The Dream Travelers Boxed Set #2: Includes 2 Complete Series (9 Books) PLUS Bonus Material

by Sarah Noffke

“In the beginning I was afraid and then things got complicated and I couldn’t get back to you even if I wanted to,” I say and pause, gauging her reaction. “I got in trouble and I had to hide.”

  She doesn’t give anything away. God, I love this woman. Dahlia remains stone when others would crumble. She regards me with exactly what I deserve. Nothing at all. And I know it’s an act, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s so good at it that I’m impressed by her.

  “I also had a service to pay to a friend and that deterred me,” I say. “Before a year ago I wasn’t really available.”

  “You have friends now?” she asks in surprise.

  “Just the one,” I say, a lump blistering my throat as Jane pops into my mind.

  “Did you marry?”

  “Never,” I say, like the idea is preposterous, because it is.

  “Were you with someone all this time?”

  “Hardly anyone,” I answer honestly. “Just the devil.”

  “Did you ever love anyone else?” Dahlia asks, her tone even.

  “Not like you,” I say, not wanting to lie to her. The monster in me loved Allouette, and has been tortured by her ever since.

  “And this service…?” Dahlia asks in a roundabout way. She’s on the hunt and her mission is clear.

  “It was more like a military duty. I helped to rid the earth of evils that would wipe away the fabric of time,” I say dully.

  “Oh, is that all you did?” she says, a small smile gracing her lips.

  “I read a few good books.”

  “So, you haven’t been running scams all this time? Fooling innocent Middlings?” she says, her tone disbelieving.

  “No, Dahlia. I haven’t. If you can believe it, I actually became a good guy,” I say, my voice honest, like I’ve never heard it. There’s no snark. No ego to it. “I won’t tell you where I’ve been because all that matters is that I’m here now.”

  Dahlia has to realize that I know her life just as everyone does. It’s no mystery. Not like mine. She isn’t going to explain her affairs over the last eighteen years and I won’t question her about them.

  “And what happens now that you’re here?” she says, looking at me like she knows how to break me in two and is just waiting to do it. I almost run right then, but decide against it.

  Finally, I bolster the strength to say, “I ask you a question.”

  “And I answer it?” she says so plainly. Everything is perfect about this woman. Everything. And I never wanted to believe it. But if eighteen years apart hasn’t shattered the illusion, then what will? I can create illusions, but I can’t create an illusion as perfect as Dahlia. She is flawless. Utterly and completely perfect.

  “Right,” I say with a nod.

  “And then what?”

  “And then we decide,” I say, like it’s the obvious answer in this complex equation.

  “That sounds ridiculously simple.”

  “Life is simple, Dahlia. It’s blokes with too much power who make it complicated,” I say.

  “That makes sense,” she says, nodding casually. “Well then, go ahead and ask your question.”

  I bring my chin up but look down at her. “Dahlia, do you still love me?” I say and it takes every fiber of my being to force those words out. I’m not a strong man. I’m one granted powers I shouldn’t have. And to ask this question takes everything inside me, but I’m glad I spent that energy, no matter what she says, because then at least I’ll know.

  She blinks in surprise at the strange question after a lifetime apart. Then she holds out her hand. “It depends,” she says, her hand hanging in front of us.

  “On what?”

  “I want to know if I’m still the only one who you have zero control over,” she says.

  “That’s how you’ll know if you still love me?” I say, offense creeping into my voice.

  “No,” she says, sounding insulted as well. “Of course I love you. I can stop that as easily as I can stop breathing. I just want to know if it’s safe to actually love you. That’s why I want to know if I’m still the only one who you can’t control.”

  “Well, I’ve never met anyone since, but maybe now things have changed. I am stronger and you’re an older Middling woman. My powers were always strong on them.” I say.

  Her eyes narrow in mock disdain. “Take my hand, Ren,” she says, flicking her still outstretched hand at me. “Tell me if you hear my thoughts.”

