The Man of Her Dreams: A Sexy Shifter story.

by Robie Madison

  He swore in crude if intelligible English and raked his hands through his hair.

  “What truth, Megan?” His voice was savage and she had to force herself not to flinch or shy away. “That I’m seven hundred years old. That I’m a banished member of the Tylwyth Teg—what you mortals would call the ‘fair folk’.”

  He looked up at her, a bleakness clouding his eyes. “That I’ll regret to the end of my existence that the first time we met when you were but five years old, I terrified you. I couldn’t risk you finding out what I am.”

  Megan’s heart hammered in her chest. Mere mortal women such as her didn’t generally believe in seven-hundred-year-old mythical beings who assumed the form of a gorgeous man. She glanced up at his hair. It didn’t appear seaweedy—a dead giveaway, according to the folklore that a young man was really a shapeshifting water horse. But then, as he’d already established, the lore wasn’t always accurate. Besides, did she really need more proof? Mere mortal women didn’t generally have the dreams she’d lived with nearly all her life.

  “So you lied to me instead.”

  His eyes had turned a flinty blue and he waved his hand in the air. “You lied to Mrs. Smith about how we met.”

  The air around her seemed to thicken and she felt stifled in the small space. Why was he fighting her—because she’d learned the truth?

  “That’s not the same thing at all. I made up a plausible story to pacify a nosy stranger. I would never lie to the man I—”

  Before she said too much, she shoved him away and ran into the middle of the room. Furiously, she gulped in a load of air and blinked back the tears threatening the corners of her eyes. Pressing the heel of her hand against her eye, she dried the sheen that clouded her vision. She was not going to let him see her cry.

  Except her vision didn’t entirely clear and the adrenaline that had been pumping through her since his admission, whooshed out of her. Overwhelmed by fatigue, she staggered forward. Strong hands caught her and pulled her to safety against a sturdy body.

  “Owain.”

  “Megan, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  It felt really, really good to lean against him.

  “I don’t know, I… It must be jet lag. I feel so tired.” She closed her eyes.

  “Megan. Sweetheart.”

  Owain was shaking her again. She blinked and looked up at him and smiled.

  “Seven hundred years, huh. No wonder you’re so arrogant.”

  He scowled at her. “Megan, listen to me. Did something happen after I left Mrs. Smith’s house this morning?”

  “Highhanded too. You thought you were so smart keeping your secret, but you’re not.”

  “Think, woman. Did something happen?”

  Why was he so concerned about what had happened to her? She’d discovered his secret.

  “Ummm…” she frowned and tried to concentrate, “…I found the book. The one I threw at you. While I was drinking tea. Mrs. Smith insisted. On the tea, not the book.” She smiled up at him. “I found that all on my own.”

  Without warning, he scooped her into his arms.

  “Damn Rhiannon for interfering.”

  Her frown deepened as she tried to puzzle out what he’d said. “Who’s Rhiannon?”

  He started carrying her somewhere.

  “The Fairy Queen who saw fit to curse me for loving a mortal woman. ’Twas her that tried to frighten you with the horse yesterday. I believe she drugged your tea.”

  She tried to shake her head. Mrs. Smith had given her the tea. When she couldn’t, she jabbed him with her finger again. “Do you know why I believe you’re a hundred-and-seventy-year-old horse?”

  “Why, sweetheart?” He sounded tender, not angry.

  “Because of my dreams,” she announced triumphantly.

  He lay her down on what she assumed was his bed. When he pulled away, she grabbed the front of his shirt. Warmth from his body seeped through her hand and up her arm straight to her head, clearing it a little. Still, she yawned. God, she was tired.

  “Don’t you see? It’s a relief to know why the stallion keeps appearing in my dreams. To know it’s you.”

  “Sweetheart.”

  At the sound of Owain’s voice calling to her, Megan surfaced out of a thick, black fog. She blinked, not immediately recognizing her surroundings. She appeared to be standing in some sort of wood. She looked around, totally lost. Where was she?

