A Dream Forbidden

by Tracey H. Kitts

  A Dream Forbidden

  By

  Tracey H. Kitts

  © copyright by Tracey H. Kitts, June 2010

  Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, June 2010

  ISBN 978-1-60394-437-3

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  ?

  Chapter One

  I awoke that morning wrapped securely in Marco's arms. His big warm body was pressed tightly against the back of mine, molding to my every curve so that it felt almost like sitting back in a heavily muscled chair. His arm was stretched across me, and his hand cupped my right breast. As usual, he was sleeping closest to the door.

  Marco and I had been spending a lot more time together. He wasn't at my house every night, but almost. Last night, I had fallen asleep in his bed, and I awoke to his familiar scent on the pillow beside me. Marco used scented body washes, and they worked well with his body chemistry. But he really didn't need them. Marco Barak is an alpha werewolf, and his pheromones were already in overdrive. His scent is not something easily described, or easily forgotten, and it had become as familiar to me as my own face. I was truly and deeply in love with Marco. From the moment I blinked my eyes in the morning, to the second I closed them at night, he was always with me.

  As I ran my hand over the fine hairs on his arm, I took a deep breath and reflected on how absolutely perfect this moment was. Only one thing could make my happiness complete, and that was knowing Dracula was alright. The moment I thought of him, my heart beat faster.

  "What excites you so early?" Marco's rough sexy voice, growled near my ear. His voice was deepened by sleep, making his gravelly baritone even more appealing. If I had to hear something at three o'clock in the morning, I couldn't imagine a more pleasant sound. I had forgotten he could hear my heartbeat, and tried to think of a reason to explain the fluttering in my chest.

  "I was just thinking how happy I am," I said softly, stroking the back of his hand.

  "That's not all you were thinking," he purred, while pressing his nose against my hair. "What's wrong, Red?"

  I never could lie to Marco, even when we had been enemies. It was something I wasn't capable of and I should have known better than to try.

  "Can you read my mind?" I asked, fascinated by his ability to see right through me.

  "No," he laughed softly, "but I can read you. I know when something's on your mind."

  Dracula had been burned by holy water recently. The same man who had challenged Marco only a few weeks ago for the leadership of the pack was responsible for the vampire's injury, and his furry hide was now displayed in Marco's living room. His name was Peter Davenport, and he had been my first love. The man who had once called me a monster had become one, and returned to our hometown to prove it. Not only had he tried to kill Marco, but he nearly did kill Elijah Jasper, a local cop, and my dear friend. As if that wasn't bad enough, he had ruined the one thing most closely associated with Dracula: his face.

  He had thrown the phial of liquid toward me, knowing it wouldn't hurt me should it make contact. But he also knew that Dracula was my partner, and he would step in front to protect me. Vlad had yet to allow me to see his face. We spoke, but not as often as before, and I missed him.

  As good as it felt to wake up next to Marco nearly every morning a part of me could not rest. That was the part that belonged to Dracula. With a sigh, I began to tell Marco I was still worried about the vampire. He knew I loved him, since I had also recently agreed to be his mate and to help him lead the pack. But he also knew I loved Dracula, because I had told him so. I refused to lie to Marco. However, I didn't love Vlad in the same way. I loved Marco the way you should love someone if you're going to spend your life with them. But I loved the vampire like another part of myself. Both emotions were strong, and I would not betray one for the other. If a time ever came for me to choose, the decision would have to be made for me, because I could not.

  "I stopped by his theatre the other day," Marco said, snuggling me closer. "He seemed alright, considering."

  He was right, Dracula did seem alright. But I knew different. Even though we had only spent one night together just before Marco and I started dating, it had linked us in some way. Though I suspected there had always been a connection between us, it was strengthened after that night. I could see right through him, and what I saw was miserable.

  Dracula had opened a theatre known as The Bleeding Heart. It was located across the parking lot from his club Original Sin, and both were a huge success. Alek Ambrose, the wizard who now lived in my dungeon, was partners with him in the theatre. Alek had spent the last forty years hiding out in London where he owned his own successful theatre, and had written many award winning plays. Currently they were in preparation for the next big production, a story Alek had written based on The Phantom of the Opera. Dracula was playing The Phantom, and I had agreed to be his Christine. It was a part I had played before at the age of fifteen, and now, having just turned twenty six, I still knew every line by heart.

  He had begun to wear a half mask like The Phantom in public, covering the right side of his handsome face. People just thought it was a promotional stunt, and it was working well for him. But I knew the truth, as well as a few others. Very few people knew what had happened, because he wanted it that way. He told me, "I do not need their pity."

