The Dream Crafter(42)

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.

What scared him about the Spellbook was that he wasn’t scared. It had some sort of connection with him, but the connection was right, warm, safe. He was safe with it.

That thought earned a snort. Since when is a magical item safe? Never, that’s when.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, just finishing this.” The fire lit up, and the chill in the air was already fading.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been in front of a fire. I’ve missed it. There’s nothing more perfect than a fire on the beach at dusk.”

She was staring into the flames as if they would answer all the questions concerning the next few days for her, her body relaxed as he hadn’t seen it since that first dream. “Tell me about your family.”

Tension passed through her, only for a moment, but she kept her eyes on the fire. “You’ve already asked about them.”

“I have bits and pieces. I’d like a few more dots to connect.”

“Why?”

Because they are the key to you. Because I want to know everything about you. Because you fascinate me more than anything ever has, and I want to hang onto that feeling as long as I can. “Because.”

She gave him an arch look, her thin lips pursing a bit, but she answered him anyway. “My mother was a military brat. My grandfather was a soldier who was stationed on the islands for awhile and then retired there, when my mom was a teenager. My grandparents died in a boating accident before I was born. I wish I had met them. I think things would have been very different if they stayed around.” A small shake of her head, and her hand wiped over her eyes in a quick motion, and he wouldn’t have noticed the wetness in them if she hadn’t. “That was a dumb statement. I mean, they were good people, and I don’t think my mom ever recovered from losing them.”

Amana went back to looking into the flames, more introspective now, memories edging her emotions. “My mother became pregnant with me as a teenager. A very old story. He took advantage of a grieving girl, and when the girl became pregnant, he ran away. I know who he is, but I had nothing to do with him, then or now.”

“Do you want me to kill him?” The offer was made before he had time to think, in the way that was becoming a bad habit around her. But this, seeing her so small, seeing her curled in on herself and bearing the weight of this selfishness from someone who was supposed to protect her… Merc only knew pieces of her life, but knowing how those pieces had left her a wreck, damaged in ways her piece of shit father might have been able to prevent if he had bothered to protect what he created…

He meant it. He meant every godsdamn word of it, and if she said yes, the minute he was out under this bound, he was hunting the bastard down.

His offer had her eyes leaving the flames and coming to his. “No,” she said, too fast, and in that syllable he could almost believe he heard the faintest echo of yes. “Don’t get me wrong. If I heard he died in a fiery plane wreck, I wouldn’t shed a tear. But his life has nothing to do with mine. All that matters to me is Nakoa.”