  “The farm is over yonder.”

  She whirled around to see Owain standing in front of a tree, pointing to his right. With a cry, she ran to him. He caught her in a fierce embrace. Only she discovered rather quickly how insubstantial Owain’s shadow-self was. She felt his arms around her, but none of the warmth or the strength she’d come to crave.

  “’Tis all right. We are safe enough here, sweetheart.”

  She buried her face in his shirt, but his scent was so faint she could hardly catch it. Not the way she had back at his farm. She looked up at him. This didn’t feel right.

  “Where’s here, Owain?”

  “In one of your dreams, sweetheart.”

  Wildly, she tried to pull away. “No! I don’t want to see you here. I want you.”

  He let her struggle against him for a moment and then he pulled her close to him once again.

  “Hush. Let me hold you. I haven’t much time.”

  His hand made circles around her back. She melted against him, her arms stealing around his waist. There was so little of him to hold on to.

  “I hate my dreams. They’re not enough.” Not nearly enough.

  “Hush, sweetheart. I know. Let me make you feel better.”

  In an instant their clothing disappeared. Even the sensation of his bare skin against hers lacked the intensity of the real man. Who wasn’t a man but some sort of mythical creature.

  “Don’t worry about that now, Megan.”

  His hands continued to gently massage her back, lulling her into a sense of peace, however fragile. Amazingly, she relaxed and slowly the heat built between them. A case of simple friction despite the insubstantial nature of their shadow forms. The sensations were achingly familiar and for a moment she could almost believe they’d only ever known each other this way and that the reality had been the dream.

  He lowered her to the soft green carpet of grass and she welcomed him inside of her. A faint sensation of warmth stole through her, but it wasn’t enough to truly heat her heart. Her vaginal muscles tightened around him and he groaned. The sound was soft and low yet carried none of the fierce passion she’d come to expect.

  And then it was over before it had really begun. Ephemeral desire spent like the wind going out of a sail. She buried her face against his shoulder seeking what little comfort she could.

  He tilted her head back and settled his mouth on hers. Now that she’d felt and tasted the real thing, this kiss was flat. She wanted to wake up so she could experience zings zagging down her spine when the real Owain kissed her.

  She looked up at him.

  “Always remember, sweetheart. I love you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Megan woke slowly, hardly aware of her surroundings until she rolled over and a shaft of sunlight slashed across her face. Squinting, she adjusted her position and looked around her. She was in a bedroom that defined basic—it contained the bed she was laying on, a chair near the door, and a wardrobe. There were no window treatments on the single window, which explained why the sun could stream in.

  Given what she’d seen of the rest of his house, this must be Owain’s bedroom. Without Owain in it. In fact the entire house felt quiet, which didn’t make sense because she’d been arguing with him only moments before. Except the bedroom window faced west and she had definitely arrived at the farm before noon, so it must be much later than she thought.

  She glanced down at her left wrist, only to realize she’d never put on her watch. How had she lost so much time? Her memory of her confrontation with Owain was vivid right up until the end.
That’s when things started to get fuzzy because she’d been so tired.

  No. That wasn’t right, either. But she couldn’t exactly remember why.

  Then, Megan remembered her dream. In which, it seemed to her, Owain had been saying goodbye.

  She scrambled into a sitting position. She was still fully dressed. Owain hadn’t even taken off her shoes. She called out his name.

  Silence.

  She shifted to the edge of the bed and realized she was still clutching the locket in her hand. Her thumb traced the etching on the lid. What had happened between Margaret and Owain that they’d lost each other? Whatever it was, she couldn’t be too sorry because her dreams and the locket had led her straight to a man she’d grown to care about deeply. Meeting him again in her dream had only proven to her how much she wanted him in her life. Slipping the necklace over her head, she tucked the locket under her blouse and stood up.