  I eye the dainty hand, hanging gracefully in the air in front of me. Finally I reach out and take it like I did over eighteen years ago on the night we met. My mind is assaulted by a rush of thoughts but they are all mine. The way her skin feels against mine. Her warmth. The shock she still sends through me overwhelms every single thought. And still not a single one of her thoughts graces my mind. I drop her hand and it floats to her side as her eager eyes stare back at me.

  “There’s nothing,” I finally say. “My telepathy doesn’t work on you. And I’m certain I still can’t control you with my mind or hypnosis.”

  Dahlia steps forward and blinks at me. She has no idea that her proximity unlaces the parts of me I’ve trapped. The way she moves tears at my resolve. “Then Ren, I think you need to finally allow yourself to admit that I’m one of the few people who absolutely love you for who you are and not because you manipulate me to do so.”

  “You really still love me after everything I did to you?” I say, needing to ask the question. Needing to hear the answer.

  She takes another step forward, and my heart actually feels like it falls out of the coffin where I buried it. It beats in my chest, unobstructed for the first time in almost two decades. “Of course I do,” she says. “As I told you before, I would never love another like you. I knew it was true then, and it’s always been true. I love you, Ren Lewis. You’re the only man I could ever tolerate. You’re the love of my life. I’ve just been disappointed you’ve missed out on a greater portion of it.”

  “I’m here now. And I’d like a second chance,” I say and lean down. A startled breath escapes her. “Are you going to slap me again?” I say with a wry smile.

  “Yes, but not on your face,” she says and I pull her into me, my lips instant magnets to hers. Eighteen years to not feel an attraction like this hasn’t been torture. It’s been purgatory. But in Dahlia’s arms I’m reborn. In her arms I’m not Ren, the powerful man with the skills of a god. I’m a normal man. I’m what I’ve always wanted to be. And finally I feel like I deserve this destiny.

  Epilogue

  Two guards stand outside the compound in Argentina holding automatic rifles. There’s loads more on the inside. I know that because of Trey’s report and also because I surveyed the building while dream traveling. I’m in physical form now. That’s the only way to control minds in this realm, and I have a few minds I plan to take over. The guards stand like a wall in front of the warehouse entrance. They are incredibly vigilant, as I’m sure they’ve been commanded to be. That’s fine. I don’t plan on getting past them. From where I stand some twenty yards away I’m hidden behind an overturned car. It’s probably the result of a vigilante’s attempt to stop Group X. Bloody fools. They probably used force, attempting to break into the compound. Why break in when I can make Antonio come out and see me?

  I’ve already taken out the four minions that were charged with retaliating if Antonio was apprehended. They won’t be doing that now. The only one who will suffer when Antonio is punished for his crimes is Antonio. These four men have had the orders from their guerrilla leader wiped clean from their heads. Suggestive memory loss is a helpful tool. I’ll be adding it to my regular arsenal, as well as a few other clever tricks I’ve yet to learn. Teleporting will definitely be one of them.

  The entrance to the warehouse opens and a man I know to be Antonio marches out into the sunlight. There’s no one else accompanying him. Even from this distance I spy the dazed look on his face. He’s moving, driven by a force, but doesn�
�t understand why. I’ve pulled out all the stops for this one. It isn’t the strategy that Trey signed off on and he isn’t going to like it. Let him fire me. I’m not usually a vicious man, but Antonio decided to bomb the wrong Underground station. No one messes with my city and gets away with it.

  Antonio has long black greasy hair and he works out way too much. He trudges past his guards and they gaze at him, not quite certain what they’re looking at. I have the guards and Antonio under my mind control. I’m at my capacity, manipulating the minds of three people at once, but I’m also heavily motivated. People can do anything when incentivized.

  Antonio halts when he’s six feet away from the soldiers. I know that because I made him take exactly that many paces. His mind is strict and demented and not easy to control, but he’s still no match for me. Suddenly Antonio drops to both knees, putting his hands behind his head as he does. I blink back at the man who maybe can see me since I’m only partially obstructed behind the vehicle. In a week’s time, this man is responsible for the deaths of thousands. He’s a terrorist intent on creating chaos for the sole fact that he’s never known peace inside his own mind.

