Grimm Tidings: Grimm's Circle, Book 6

by Shiloh Walker

  “You cannot let him see you. Not awake. But perhaps there is another way.”

  “How…” But the second the word escaped her, Celine clapped a hand over her mouth, terrified Gavin had heard her.

  Jacob brushed his fingers across her back. “He cannot hear you yet. You have to pull him into your dream, or merge your dreams with his.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is a dream state.” A mockery of a smile twisted his lips. “An extension of my so-called gift. You can use the dreams to bid your good-byes.”

  “Dreams?” She looked over her shoulder at him. “What good will that do?”

  He stared at her in the shadows of the room she’d shared with her husband. “Don’t underestimate the power of dreams, Celine. Our dreams are where all our hidden fears, our hidden desires, the things we never dare speak of come to light. If you speak to him of those things you were not able to say in life while he dreams, it will set him on the path to healing. That is how he will begin to move on.”

  She swallowed and looked back at Gavin’s sleeping form. “You’re certain?”

  “As certain as I can be. Dreams have power. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have them.” He slid back into the deeper shadows until she could no longer even make out the glitter of his eyes. “I cannot leave you completely—otherwise you’ll waken. But I can manipulate the dream state without diving into his dreams. Once you make the connection, I’ll simply keep a surface connection with you. That’s the most privacy I can give you.”

  Celine nodded. Dreams have power… Something niggled in the back of her mind. Something important. But she couldn’t worry about that right now. “My hands are sweating,” she whispered. “If I’m dreaming, how can my hands be sweating?”

  “Your dream self is an extension of who you are. You feel in your dream as you feel when you wake. Nerves, fear, anger.”

  Lust… She frowned as that thought drifted through her mind. Then she brushed it off. “What do I do?”

  “Think on him. Focus. I’ll handle the rest.” He paused and then in a strangely gruff voice, he added, “It would help if you think on the happier times you had with him. Not the way it ended—don’t let the misery hurt your final moments with him. Think on the way you were before things started to change.”

  “The way we were.” She reached up and shoved her hair back behind her ears. “I can do that.”

  Blowing out a breath, she moved closer and looked around, finally deciding on the armchair tucked close to the window. He’d bought it for her birthday, a few years after they’d married. She’d wanted to be able to sit by the window and read, someplace where she could see her gardens. She paused there, staring outside. The gardens were still there, still cared for. The sight of it made her sad. “He hates to garden. He shouldn’t do it for me.”

  Then she turned back to the bed and settled on the edge of the chair. Closing her eyes, she said, “Okay, Jacob. Do your thing.”

  She didn’t know what she was expecting.

  But she didn’t feel anything…at least not anything different than what she’d felt when Jacob had guided her here in her dreams earlier. But then she realized somebody was staring at her.

  And a heartbeat spiked—

  Not Jacob. Jacob’s emotions rarely swayed enough for such a mundane, physical reaction to take place.

  Opening her eyes, she saw Gavin.

  He was staring at her as though he’d seen a ghost.

  And that was exactly what they wanted him to think.

  “Hello, sweetheart.”

  Her voice came out oddly disembodied and she supposed that was Jacob’s doing. Just as the way her body didn’t entirely look like hers—or at least not the body she now possessed. She’d slimmed down and muscled up over the past few years. That was what happened when one rarely ate and did nothing but train, fight, train, fight…and sleep on occasion.

  A furtive glance in the mirror showed a mostly solid reflection that looked much as she’d looked in the days before her death. As Gavin would likely expect to see her. Jacob’s doing, again.

  “Celine?”

  She smiled. “Were you expecting the ghost of another wife?” she teased, forcing a light tone, forcing herself to hold his gaze. He had to accept this, had to believe it.

  For a long, long moment, he only stared at her. Then he shook his head. “This is just another fucked-up, insane dream.”

  “Do you have them a lot?” She studied him, cocking her head. Damn, he looked tired. Tired and worn away by grief and pain. Oh, baby. You need to let me go.

  Swearing, he sat up, kicking his legs over the edge of the bed. “I need a fucking drink.”

  As he started to go past her, she reached out and caught his arm. “Drinking isn’t going to help. It’s time to move on.”

  Under her touch, he froze.

  She stared at his face, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at her hand. And she realized he felt terribly warm under her fingers. Which meant she probably felt very, very cold.

  He blinked and swayed a little. “Celine?”

  “Yeah. It’s me, baby.” Rising, she tugged on his arm and led him back to the bed, nudged him until he sat down. “Come on. Just sit down. I want to talk.”

  “You…are you really here?”

  “Yeah.” She tried to smile again, but it fell flat and pain knotted in her throat. This wasn’t supposed to be easy, she supposed. “It’s really me. And I’m really here. About as much I can be here, considering I’m not part of this world anymore.”

  And that wasn’t a lie.

  “What—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “What do you mean, you’re not part of this world anymore?”

  “I think you know,” she said gently. “Gavin…I died that night. You know it. Deep inside, you know it. I can tell. It’s time to let go. Move on with your life, okay?”

