The Dream Crafter (16 page)

“Was that why we were in the club?”

“Yeah. Speaking of, it’s not a good idea to wander off with anyone, whether they tell you they’re from the Guild or not.” Her face went red faster than she could duck her head and twist away, and he didn’t need words now for confirmation of what happened that night. Well, that wasn’t the point of bringing it up. “I’ve been thinking you need a way to defend yourself. That jackass was only the first.”

With a tentative turn of her head Amana met his eyes again. After a few expectant moments, her eyes flickering around as if she was looking for what else was coming, she said, “Okay?”

He pushed down the smile at her hesitant attitude, amusement at having her so off balance in front of him streaking through his system. Well, it was only fair, considering how often she put him in that state. He could let her stew in it a few more moments. “Come on,” he said, heading for the door, walking slow enough he could keep an ear out and waiting until she was up and behind him before he sped up. They went behind the house to a large field, with the sun overhead – bright but not blinding – and the late fall weather crisp but comfortable.

“Have you had any type of weapons training?” She wouldn’t admit it even if she had, but from what he saw, he doubted it. From what he witnessed he’d say she was into dancing or yoga, along those lines. She was healthy and physically fit, but there was nothing aggressive about her, nothing that suggested any type of fighting background.

“No.”

“There’s nothing I can do that will replace true training in the short time we have. From what I’ve seen, you’re fast and you’re small. Those are your strengths, and we’re going to practice a few things to take advantage of those. Here.” He presented the small switchblade, pressing the button to release the six-inch blade. “This is meant to stop people long enough so you can get free and run the hell away, not for killing people. I’m going to teach you the best places to strike, and we’ll practice until you get it down.” He pressed the hilt into her hand, her fingers reflexively curling around the metal.

Long moments of silence followed where she did nothing but stare, until she lifted her head. “I don’t understand. Why would you give this to me?”

“I’m not your enemy,” and damn, he didn’t want his voice sounding that low, that rough. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want you hurt. You’re vulnerable, and you need some type of protection.”

“What if I try to use it against you?” Her tone was flippant, but her eyes had a haunted cast, a regretful space that spoke to their strange dynamic, where it hurt that possibility even existed.

“You could practice twelve-hours a day for the next ten years, and you wouldn’t be able to get me. I can’t be touched by you, not this way.”

The flash of fire – of challenge – in her eyes had him wishing to wind his arms around her, to bring her in tight and nuzzle the delicate line of her neck, wanting to know if her skin was as soft in reality as it was in dreams.

He shut that line of thought down, blanking his mind of everything but the training. The lithe lines of her body moving under him represented how well she kept her form. The sheen of sweat on her skin spoke only to how she exerted herself during the training. Her heavy breathing that hit his ear only told of her seriousness in learning.

Nothing else, dammit.
Nothing else.
And if his body was more rigid than it should be while demonstrating each move, it’s not as if she’d know the difference.

They worked for hours, and at the end she collapsed to the ground. “If we do any more I’ll be a noodle tomorrow.”

That he didn’t want. They were safe now, but that could change at a moment, and her hobbled would not help them in any getaway attempt. “You did well. It would be a good idea to stretch out, maybe soak to minimize soreness.”

Amana rose with stilted movements, her body showing the strain his training had inflicted on it. Nothing serious, but she had been affected.

Before his brain could stop him, his mouth opened and he said, “I could also give you a rubdown.”

Her head shot up and her dark eyes locked with his, wary confusion and an undeniable heat blossoming in their depths. Damn. Double damn. Yet again, his mouth got him in trouble, and the problem was being here, with her, looking at her so small and fierce, he forgot why everything he’d felt from the beginning was such a bad idea.

The ringing of his cell broke through their connection, jolting him away from those eyes. He grabbed for it like a drowning man grabbing for a life preserver. “Yeah.”

Nemesis’s voice floated through the speaker. “Got news you don’t want to hear, but figured I should tell you anyway. The Guild is going after Hadrien too.”

And
fuck all
, there went his last hope. They knew.
Fuck.
“You still willing to do me that favor?”

“Course, darlin’. But don’t ever say you don’t owe me, just a little.”

“It looks like I’ll be owing lots of people, but if I get through this, I’ll make good on it.”

“Never thought otherwise.” And the call disconnected.

His feelings must be showing on his face, because any trace of wary desire had left Amana’s eyes, and now pure wariness was all that was left. “What’s going on?”

Their cat-and-mouse, his tiredness battling both his desire for her and his body’s need for sleep were all were wearing on him. It was hard to sift through everything that was riding him, to make the decision on what he could tell and what was best kept from her. This part, though, seemed safe enough. “The Guild is after Hadrien.”

“Why would the Guild be after Hadrien? You’re the one with the book.”

And her knowing about that part wasn’t safe, not at all. “Because the Guild is all about the nuclear option. If there is any chance it will work, they’ll do it and worry about the consequences later. Now come on,” he said, reaching out to place his hand at the small of her back but not touching her, only using his body to guide her. “It’s time to get inside.

‡

A
mana opened her
eyes to the sun low in the sky, cracking through a light layer of clouds and filtered through the dirty windows.