  One guard raises his rifle and points it at Antonio’s oversized head. The lunatic stares in my direction. He has the eyes of an evil man, one without a conscience. I have seen those eyes many times in my life, and I have looked away from them too many times. I have ignored their evil or even flirted with it or pretended that that evil lived in me.

  The guard releases the safety on his weapon. He holds it steady and centers on Antonio. I turn just before the shot is fired. Some people need to be ridded from this world, but I don’t want to have their deaths etched across my memory. With a steadying breath I return my gaze to the compound. The soldiers, as instructed, have dropped their weapons and are walking away. Who knows what they will do when I release them. Maybe they will forget that this happened. Maybe they will become productive members of society. My only concern is that I’ve done my job. Antonio lies on the ground, blood puddling out around him.

  Although I know I undoubtedly have a conscience, I don’t feel bad for murdering Antonio. I was born a monster. And God created me to take down bad men.

  I close my eyes and dream travel back to Los Angeles, where I will generate my body. Dahlia will be waking up soon. I want to be beside her when she opens her eyes. I want to be beside her every morning that she awakes.

  REN: GOD’S LITTLE MONSTER, Book 2

  Prologue

  Nothing is more beautiful than human stupidity. It continues to spread although we erect millions of institutions that are meant to eradicate it. With all the thousands of years of scientific study foolishness is one of the few diseases that we can prevent and yet persist relentlessly. There’s no vaccine for stupidity. No drug to cure it and yet we know how to rid our world of it. How fucking beautiful. Few things on God’s green Earth have the tenacity of stupidity.

  You want to know what else is beautiful? Volcanos. Tsunamis. Hurricanes. And guess what they do? They kill.

  Chapter One

  I probably wouldn’t have a job if it wasn’t for stupid people. They fill up my schedule with their erroneous decisions, which I have to fix or prevent. If it wasn’t for them I’d be sitting on the beaches of Maldives frying my freckled skin. I’d also be wasting money on five-star hotels with sheets they pretend to change and a wait staff which resents the patrons who fund their wage. Thank fucking God for stupid people. I hate vacations. And thanks to stupid people it doesn’t look like I’ll get a vacation in the next millennium.

  I’ve been working as an agent for the Lucidites, intervening in hundreds of potential disastrous scenarios. Unfortunately for me, saving stupid people is effortless and growing quite boring. I get that since I’m the special race of Dream Traveler, it’s not likely I’ll ever find a real challenge saving my people, or the non-gifted race of Middlings. But hell, I’d settle for a slight high.

  I stop in an empty corridor in the Underground. The slick glass surface covering the advertisement on the wall shows my image, made visible by the bright lights on the ceiling.

  Why do I have to be so fucking hard to please? I think as I look at my image. I have Dahlia, the woman I’ve wanted all my life. And I have a job I can be proud of and still the monster in me isn’t happy. It’s relentless in its perpetual state of frustration. I blame stupid people for that though. I raise my hand and stroke my chin, which is freshly shaven. I miss the red goatee I’d adorned for the better part of a decade. However, when the lady you’re shagging tells you it has to go, it has to go. I miss facial hair a lot less than I’d miss Dahlia. In my reflection I catch the small smile I’ve released, albeit it’s laced with a cunning glint in my eyes. Not really a smile, but rather the rehearsed look I give myself. It’s how I tell myself I’m in charge and not the monster who lives within me. I tilt my head to the side to take in the angle of my chin, which I didn’t see for a long time thanks to that lovely goatee. My chin is pointy because apparently God was hoping it would complement my Dracula bicuspids and spiky red hair. I narrow my eyes at the image. Damn Dahlia is one lucky lady. And the Lucidites too.

  I leave myself with a cold look before continuing my trek to the custodial closet. It’s locked, as it should be since most humans love to steal, even if it’s only cleaning chemicals meant to keep public places tidy. Humans aren’t just stupid, but greedy too. I slide the unlocking device out of the breast pocket of my forest green suit. The stupid piece of technology is about half the size of my palm and as promised it adheres to the outside of the lock when slid into place, like a robot finding a mate. Three seconds later the lock releases and I pull the door back, wishing I was stepping into this closet to disable a bomb. Hell, I’d settle for releasing a snotty teenager from the space. Instead I grab the plastic standup sign from the corner. Plastered across the front of the bright yellow sign are the words “Caution. Wet surface.”

