The Dream Crafter(17)
The beat was steady and deep, a bass rhythm that would not let her go. It was the drum of inevitability, of reality. The drumming that told her wakefulness was coming, and now was the time to act.
With desperate force Amana brought Merc’s lips to her own once again. If she could absorb him whole she would have at that moment. Instead she pressed herself against him so hard that, if his tattoos imprinted themselves on her, she would not be surprised.
Merc pulled away, his hands gentling her when she would have pushed into him again. “We have all night.” He ran his hands through her long hair, pushing it off her shoulders to stroke her bare skin again.
She clenched her teeth against the words, pushed her head into his chest. The bass pulsed louder, and it was over. It was now time to let this man go.
“You’re right.” She gentled her movements, stroked her hands over his chest again. “Lie down.”
He stiffened, though not for any sexual reason. His gaze went sharp as he took her in, zooming over her face to read her.
Damn. A little too much of what she was feeling leaked out in her words. Pulling herself together, she twisted her mouth into a tempting smile, biting her lip to draw his gaze. “Why are you making me wait?”
The hesitant look didn’t fade at once, but it did lessen, and his own smile returned as he walked backwards and reclined on the bed, every line of his body inviting her to join him.
She did, lowering herself over him, pushing them both back so they were secure on the bed, and kissing him once again, letting everything of herself into this kiss.
Amana wrapped her hands around his wrists and brought his arms overhead so his wrists lay against the headboard. She pulled away, looking down into those honey eyes, his black and red hair a tangle around his face.
Merc’s eyes shifted to the side for a moment, showcasing uncertainty, before he brought them back to her, and she closed her own, pressing her forehead against his. “Will you promise me something?” Nothing in the world could have stopped her voice from breaking.
He squirmed beneath her, unsettled but not breaking the contact between them. “What?”
One final time, she lowered her mouth to his skin, but this time she brushed her mouth over his cheek, the gesture without any sensuality behind it, only the feelings in her heart. “When you think of me in the future, think of me from that first night.”
“What?” Now he made a real effort to push up, but this time he was hampered not by her, but by the chains wrapped around his wrists which bound him to the bed.
Fury spiked across his face as he began to pull with such harsh jerks, she half-expected his shoulder to come loose from the joint. “What is this?” The pain on his face as he focused a glare at her speared through her heart and tore her in two. “What have you done?”
“It’s to save my brother. I never wanted to hurt you.” She was explaining. Why was she explaining? She needed to right her clothes and find the Spellbook and get on with her life, a life where he would never forgive her for what happened this night.
She forced down all worry over using her power, putting it behind a gate in her mind, and opened herself to locating the Spellbook. The power of the magic item was unmistakable, and in moments she took it from its place in the bedside table.
It looked like any other number of books that could be found in an old, musty library where the owners had more money than love of stories, and the books were chosen for price and title, not to be pulled out and read during long nights.
Merc said nothing more, did not pull at the chain, only kept his gaze fixed on her, rage written over every inch of his body.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want this.” The words tumbled from her mouth, not listening to the impulses of her brain that said stop, that Merc wasn’t listening to her anyway, and he’d never forgive her. “I’m sorry. It was for my brother.”
No sympathy crossed his features. The rage was being replaced by deadly calm and inviolate determination. “I’ll find you,” he warned, and his voice had her grasping the book closer for poor security. “You’re never going to get away from me.”
Amana woke up, the Spellbook crushed to her chest.
Chapter Nine
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Merc opened his eyes. He was chained, the same way he had been in the dream. His hands were bound to the headboard and his shoulders were tight with pain. He glanced to the bedside table, where there was an open drawer. Though he couldn’t see inside the drawer at this angle, there was no question in his mind if the Spellbook was there.
Magic pulsed from his skin, and in quick order the chains disappeared, leaving his arms free. He sat up, rolling his shoulders, wincing as the abused muscles and tendons screamed at him to stop, but pushing past the pain until his body quieted and the worst of the abuse was worked out of his system.