upper arm. With no fabric, nothing blunted the firm flex of muscle beneath her fingertips, the heat of him scorching through layers of dermis and epidermis, fire going straight to bone.
Within moments of contact the man turned, body tightening in readiness for battle. Amana loosened her grip but stayed in contact with his skin, exploring the geography of his body with his movement.
Hazel eyes, which held a gamut of color from the rich brown of good earth to a luscious honey locked with hers, and the hard mask of war softened into wary confusion, confusion that underwent a slow morphing into masculine appreciation. He studied her with blatant, lingering looks over her body, her face. “Do I know you?”
Amana’s eyes went half lidded at the sensual shock. Rough in the right places, his voice scraped over nerve endings now exposed, brought to the surface in every sweep of his gaze over her.
He was cowboy-meets-rockstar, total masculinity in prettier-than-normal packaging. Near black hair with deep red streaks fell in long layers around his face. A hawkish nose sat above lips fuller than her own, and the planes of his face were strong without edging into brutal.
“Are you going to let go?” His rough voice turned dry and amused, the one corner of that mouth turned up, showing a dimple that her first inspection had missed, and the look in his eyes said she could keep holding on, as long as he got a chance to do the same.
His eyes held more though. Complete appreciation, yes, but after the first sweep, his gaze caught and held hers. His eyes showed the genuine pleasure of a man enjoying a pretty woman, not the calculated look of a buyer deciding on the choicest cut of meat. That change from her everyday reality brought flitting butterflies in a swarming path from throat to stomach, the heady giddiness infusing her mood and putting a smile on her face which she couldn’t hold back.
Best thing about dreams – no apologies were ever necessary, not that this man seemed to want any.
Amana rose from the wall, angling her body so that she almost skimmed against him as her feet hit pavement. At her full height her mouth was only inches from his. “Do you want me to?” By the audible intake of breath, she would venture to guess that he didn’t.
“If we were going by what I want, you wouldn’t have stopped at just my arm.” The playfulness remained in his voice, a good-natured note that mixed nicely with the banked heat of his gaze.
“Well then, I say we go for a walk.”
The landscape rippled, turning from city concrete to island lushness, the salt-tang of the ocean in the air, along with a crisp wind that battled the sun to see which would win the temperature war.
Amana curled her arm around his, hugging against him as she led the willing man down a stretch of beach. She reveled in the familiarity, this sandy heaven she hadn’t seen in reality for almost a decade, and even in dreams was a place she happened on only in rarest circumstance.
“Care to tell me your name? Most pretty women who kidnap me give me that courtesy.” His voice was easy, no bite to back the words. He was relaxed next to her, the state one she doubted he visited often in reality. A warrior tenseness existed in him, a wary edge she’d seen too often to attribute to any but those who fought to survive.
How and who he fought she didn’t know, but here it didn’t matter. Here she was safe, and could enjoy a stroll on a sandy beach with a beautiful man. “Do pretty women kidnap you often?”
“Not as often as I would like.” Without disturbing her arms wrapped around his bicep, he moved his hands into his pockets and continued at the same leisurely pace. “I’d be happy if it stayed to just you, assuming I can convince you to do it again.”
“Perhaps. It depends on how entertaining you are.” The sand was the perfect temperature, that edge of hot that kept feet toasty without tipping into burning. They were close enough to the waves that the wind picked up the sprays of water and tiny droplets misted over skin.
He tilted his head to look down at her, a half-smile reminding her of that dimple’s existence. “I’m very entertaining. Life of the party they call me. Ask any of my friends.”
“I’ll demand three references at the end of our walk.”
“Three? I don’t know. Your expectations might be too high for me.”
Amana covered her mouth to keep back the small, startled laugh. Gods, it had been too long since she’d done something this normal, this mundane. The last time she gave a real laugh… Was there a last time? Not even in dreams was she this relaxed.
Dreams might not be real to most people, but this was her home, her comfort zone. And even here, it had been too long since she’d had this airy calm residing in her chest. She kicked at the sand, eyeing the tiny clumps as they fell before her.