  Marco had suggested a few weeks ago that I ask Mathias about the possibility of healing Dracula's face. Mathias Alexander was my great, great, grandfather, and he was a wizard. He's also been dead for over forty years now, but that doesn't stop us from having a chat every now and then. When he passed along his powers to me, a part of his consciousness went with it, a scrap of his spirit, if you will, and this still exists in the back of my mind. I am able to contact him through meditation, but had yet to ask about Dracula. Truthfully, I was too afraid of what he might say. I was happy, really and truly happy, and I didn't want that snatched away from me. Mathias's solutions had a way of doing that. But I knew deep down that whatever he asked, if there was a way, I would do it. I would pay any price to see my beautiful vampire restored. He would never ask it of me, but it was something I would willingly give.

  "The sun's not even up yet," Marco whispered as he brushed his face against mine. "Don't worry about it now. I know it bothers you, but you can't change anything right now." He sighed. "Right now, you can rest, and give me a few more hours in bed with the woman I love."

  Marco had been more than understanding with regards to the vampire, and I couldn't deny such a tender request. I pressed his hand against my heart, as if to let its steady rhythm tell him how much I cared.

  I settled back against him with a smile and drifted off to sleep.

  * * * *

  We were floating down a long corridor in a narrow boat. This corridor seemed endless, and I was alone with Dracula. He was in full costume, including the mask. I was dressed in a long silver gown. It clung to me, with thin slinky straps and a plunging neckline. I looked elegant. I knew how I looked because I could see myself through his eyes. It wasn't exactly like an out of body experience, but it was close. I turned to him and said softly, "I don't feel good, Vlad." There was no other way to describe my current emotional state.

  As I turned to him, his dark hair stood out in disarray and his scars showed. The mask was off. I suggested he sit down.

  "Someone has to row the boat," he answered.

  I told him that it was my dream and the boat could take care of itself. So, he sat down, and the boat con
tinued to move. He said that he looked like shit, so I shouldn't be too worried about feeling bad.

  "At least you do not look like me," he said.

  I moved closer and knelt before him. I placed my hands on his knees, and slid his legs apart. This allowed me to move closer against him, closer to his face which he had hidden from me until now. Dracula looked down, and his hair spilled across the right side of his face, hiding his imperfection from my sight.

  "I can fix that," I said.

  First, I ran my fingers through his hair. It was instantly smooth and well groomed. What was once in disarray, now hung in silken ebony locks to his shoulders. Dracula's hair is naturally wavy, and I smoothed the curls a few more times with my hands before I lifted back the hair from his face. With a hand to his chin, I tilted his face upward.

  "Do not hide from me," I whispered.

  And he didn't. Just for a moment, he allowed me to see what had been done to him, and I began to cry. He watched me, still looking so sad as I ran my hand over his face, not quite touching the ruined skin. It was almost like I was erasing the damage. As my hand moved over his face, he became whole and handsome again.

  He asked if he could try this on me. I agreed. Dracula reached out his long fingered hand and began to smear my red lipstick. I never wear red lipstick, and couldn't imagine why I had it on in this dream. It was like he was trying to rub it off. He then moved his hand in front of my face, like a magician performing a trick. My makeup was gone. I asked him why he'd done this, and he replied, "You are just as beautiful without it."

  So, I guess you could say that we both took off our masks. He began to talk about how lonely he was. I could relate. Even though I was not alone now, I was no stranger to loneliness, but I wanted a better understanding of what he felt. Dracula and I are both strongly empathic. Through our touch we can feel what others feel, and even see memories through their emotions.

  He opened his shirt so I could put my hand against his bare skin. I reached out with my left hand and could feel his heartbeat. I closed my eyes, and I could also feel his heartbreak. I realized that he could feel all of my pain, my sorrow, and longing … I hadn't thought to block it, and I couldn't pull away. Involuntary tears slid down my cheeks. I opened my eyes and found him looking at me.

  He was also crying. I knew that he understood what I felt and why I hurt. He placed his hand over mine, and I was able to break the contact. I did not snatch my hand away, even though I was afraid. I let The Phantom put my hand on his thigh.

  I couldn't stop crying. He told me he knew I could relate to his pain.

  "For every heartache of mine, I felt an echo of response in you," he whispered.

  He began to describe my pain. And after a moment he asked, "Who is the man who 'took off the mask and had nothing left underneath'?"

  I told him that was Bradley. He was a Hunter I had dated before Alfred. The line he quoted was from a book I once read and it described Bradley completely. He was so used to lying to people and putting on a front that when it came down to it, he didn't know who he was anymore. I told him that I would always love the man I thought Bradley was, and always be disappointed in who he turned out to be. He had known Bradley and I dated, but never the details. And now, I was open to him. His ability was stronger than mine, and I could not block him from my past.

  I started to sob openly and The Phantom wrapped me tightly in his arms.

  "He left without saying goodbye," he whispered as he stroked my hair.

  I nodded. I hadn't realized how much it all still hurt until he mentioned it.