She stretched, her body only giving a small grumble over the movement. She’d taken Merc’s advice on both the stretching and the soak, where she added Epsom salts she found under the sink.

Only the proffered massage never materialized. The phone call stopped short whatever possibility had been building up after their talk in the car, where his honesty broke her heart and lifted it all at once. Stopped it, but didn’t break it, because his manner was still changed, still filled with tentative steps towards something more.

She wanted and feared this change in equal parts. The more she saw of the Merc from her dreams in reality, the harder it was to keep Nakoa at the front of her mind.

So she stepped back as well, and went to sleep after her bath and some food. Overall, her body seemed happy to have gotten some movement yesterday and wasn’t giving her too much grief.

Tiredness still lurked, but it wasn’t the leaden exhaustion that promised she’d be falling asleep every five minutes, and it was more rested than she felt since this began. Merc let her sleep more than usual.

Speaking of…

Climbing out of the king-sized bed, she leaned over the railing to look down into the sitting area. Merc had a cup of coffee at his side and was working on something on his tablet. He said he was going to lay down while she did, but…“Did you sleep at all?”

His head shot up, those hazel eyes finding her fast. Judging by the dark circles she’d guess no, he hadn’t slept, but the fact those dark circles didn’t detract from his attractiveness was what kept buzzing in her head, an annoying little bee that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she swatted at it.

“Some,” he said, and didn’t elaborate.

If he wasn’t lying, she’d shave her head, and since all she did with her hair was pull it up in a top-knot, well, there was that. “You know, if you don’t sleep a kindergartener will be able to sneak up on you.”

“I’ve seen some kindergarteners in training. You’d be a fool to underestimate them.”

There was no humor – dry or otherwise – in his tone. “How old were you when you started…doing what you do?”

Without looking up from the tablet he was once again engrossed with, Merc said, “Shouldn’t this line of questioning be done over liquor? You should also back away from the railing. I’m afraid you’re going to fall over.”

Heat scorched across her face and past her ears. She backed away from the railing and hurried into the bathroom, doing the usual morning routine.

As she came downstairs, the embarrassment settled, and he hadn’t told her he
wasn’t
going to answer her questions. She curled up on the overstuffed chair, situated diagonal from where he was sitting. “So, how long?”

A moment’s pause, then his fingers worked over the screen, moving some line of code this way or that. “My whole life.”

“Like when you were in kindergarten-?”

“My whole life.”

His voice was flat, a smooth wall without a fingerhold she could gain purchase against. She was falling, unable to ascertain which path was the right one, which direction would give her insight into this fascinating man, and which would leave him to eviscerate her emotionally, break the fragile peace they were living under and declare her once more his enemy.

But even as some part of her tried to pull her away, begged her to stop before she committed forever, she leaned forward in the seat to ask her next question. “Did your parents train you? Were they mercenaries as well?”

His finger paused on the tablet, but while she saw hesitance, there was nothing to indicate she crossed a line in asking the question. This was more in the area of straightforward debate which she’d been seeing from him lately, the internal back-and-forth over how much he was going to share with her.

After long moments, he looked up from underneath those long lashes, his bangs giving him a shadowy, slippery feel even in the morning light. “What are you willing to offer for answers?”

That pulled her up, and it was after she jerked back that she saw how far forward she had been leaning, waiting for his answer. “What?”

“I’m a mercenary. You can’t expect me to give away something for nothing. What’s the quid pro quo to be?”

“I don’t-”

“You have no money,” he interrupted, and now he was leaning forward, those eyes
intense
, that honey color heating to an unnerving degree. “So that leaves your body, or a standard back-and-forth, a question for a question and an answer for an answer. Are you offering either of those?”

Unfamiliar territory with him in an unfamiliar mood. He wasn’t mad, or belligerent, but there was some type of edge riding him. She didn’t know the source and she couldn’t tell which would be wisest, pulling back or leaning in.

“What are the rules?”

“I’m a mercenary,” he repeated. “Why would I have rules?”

“Well I’m not, and I do. You can pass on a question, and the game stops as soon as someone calls it.”

“You can pass on
one
question, and the game can only be called when it’s equal on both sides.”

“Three questions.”

He sat back, the tablet now perched on a cushion in haphazard fashion, and Merc looked way too smug with how it turned out. Maybe the whole not sleeping thing wasn’t affecting him quite as much as she thought.

“Agreed”

*

Merc got the
fire going. Amana was quiet, but her gaze was as visceral as a physical caress, affecting him almost as much as having those long fingers stroking him would.

She talked about him being suspect concerning his abilities, and perhaps he was. It wasn’t the lack of sleep, though, it was lack of sleep plus her – and she was by far the bigger influence in that equation.

Well, her, and that damn Spellbook. Both of them had him worried, though in far different ways, and she was the more understandable of the two.

Right now the book was beckoning him, making itself known once again from the safe behind the wall he stashed it in. A quick glance at Amana showed that if she felt anything, she was damn good at hiding it, but there was no doubt in his mind that she didn’t feel anything. Whatever was going on with that book was on him and only him.