The Dream Crafter(71)

She kissed his forehead. She kissed his eyelids. She kissed over his cheekbones and the tips of his ears and the tip of his nose, and he was giving little huffs of laughter and half shakes of his head, as though this were too ridiculous a thing to be doing at this moment, but he didn’t do anything to get her to stop.

She did stop though, pulling back from him, her fingertips still travelling over his face. “I think I might have another way.”

His laughter stopped, seriousness returning, and he eyed her as though watching for a trap to be sprung. “What way?”

Her hands left his face and now she held his hands, pressing them against her chest so he could feel her heart. “Our second dream meeting, do you remember how you took me to that little park you liked? You said it was one of your favorite places.”

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate, but the look on his face warmed her, like he’d have to be dead and buried before he’d ever forget one of their dates.

“No one else has ever directed a dream, but somehow you did. Maybe we can somehow do the same thing now. You have some connection to the Spellbook. I’ll bet you can find it within the dreamscape, and if you direct me, I’ll take us to it.”





Chapter Thirty-Eight




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They were curled up on the couch, her head on his shirtless chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart underneath her ear. Th-thump, th-thump, rhythmic and patient, accepting and encouraging as he waited to follow where she led.

Amana stroked over his chest, the rough silk of his skin another meditation to think on, another mystery to puzzle, the juxtaposition of rough and warmth and comfort. “You have a good heart.”

His chest stuttered in banked amusement under her. “I’m glad you think so. Sometimes I have my doubts about it.”

“Don’t doubt it. I’ve known men with evil hearts. You’re nothing like them.” Th-thump, th-thump, as if in agreement.

Now his hand glided through her hair, pulling the long strands with easy strokes. “You’ve always been so scared to use your power. Are you sure you should be using it now? I don’t want you to do this if it’s going to hurt you.”

“Do we have any other choice? The answer to that is no, by the way,” she cut in before he could give his answer about going to meet Reign himself. That was not ever going to happen. “Even if it wasn’t for you, I no longer have the option of ignoring what I am.” What she didn’t give voice to was the truth of the other, of the fear that the more she used of her power, the less she herself existed.

His fingers were calming as they stroked her scalp. “Where will we go, after we save your brother?”

He sounded so sure, and though the words were a false assurance, she clung to them, let herself open to the possibilities of an after. “That depends. Are you going to be with us?”

“After this adventure with the Spellbook, and pissing off the Guild? It’s going to be hard for me to find anywhere that will take me for long, so I might as well stay with you.”

His voice had a pleasant lightness to it, the tease evident without going into mocking or melancholy. “I’m pleased you’re so excited over the prospect.”

“Everyone who knows me will tell you how excitable I am. What about you? Are you excited about being stuck with me?”

Here his voice lost the lightness, and his hand lay heavy on her head. The cooler air clung to her skin as she rose from the couch, her fingers coiling around his hand and forcing him to rise with her, their movements slow. “I want to be nowhere else. Even with my power, I couldn’t create a more perfect dream than the one where I met you.”

Happiness radiated from his being, on display from the curve of his lips to the tightening of his grip of her fingers in his.

There was more, so much more, but that was for later, because now they were in a hallway, business industrial, with a multitude of races milling around them.

Merc startled as the change in scene registered. A male, huge and bald, his skin with a hint of green undertone and his teeth too big and too sharp, passed them without looking in their direction.

Merc took in the giant male. “That’s Rorth. We’re in the headquarters of the Guild.” His eyes were wide, his tone impressed, and he looked at her now with respect, and, yes, fear, only a little, only a touch, only a moment, but there. “We’re in a dream.”

“In a dream.” The other was there, on the edges, but Amana would not give way to fear now, not when she accomplished what she wanted. This was to save Merc. They were going to get the Spellbook. What happened after would be after. “I need you to think about the Spellbook. Concentrate on it. See if it calls out to you.”