The Dream Crafter(13)
“Only in that way. In every other way I like that you’re a girl.”
“I never would have guessed.” Wait, did she just flutter her eyelashes at him? If she kept this ridiculousness up, she was going to dream up a copy of herself, just to come over and smack some sense into her.
He brushed his fingers over her cheek, intent in a way she’d never known. Men in her acquaintance were intent with money, with bloodshed, with cars or electronics or any of the thousands of other things that showed how wealthy and powerful they were. Never did they take any care of the women surrounding them. Sure, there was money thrown around, spa days to make sure the women were lacquered and primped, jewelry placed to showcase not the woman but the extreme amount of wealth such large rocks must have cost.
To the men she knew, women weren’t women. They were either mannequins or fuck toys, and outside of those uses, there was no reason for them to exist.
This man – a stranger she knew in dreams and didn’t yet know his name – trailed his fingers down her arm and curled them around her hand. He brought her hand up, and on her palm he gave a kiss that was warm lips and warm breath and so gentle her heart stuttered in her chest.
“I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to go back.” The words escaped, words that came from deep inside, buried under obligation to Nakoa and words she would never allow herself to utter with forethought.
A shadow passed over his eyes, and he molded her fingers to his face, burying his cheek into the skin of her palm. “Would you stay with me here?”
“Can I?” But even as the words escaped, it was all hopeless, all vain imagining. Her life belonged to her brother. Maybe now it also belonged to the Guild, because though she could fool herself as much as the next person, she couldn’t see them letting her escape from their grasp. But no matter how she wished it, her life did not and could not belong with a man who had honey-colored eyes and striking tattoos, and it was time to put this dream away.
Amana woke up, trails of tears flowing over her cheeks to be absorbed by the bed linen below.
Chapter Six
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Damn that magic. It meant she couldn’t lie to herself and let herself accidentally-on-purpose forget the phone number given to her by Fallon. Hard truth, raw and ugly, beat itself through her brain.
If she didn’t make this call, the chance she turned away would haunt her forever. Even if one day she got her brother free without this, she’d be living with the knowledge that he was in prison weeks? Months? Years? Longer than he had to, because of her, because of her choice. That was assuming he survived being in a cage. Based on how he’d been doing the last time they had seen each other, believing he could keep hanging on was little more than wishful thinking.
Her brother’s time there was coming to an end, whatever form freedom took.
There was no choice. She could scream and cry and rail against gods and man, but when had that changed one second of her life?
With trembling fingers, Amana grabbed the phone and punched out the number.
“We’ve been waiting for your call,” came posh British tones, deep and resonant, something expected to be heard on the Shakespearean stage. “All the data you need to complete your assignment will be included in your packet.” The doorbell rang, causing her to jump. “There is your information. I suggest you go retrieve it.”
“One thing,” Amana interjected, not letting the man on the other end hang-up as he had seemed in a rush to do. “I want to do a straight swap. My brother needs to be out of jail and at the meeting.”
“That was not part of the agreement.” The man’s voice was hesitant, perhaps a touch wary. So he wasn’t someone in charge. He only followed orders.
“It’s the agreement if you want me to do this. If you don’t, no problem. I heard talk of a Plan B while I was sitting at the table. Good luck with getting that off the ground.”
“Hold please.” The long moments while she waited for the man to get back on the phone had Amana’s stomach take an acid bath, and only pure stubbornness kept her upright and waiting for the answer. The man came back. “Agreed. Now please, go get the packet.”
The call disconnected, and only now did feeling return to her hands. She’d done it, and triumph lit through her, momentarily drowning out the sorrow. The decision made, the path before her set, she walked to the door.
A large legal envelope had been placed against her door, so that when she opened the door it fell into her entranceway. It was thin enough to suggest only a few pages were inside. She grabbed it and closed the door, sliding every lock in place.