The Dream Crafter(49)

Fucking Merc. Fucking piece of shit Merc – Mister Top Dog, Mister There-Ain’t-Nobody-Better. What utter bullshit. If he was half as good as he was supposed to be, none of this would be happening.

Here he was, being hunted like a rabid animal at a time he shoulda been king of the fucking world, all because Merc got up the asses of the Guild. Merc shoulda been able to disappear, do something sneaky, fucking just appear right before the auction. Even with the bound the asshole couldn’t do anything right.

Fuck!

Hadrien rubbed his hand over his face, taking only a moment before he bounced back up and grabbed the whiskey from the bar.

Just a few days. He gave a salute with his whiskey glass to that thought before swallowing the liquor down. Just a few days, he’d have the money to be free, and he’d gift-wrap Merc to the Guild or whoever else wanted him. Hells, maybe make it easy and let the bound take care of the bastard.

Until then, he’d just hafta keep bouncing like he was.

Fuck, it wasn’t happy, but he’d had worse. At least he had the money and connections to keep to the nicer places this time, lots of people real interested in keeping him healthy and hidden so the auction would take place.

Shit ton of problems or not, grabbing that Spellbook had been a good idea. Get through to the auction, get the money, and disappear forever. Just a few more days, and the now’d be nothing but fucked memories.

The knock sounded through the hotel room, and satisfaction quickly overtook irritation. There was the other good part of this whole deal, waiting for him to let her in.

Never let it be said his hosts didn’t know how to treat him right.

She was Goldilocks – just right in every way, from the silky blonde hair hanging to her waist to the huge tits to the schoolgirl skirt that showed long, long legs. “Come on in sweetheart.”

She moved past him without saying a word, instead looking around the hotel room. Didn’t matter. As long as she knew to open her mouth when he told her to in bed, it otherwise didn’t matter.

As she wandered the room he took in her figure, really enjoying that ass. Perfect and lush – ah yeah, he was going to do some damage. “Get undressed.”

“There’s nothing here.”

Her voice was smooth, like she took singing lessons or somethin’. She’d sound good screaming. “Whada you mean?”

“Whoever is housing you is an idiot, because there’s no protection. You’re defenseless.”

Sweat broke out over him as the girl turned to face him fully, but fuck, she wasn’t a whore, not with that look in her eyes. He turned, but his neck hurt, and he put his hand up to pull away a needle coated with…something…

*

The door to the suite was ajar as Nemesis approached. She pushed it farther open with the tip of her steel toed boots, one hand going to the dagger on her thigh.

Her source insistent this was where Hadrien was staying, but as she walked in, it took only three long sweeps to see what occurred in the now empty room, and her hand dropped from her weapon.

Sorry darlin’. I didn’t make it in time.





Chapter Twenty-Five




‡


A happy sigh escaped Amana’s sleeping form, and Merc reflexively glanced over at the small woman on the bed. Yeah, a slight, sweet smile on her face as she snuggled deeper into the bedding, reassuring him it was indeed a sound of contentment.

Too bad he couldn’t claim the same. There was a corner deep within where gladness over their closeness nestled, but other concerns crowded around his mind.

He might have had a small part of her tonight, their attraction spiking high enough to push back all other problems for awhile, but now those problems were smacking him upside the head and demanding their due.

Like how Hadrien was still out there on the run. Like how he had a bound connecting him to someone who existed on the lowest rungs of the evolutionary scale. How Amana was still twisted up with her brother, and though he didn’t believe she’d give the book to the Guild anymore, she’d still betray him to save her brother.

How the Spellbook kept reaching for him, brushing up against his consciousness in an unrelenting siege, scraping like a dog against a door to be let in.

Merc reached for it now, the leather warm in his hands as he set it in front of him, and it wrapped around him like he was in the embrace of an old friend, much missed and very welcome.

He gripped he corner, battling between opening the book and letting it alone. It was disconcerting how much his fingers itched to pull back the cover and flip through the pages.

It wasn’t like he was a wizard, for gods’ sake. His magic had been etched into him one line at a time, the brush of ink pushing powers into his skin as Shisen pushed his body and mind to their limits, creating him to be a worthy receptacle for the ancient magic.