Dreamwalker (Stormwalker #5)(84)

Crap, I thought in sinking dismay. This is going to hurt.

***

I couldn’t fight Emmett without a storm. If he used Gabrielle’s Beneath magic against mine, dream or no dream, he might beat me.

Gabrielle’s Beneath magic was stronger than mine, and she had far more control. I had no doubt that Emmett would be able to handle it just fine. I’d only be able to fight him with the mix of my Stormwalker and Beneath magics, which I’d just about learned to blend without killing myself.

Too bad there wasn’t a storm in sight.

The night was clear, stars gleaming out now that the sun was down, their only competition the brilliance of the moon. While it had been snowy in the mountains, any clouds had vanished to let the air become crisp and bone cold.

On the other hand, in the reality where I lay slumped in Mick’s arms in the bathroom, a storm had been brewing. September could see wild thunderstorms, cooling temperatures letting the tempests build stronger, filling with wind until they let loose.

I could feel that storm, just as I could feel the coolness of my bathroom, not the dry cold of the desert night.

“Mick,” I said as though he stood next to me. “Wake me up.”

I had no idea if he could, or if it would take the mirror, spells, and Coyote’s help. I had no idea if Mick could hear me either.

“Mick.” My voice grew louder. “Come on, wake me up.”

Gabrielle’s screams had become choked sobs. She fell flat on her back, covering her face, while the last of the light streamed into Emmett’s hands.

Emmett turned to me. His skull-like face glowed, his eyes filling with diamond-white fire.

“Time to go, Janet,” he said.

“Mick!” I shouted. “Wake me up! I need the storm!”

Nothing happened. Mick couldn’t hear me. While I doubted he’d left my side, my words must be coming out an indecipherable mumble, if at all.

“I’m glad you figured it out,” Emmett said. “Once I have your powers, I’ll be equivalent to a god. I’ll see if I can take them out next. I might not kill you—I like you and wouldn’t mind having you with me.”

I couldn’t think of anything more horrifying than life as Emmett’s pet.

I broke off my next shout. Yelling in a dream was useless—no one could hear.

In spite of the terrifying sight of Emmett coming toward me, his hands full of Beneath magic, I closed my eyes.

I reached for what I should truly feel—the hardness of the bathroom floor, Mick’s arms around me, the cool of the September evening, the sharp scent of the approaching storm. I should hear the mirror shrieking, the wind rising, Mick’s voice in my ear.

For an instant, I experienced all of that—and then it slid from my grasp. I was still in the dreaming, and about to have to fight for my life.

Mick, I whispered in my mind, and then I let the music of his true name fill me. Last winter, he’d given me the notes of his name, the one only he knew, trusting me with them to save his life. I promised I’d always keep it secret and tell no one. Whoever held a dragon’s true name had full power over him.

I told no one now. I kept my mouth closed and let the name fill my thoughts, blotting out every other sensation, both dreamed and real. I couldn’t hear Gabrielle anymore, and Emmett ceased to matter. I felt nothing—not the desert under my feet or the tile of my floor, not the air in my lungs. Nothing.

I knew only Mick, my love, my heart. Every piece of the dragon name twined my being, filling the empty spaces inside me.

The air rang with chimes, and the tang in the air changed from dry dust to fire. The warmth of that fire wrapped my limbs, embracing me like the notes of the name.

“Janet.” His voice came to me, deep and sonorous. Mick spoke my name in the dragon language, syllables that resonated with the music.

I held tightly to his voice, to the sound of my name and the chimes of his. I clenched my fists and pulled myself out of darkness bit by tiny bit, until I was fluttering open my eyes to see Mick’s dark gaze, his untamable hair, and his hard, handsome face.

“Janet,” he whispered again.

As I gasped, my lungs working, he brought me up to him for a full, fiery kiss.

Nothing existed in that space and time but Mick and me. I had no idea where we were or what happened around us. I only knew that Mick held me close and kissed me as though he’d lived his entire life to kiss me in that moment.

His hands on my back were steady, his mouth a point of heat. I seemed to be in his lap, my cold legs warmed by his.

I hated to let him go. Mick must have had the same reluctance, because he made a little noise of regret as he eased the kiss to its close and sat me up.

I was indeed on his lap, my view beyond Mick’s well-bristled jaw that of tiled walls and floor, and a drainpipe.