  “Shit.” He spat it out, shoving to his feet. This time, she didn’t stop him, watching as he started to pace. “Move on. Just move on. You say it like we’re moving to Clarksville or something—you’re talking about saying…”

  “I’m talking about accepting the truth. About letting me go. And yes…moving on. Hell, move out of the house, damn it.” She looked around, staring at the bedroom they’d shared—exactly as it had been. Had he changed anything? She somehow knew the answer was no. “You can’t spend your life like this, baby.”

  To her surprise, he sank to the floor, hands braced on it as his shoulders started to shake. “My fault…it’s my fault.”

  “No.” She came to her feet and knelt beside him. “It’s not. It’s not yours, it’s not mine. It just is.”

  Leaning in, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder, staring into the distance. It just was. Nobody was to blame, except those who’d ended her life…and they had already paid the price. The Grimm who’d come upon her that night had seen to that.

  That debt was paid—Will and Mandy hadn’t left anybody alive.

  “You aren’t to blame for what happened,” she said quietly. “If I’d lived, we would have fought it out and whatever would have happened after that, it would have happened. You would have gone on with your life, and so would I. Now it’s time for you to do the same. Let me go…don’t stop living your life because mine ended.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” he rasped, reaching up and curling one calloused hand over her forearm. “Why should I have a life when you don’t?”

  But I do. She couldn’t point that out to him. He had to accept that the life she’d had was over. “How about because I’m asking you to?” She slid one arm down and pushed his overlong hair back from his face, laid a palm on his cheek. “Things weren’t that great between us in the end, but we had some good years. And I loved you, I still do. I want you happy. I want you to live. Find whatever it takes to make you happy and live. But you can’t do that while you’re clinging to this guilt.”

  She eased closer, pressed her lips to his cheek.


  This time, his skin didn’t feel so chilled. But when he turned his face toward hers, she pulled away. “Good-bye, Gavin. Thanks for all the good years.”

  In the next second, he was gone.

  In the second after that one, she was in the living room of the house she shared with Jacob, gasping for breath.

  She managed to blink away the tears just in time to see his back before he disappeared through the doorway.

  Dreams have power…

  Those words continued to tickle the back of her mind, getting more and more insistent. Celine felt like there was something she needed to acknowledge—and she knew she’d have to, and soon. But just then, as she dealt with the lingering grief about Gavin, she wasn't up to another sucker punch just yet.

  “Good-bye, Gavin,” she murmured, sitting on the couch. In the back of her mind, that voice continued to whisper.

  …dreams are where all our hidden fears, our hidden desires, the things we never dare speak of come to light.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I said good-bye, right? Can’t I worry about reality and everything else later?”

  If there was one thing Celine excelled at, it was pushing off reality and everything else. And in that moment, she didn’t feel bad about it at all. She’d handled enough tonight. More than enough.

  Chapter Eight

  The rattling of the chains was like a sweet music to him.

  The heavy bag was reinforced, as were the chains, otherwise the first blow would send it flying across the room.

  Still, Jacob thought maybe he might be able to decimate this one.

  It might do something to ease the burn in his gut, although he wasn’t counting on it. He’d already been at it for hours—a run earlier, weights, anything and everything to punish himself, keep himself away from the house and away from Celine.

  He was too selfish of a bastard to be doing this.

  He should be more selfless.

  He should be more able to sacrifice.

  He should have been able to help her say good-bye without wanting to maim or destroy. Yet as she’d kissed her husband—yes, he’d seen it—he’d wanted to use the bastard’s head for a bowling ball. The threads of the dream had been harder to hold in place when he pulled another person in and he hadn’t been able to keep the distance he’d wanted to keep.

  And each second he’d been forced to watch, every second he’d thought of the pain she must be feeling, it had driven him closer and closer to the edge of no return.

  He was close to shattering. He could feel the shreds of his control splintering.

  Something in the air changed—as the air currents brought her scent to him, Jacob rasped out, “Fuck it all.”

  She was coming down here. Perfect. Just bloody perfect.

  He needed to call Will, and soon. She was no longer in danger of being lost and there were any number of the Grimm who could teach her how to handle that newly emerging gift. Greta, perhaps. Maybe even Finn—nobody needed to understand control quite the way a pyrokinetic did. It seemed she’d learned from that bastard well enough. He could take over again.

  She was watching him, watching and waiting. Shooting her a quick glance, he shifted his attention back to the bag.

  “Thank you.”

  “No thanks are needed,” he said without stopping his attack on the bag. He’d rather have a partner in front of him, somebody who could and would hit back—

  And then Celine moved onto the floor and he noticed how she was dressed. Need, hunger, frustrated hurt ripped through him. She still loves him. You don’t need this pain in your life, he told himself as she stood there, dressed in loose shorts and a sports bra. Nothing else, unless he counted the gloves she was pulling on. Setting his jaw, he said, “I’m not in the mood for a match, but thank you.”

  “You’re always in the mood for a match,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And although I’m not quite as astute as you are, you look like you’re spoiling for a fight.”

