Another inhuman shriek, and Jordan was jerked by her ankle. Fell right out of Malcolm’s grasp and was dragged, belly down, away into the dark, her fingers making tracks in the sand.
Malcolm was suddenly there, standing over her, while Joshua the creature ripped at and tore him.
She pushed, tears blinding her.
Joshua was flung back again.
Malcolm helped her back up, but staggered as they tried to move forward. She put herself under his shoulder to take some of his weight. “Where do I go?”
Blood flowed down his chest, sticky-slick on skin, darkening his jeans. He was clumsy and weak, but he lifted his head, gaze seeking left-right, then finding and fixed: That way.
Again they drove forward together until she felt the shimmer of a boundary. Thank God.
And they stumbled into some fantasy Rêve, a surreal medieval dungeon. Revelers were decked in costume—sexy warrior girl with a huge hammer, cloaked man with hood and staff, some Orc-faced dude with a fat sword.
The players all stopped and stared at her, too stunned to help.
Malcolm said the columns of the Agora were always there. She lost no momentum as she reached forward, seeking. Malcolm dropped onto the stone floor. And sure enough, the great column appeared before her. Her palm made contact just as Joshua shrieked again behind her.
Marshal Harlen Fawkes stepped into view, though smaller than she remembered him.
He took in their ravaged, blood-soaked appearance: she, naked; Malcolm, a heap.
“What the—?” Fawkes said.
“Help!” Jordan pointed toward the boundary, a castle wall, where Joshua had followed them into the Rêve.
“It’s not a boy. It’s not a boy!” She knew she wasn’t making sense.
All the Revelers fixed their gazes upon him. Witnesses.
Then Joshua looked at them all, turned, and walked out once more into the Scrape.
Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance by Jennifer Ashley, Alyssa Day, Felicity Heaton, Erin Kellison, Laurie London, Erin Quinn, Bonnie Vanak and Caris Roane
CHAPTER 8
“Chimera is behind you, and that’s what matters.” Coll sat in Rook’s desk chair, elbows to knees, gaze up and steady. Maisie munched a thumbnail behind him by the windows. “If Malcolm Rook says there’s something in the Scrape, then there is.”
Rook understood the subtext beneath the compliment. The Rêves weren’t going to close. They weren’t even going to slow attendance. It had too powerful a hold on people’s imaginations. It was a panacea for all the ills of the waking world. No pain, just release. Unless they were dragged out into the Scrape, that is.
Jordan scoffed, which meant she got Coll’s meaning, too.
“The testimony of the Rêvelers was inconsistent,” Coll continued. “Marshal Fawkes, however, not only corroborates everything you said, Jordan, but he shares your outrage as well.”
“It’s going to take time,” Rook said to her.
“I have a bald patch on my head.”
Her hair had fallen out where not-Joshua had grabbed it. Rook didn’t think it was noticeable, but Jordan was touchy about it. Though he was beyond exhaustion, his injuries hadn’t transferred to the waking world.
“Everyone has been warned to be more vigilant.” Coll cut a quick, sharp glance to Rook. “We will report anything unusual, like personal nightmares in pursuit.”
Rook took the jab. They’d already been through the Joshua thing at length: when the nightmare had begun; when the boy had first crossed what boundaries; what made Rook choose to keep it secret. It had been a mistake.
Coll groaned as he stood. “You both still planning to go back in after Vince Blackman?”
This was yet another fight between them. He was adamant that a new Chimera should not go out into the Scrape. And Jordan refused to let a man suffer because of her actions. Rook swore that this would be his fastest tracking ever. In and out.
Coll was working with Maisie on Vince Blackman’s father.
“I have something to do first this morning,” Rook said, “But yeah, we’ll track him down once it’s done.”
“Good enough. Maisie, with me.” Coll’s tone was hard.
She made a face at him. “Yeah, I got to talk to Jordan first.”
“I’ll be in the car.” He walked to the door, then paused and looked back. “Jordan, the stuff from your apartment will be moved to storage. We’ll work out the details of your life among us later.”
“Take your time,” Jordan said. “It’s up to Malcolm whether he wants to move or not.”
Rook felt himself smiling, the bolts of tension in his shoulders releasing, even when he was keyed up and angry. How did she do that?