  This is not what will rescue the person that I came to save. It’s just a courtesy for the rest of the dumbasses who can’t use their eyes to see a slick surface. Trey’s orders. The Head Official for the Lucidites really cares about people. I absolutely don’t get him.

  In the Charing Cross tube station I find the fine sheet of slippery liquid in the exact place where the news reporter said I would. What incompetent goon thought it was a great idea to leave mop water just outside the entrance to a tube? Stupid people seem to have jobs where they can do the most harm. I prop up the sign in the middle of the puddle, which indeed makes the concrete platform slippery. I note this when I step to my spot. My loafer hydroplanes but only briefly before I pause in my station.

  The tube has just come to a halt, the doors about to bounce open. Overhead the recorded voice sings, “Mind the gap.” And then three people file through the door, all eyes darting to the plastic sign and then carefully stepping forward after that. The person I came to save can’t read that sign. Not anymore. I reach out my arm just as she steps forward. Her flat slips on the first step, but thanks to the position of my arm she grabs on to it. Her hands had begun to flail through the air, as they tend to do when one is about to fall, when her fingers found my support. The old woman’s other foot slips too, but she’s firmly grasped onto me. I lift her up, her crooked fingers now digging into me like her life is in my hands, and it is. I spy the fear in her eyes as I pull her up to a steady position. She has that look, the one of a person who is repeatedly on the verge of slipping. They keep finding their footing only to lose it again. I’m the only thing actually keeping her from landing her tailbone on the concrete, and she knows it.

  “This way,” I say with zero inflection and pull her to the side where the platform is dry. The old woman is shaking when I finally note that she’s on steady feet. I yank my arm out of her tight grasp. Then I wipe my hands off on my trousers, although she didn’t touch me, only my arm dressed in a suit jacket. Thank god. I have no interest in hearing her thoughts.

  Th
e woman’s eyes, which have loose skin weighing them down, look up at me. “Sonny, I do believe you just saved me from breaking my hip.”

  “That’s exactly what I did,” I say, not giving her another glance as I walk off. “Now go off and do something worth my efforts to save you,” I sing over my shoulder, aware she’s standing frozen, her chest still buzzing from the adrenaline of the near fall.

  The news reporters saw a future where that woman fell, broke a hip, and withered away from the pain and then pneumonia. Worst of all she was an awful waste on our health care system. Not to mention the accident created quite the delay on the Underground. Now all these blokes hurrying past me will catch their train so they can sod off to their repugnant jobs. Kudos for me. I just saved an elderly Middling and a bunch of people from a minor inconvenience. Hurr-freaking-yah! Leave it to the Lucidites and their new incompetent Head Strategist to waste my God-given powers. I wasn’t even approved to use mind control on the old bag so she took a different exit out of the tube. Mind control is apparently “an invasion and should be reserved only for extreme circumstances,” Trey Underwood, the Lucidites Head Official, informed me. Sometimes I hate working for a goody-goody.

  My mobile buzzes in my pocket. I retrieve it and check the screen. Oh good, another worthless assignment.

  Chapter Two

  My second assignment for the day involved stopping a distracted bloke in Chicago from stepping out in front of traffic. The news reporters saw that he was taken out by a bus that ran a red light. And like most apes these days, the guy’s eyes were glued to his mobile, which is why the git didn’t see the bus before it smashed his head in. Trey had recommended that I gain the guy’s attention by asking him a question, or if that didn’t work, grab him like I did the old woman. I decided to trip the guy when he was ten feet from the intersection. However, he was so obsessed with his wounded hands which were scuffed trying to soften his fall that he wasn’t paying attention. The chap was also so busy giving me nasty looks over his shoulder that he still ended up careening with the bus he was supposed to avoid. Some people can’t be saved.