  “Spoiling for a fight and sparring with a baby Grimm who can barely throw a punch are two different things,” he said coolly. He stopped the bag and turned away. He stripped away the gloves and tossed them to the bench in the corner. He’d head to the colony. Alone. That would do something to ease the burn. He’d come out bloodied and bruised, but he had enough years behind him that he could live through it. He thought.

  Behind him, Celine sputtered. “Excuse me, but did you just insinuate I can’t throw a punch?”

  “I didn’t insinuate. I said it. You’ve improved. You have a long way to go.” Now please leave me alone—

  He heard the rush of wind but it wasn’t enough warning. She was fast. He knew this. But he didn’t always remember just how fast.

  “What the—”

  They hurtled to the floor and he took the impact before flipping and rolling them over. “Enough. I’m not in the mood,” he snarled, putting his face into hers and glaring at her.

  “Wow. You really are pissed about something,” she said, arching dark brows as she studied him. “I didn’t know you could actually do that.”

  “Do what?” He shoved upward, away from that lush, tempting body. He had to get away from her before he did something he regretted. Already his body had betrayed him and if Celine had been focused on something other than the fact that he’d insulted her, she would have noticed. It was a blow to his pride that she hadn’t noticed. Although she was still mooning over that fool who didn’t deserve her…

  “Get pissed.” She drawled. Then her gaze dropped lower. “Worked up.”

  The heat punched through him in a blistering, burning wave.

  Worked up—so she had noticed.

  “I’m not pissed,” he said, keeping his voice cool. Turning away, he went to grab a towel and wipe the sweat from his brow. He was dying inside, bit by bit, but that wasn’t anything like being pissed. He was frustrated, he was enraged, he was jealous. But that wasn’t the same as being pissed.

  The soft whisper of sound behind him let him know Celine was now on her feet as well. He didn’t look up, but she wasn’t letting little things like eye contact dissuade her today.

  “Okay. So you’re not pissed.” She came to stand at his side, nearly shoulder to shoulder. “Does that mean you’re not worked up?”

  Turning to face her, he advanced on her, one slow step at time. Celine backed up until she came to a stop, with her spine resting against one of the rich, golden wood support beams at her back. Bracing one hand on the beam over her head. “I’m a man, Celine. I still have the same reactions to certain stimuli that any man would have. The fact that I’m a Grimm makes no difference.”

  Her golden eyes bored into his, the pupils so large they nearly swallowed the irises. “So you’re just reacting to the fact that I’m female. I’ve been female for the past ten months,” she drawled.

  Dipping his head, he whispered softly, “And I’ve wanted to strip you naked and shag you for the past ten months, almost from the second I saw you.”

  The scent of her skin was a heady rush, one that threatened to drive him insane. It wrapped around him and he knew he’d smell her on his skin, even if he spent the next two hours in the shower.

  As he nuzzled her neck, he could hear her breath catch. Against his chest, he felt the rise and fall of her breasts. Only the fabric of the sports bra she wore separated them. He could have it gone in seconds. So easy. It would be so easy. He could cup the warm flesh of her breasts in his hands, kiss and lick those ripe curves just as he’d dreamed of doing. Instead, he pushed away, stepped back.

  He wouldn’t touch her while she still had the ghosts of her husband haunting her. Setting his jaw, he stared at her flushed face, met the over-bright glitter of her eyes. The hunger he saw there was almost his undoing.

  “You want me,” he said softly. “But I won’t be a substitute for what you really want. I won’t lie in bed with a woman while she dreams of another man. While you
dream of another man. Not while he’s still in your heart.” Then he turned away and left the room.

  He had a nest of demons to kill. Maybe he’d find a way to exorcise his own demons while he was at it.

  If he didn’t manage to get himself killed tonight, he was going to have Celine reassigned.

  He couldn’t do this.

  Celine gaped at his back as he walked away.

  Her head was a mess and it had been ever since she’d woken up. And now…? Now it was so much worse. Her head was a mess and her body was a tangle of need.

  Her knees were about ready to give out from under her and hunger, the kind of hunger she hadn’t felt since her mortal life had ended, pulsed through her veins in harsh, brutal waves, swamping her. Strong. Vicious. Demanding. What had happened…? The desire she’d seen glinting in his eyes—it had been…wow. Yeah. That was it. The hunger had been wow.

  Swallowing, she rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

  Had he ever looked at her like that before?

  I’ve wanted to strip you naked and shag you for the past ten months, almost from the second I saw you.

  Shag her…

  Somehow, that sounded so desperately sexy and she’d been about two seconds away from giving him what he wanted. Two seconds away from stripping herself naked.

  But a familiar, cool veil had fallen over his eyes and that voracious hunger had disappeared. Just like that. Like it hadn’t existed.

  He’d kept it hidden all this time. And with some inborn instinct, she knew it went deeper than just hunger.

  I won’t be a substitute… I won’t lie in bed with a woman while she dreams of another man.

  As if Jacob would allow room for that. He wouldn’t be the sort of lover who would leave room for thoughts of another. “There’s already not enough room,” she muttered, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple and sighing. She was all aching and tight, like her skin was stretched too small and the only thing that would help was him.

  How had he come to crowd her mind like this? She’d been angry with him for so long, furious. And the pain was there, crowding out everything else.