  Rather rumpled from sleeping in her clothes, she straightened her outfit and finger-combed her hair before leaving the bedroom. At first the room had the same stark appearance she remembered from earlier. Until she realized that the walls, the floor and the roof were all in disrepair. Anxiety knotted her gut and she hurried outside. The roof on the shed had fallen in and huge chunks of the wall that surrounded the property were missing. Seeing the dilapidated state of Owain’s property, her sense of urgency grew.

  What had happened between the time of her arrival and now to effect such a drastic change? The sun sank lower behind the trees, casting long shadows across the farm. She’d been asleep for most of the day and Owain was gone.

  A bad feeling punched a hole in Megan’s gut. She had to find him. But where?

  She walked to the gate, which was hanging by a hinge and stared down the lane toward the river. The river. She broke into a dead run, barely stopping to check for traffic before dashing across the road and into the trees beyond. While she worked out regularly, she wasn’t a runner. By the time she reached the field, she was forced to slow to a jog. The shadows around her lengthened and her stomach clenched from dread.

  The fresh air and exercise were clearing her brain and she didn’t like what she was remembering. Uppermost was the fact that Owain had told her that the Fairy Queen had cursed him. In every fairy tale she’d ever read, curses were very bad things.

  Up ahead she saw the trees where they’d had their picnic lunch the day before. Had it only been yesterday? And then, there was Owain, standing with his back to her, gazing out at the river. She put on a burst of speed.

  “Owain.”

  He turned. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t smile in welcome. She came to a stop just past the trees and bent double to catch her breath. She kept her eyes on him, though.

  “What did you mean when you said you were cursed?”

  “You were right,” he said. “I am arrogant. I’m sorry I lied to you, Megan.”

  “You’re also pretty lousy at answering direct questions. I want to know about the curse.” She had not come this far looking for answers not to get them now.

  Instead of responding, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the grass. Despite the fact that the last two times he’d done exactly the same thing, they’d ended up making love, from the somber look on his face, she somehow doubted that was his intent this time.

  “It doesn’t matter now, sweetheart.” He toed off his boots and began to unbutton his pants.

  What was he doing stripping naked? She wasn’t going to ask. This time she was going to stay focused on her goal.

  “If it didn’t matter you wouldn’t have appeared in my dream just so you could tell me you love me.”

  That stopped him, for about half a second, and then he shucked his pants.

  “You should go now,” he said.

  Considering his usual take charge attitude, he was being far too calm and remote.

  She fell onto her knees on the grass. “Just when it’s getting interesting?”

  She’d pushed earlier and forced some answers from him. Maybe the same technique would work again.

  At his side, his hands curled into fists. “Megan, please. I haven’t done a good job up to now, but I do want to—”

  “Protect me? Good, then you can start by telling me about the cur—”

  Oh my God!

  As the final rays of sunlight disappeared behind them, Owain’s body shimmered. The edges of his skin blurred and refocused like a pulsing beacon. He stood rigid, a grimace of pain etched across his face. With each new surge, the air around him grew brighter and his body grew more and more indistinct. And then his limbs started lengthening, his entire body realigning itself with the new, four-footed shape emerging from what had once been a human form. Even his hair grew longer, forming a mane.

  Within the space of a few minutes, Owain the man had transformed into a black stallion with a brilliant white blaze between his eyes. Intellectually, she’d convinced herself she believed he was a creature out of myth because it made sense within the context of her dream world. Instead of dreaming about a stallion and a lover, she’d been dreaming about the same person who’d assumed two different forms.

  But it was a whole other part of her brain that had nothing to do with intellect or common sense that had to cope with and process what she’d just seen happen. What she was looking at—the wild stallion of her nightmares, except that he stood rather docilely gazing at the grass as though contemplating his next meal.

  “You’re beautiful,” she said, not at all sure whether the horse could understand what she said.

  The horse—Owain, shook his head.

  Megan scrambled to her feet. The horse backed away.

  She glanced around her. If the horse was here, that meant the Conwy must be the same river as the one in her dreams, only she hadn’t recognized it because she and the horse met at a different spot.

  “This is the Fairy Queen’s curse, isn’t it?” she asked. “That some of the time you have to exist as a horse.”

  The horse nodded and then shook its head.

  Stupid horse. What did yes, no mean?

  Well, yes had to mean the Fairy Queen since… She paused. Owain had called the Fairy Queen Rhiannon and had said she’d interfered. She’d purposely ridden the horse Peaseblossom to scare Megan and then she’d drugged Megan’s tea.

  Megan reached up and circled her hand around the locket. As Mrs. Smith, the Fairy Queen had also led her straight to the folklore on water horses. At every turn she’d tried to expose Owain’s secret. So why had she drugged Megan’s tea?

  The bad feeling inside Megan got worse.

  In every fairy tale she’d ever read, there was a way to break the curse.

  The solution had to hinge on the fact that the Fairy Queen had cursed Owain for loving a mortal woman. In her groggy state, she’d assumed he’d meant he’d been turned into a water horse because he loved Margaret. But, while that might be true, in her dream he’d told Megan he loved her. She was a mortal woman and now Owain was a horse.

  And the Fairy Queen had drugged her tea so that time would run out.

  With that realization, Megan knew she’d blown it.

  From the moment she’d seen Owain sitting in the pub, she’d been offered a once in a lifetime chance. And what had she done? She’d squandered it.

  She’d convinced herself he was his own ancestor. She’d postponed showing him the locket and asking her questions. She’d reveled in spending time with him, thinking she had all the time in the world. Worst of all, while she’d been confronting Owain about hiding his true identity from her, she’d kept her own big, fat secret locked inside her heart.

  She was in love with Owain Deverell. And she didn’t give a damn who or what he was. Who he was was totally irrelevant to what kind of person or entity he was. Or the fact that he loved her.

  But she hadn’t once spoken the words and now it was too late.

  She looked at the horse—at Owain.

  Or was it too late?


  Did a curse count if the Fairy Queen stacked the odds in her favor?

  Surely there had to be some sort of rules governing curses and how they could be broken. Unfortunately, Megan could think of only one way to find out. She had to confront the Fairy Queen. And in order to do that she had to mount a honking, huge black stallion because then he would be compelled to take her to the Fairy Realm.

  Slowly, cautiously, Megan walked toward the horse. With each step, she silently chanted the mantra, “This is Owain. This is Owain.”

  The horse watched her.

  The closer she came, the more unnerved she became. It was one thing to tell herself that the horse was Owain and therefore wouldn’t hurt her. Not that the wild stallion had ever hurt her. It was quite another to overcome a lifetime of equinophobia in a few brief minutes.

  She stopped short of the horse. Its nostrils flared, but it didn’t retreat.

  Sensible, practical Megan Jones did not talk to horses or plan trips to alleged mythical kingdoms. Only she hadn’t imagined the last three days. And love was definitely not a rational emotion. People did crazy things for love all the time.

  “I don’t want an argument. I don’t want some highhanded excuse that you can’t because you need to protect me. I need to mount you. I need you to take me to the Fairy Realm.”

  The horse blinked and then bent its forelegs until his body was low enough to the ground that she could climb on.

  The longer she waited the worse it would be. The more she talked to herself, the easier it would be to talk herself out of what she had to do. And she had to do this otherwise the Fairy Queen would win.

  Ordering her mind to shut up, she walked over to the horse.

  It wasn’t easy climbing on. Twice she slipped off its back until she discovered that if she gripped the sides of the horse with her legs she could retain her position. Her palms were sweaty from nerves, making it difficult to hang on to the horse’s neck. And while she knew it was Owain, bent low over its back her arms wrapped as far as they could around its neck, the horse smelled of horse.