  "Sometimes we think we have found something. We want so desperately for it to be true. Someone we can turn to … for comfort … somewhere in someone's embrace that feels like home. It hurts when we find it is only an illusion," he said.

  What hurt even more was to hear my own thoughts falling from his lips. My heart and soul was pouring out through him. I wept at the depth of his understanding.

  "What else do you see?" I asked.

  Apparently I was an open book, and he was an avid reader.

  "No man will ever live up to your father in your eyes."

  That was true. Jacob Mercury, my father and commander of The Hunters was my hero.

  "You are afraid of what would become of you if you did not have him. No one else could ever fill that void."

  I cried harder and he held me tighter.

  "You still love Peter," he said.

  My heart leapt into my throat at the mention of his name.

  "You were afraid that you would die, or the world would end and you would have never known love. You wished for it, you prayed for it. It never went away."

  I hurt so deeply at the memory. It felt like someone had hit me … hard. I curled against him as I cried, laying my cheek against his thigh. My tears soaked his pants as he recalled my past heartaches in stunning detail. My dog getting hit by a car when I was six, every friend who'd ever moved away, or turned their back on me. I straightened up a bit and let him hold me against his chest as he continued. "I know that you have not been completely happy since you were eight years old. The world did not seem like such a bad place then. You trusted without question, loved without fear, and enjoyed life without guilt. You were innocent. Then the kind old woman next door was killed by werewolves. You overheard your parents discussing the gruesome details. You realized the world was not perfect."

  As the memories got more painful he held onto me as if he were trying to keep me from falling apart.

  "You are afraid to give yourself completely, because every time you do, it all falls apart. You feel alone and wounded. You have been looking for that feeling of safety … of home ever since you lost it. Every time you have almost found it, it is snatched away." He paused and pulled back with my face in his hands. "You know what else I see?" he asked. "You would not have missed it for the world," he whispered, smiling through his tears. "It is just as you told me once before. All of your love, your hate, pain, and passion has made you who you are." He paused again. "You are going to be alright. You do not hang out in crowds often, or like to attend parties. You are afraid that it will dilute some of what you are, your passion. You do not want to get involved enough with other people to let them put out your fire. Some day you will learn to use all of those powerful feelings to your advantage." He held me close again as he finished, "And it will move the world."

  I opened up and let myself feel the peace, the comfort that I had been longing for in his arms. I trusted. I let myself feel complete. For a few moments I was eight years old again, and all was right with the world.

  * * * *

  I woke up crying. It was still before dawn, and I slipped quietly from the bed and closed the bathroom door behind me. I sagged to the floor and rested my head against the tub while I cried. I didn't make much noise, but I cried so hard I thought my insides were being torn out.

  Seeing Dracula as himself would have been painful enough without seeing him as The Phantom. I have always loved The Phantom. I believe he represents the duality of human nature. We all have a face we show the world and one we keep in private. I could always relate emotionally, and later physically as well. There are several vicious slashes across the right side of my stomach, beginning level with my belly button, and extending to the front of my upper hip bone. Three diagonal cuts above my navel, and three cuts at an angle on the left side. However, I envy a part of other women that is not essential to daily interactions. How terrible would it be to look at men and envy their face? Especially to someone as beautiful as Dracula.

  ?

  Chapter Two

  I have always found The Phantom to be more ravishing with one half a face than most men are with both sides. Now the same was true of Dracula. I don't believe The Phantom was a monster. I simply believe he wore on the outside what most of us conceal within. I look at some of the most handsome men I have ever known and see monsters. I have a tendency to overanalyze. Therefore, after analysis, I believe The Phantom and Dracu
la both to be a product of their environments. The Phantom was in love and became jealous. Who has this not happened to? He reacted out of violence because that is what people had shown him. He wanted Christine's love, not her pity. A madman would not have been able to tell the difference. He loved her enough to let her go.

  When I was just becoming a young woman, I read about The Phantom and found solace. As I grew older, Dracula began to visit me in my dreams and I found in him my own version of The Phantom and my romantic ideal. When I was about twelve or so I used to think that if The Phantom were real, he was the only one who could really understand me. This is why Dracula's choice was doubly painful to behold. It was also why I had agreed to play the part of Christine again. The Phantom and his scarred visage were very dear to my heart. I too was a ruined beauty, and found myself drawn to him even more now that I had a physical representation of his angelic presence so close at hand. I realized then he is more than my romantic ideal … he touches my soul.

  Even though I had been horrified at the sight of Dracula's injury, I found that once I tried to recall it I couldn't. He had somehow blocked the image from my mind when we lost contact.

  I straightened up and walked over to the built-in linen cabinet against the wall. Marco had a very large, very stylish bathroom. Even his towels matched. I smiled as I remembered the collection of bubble bath he had underneath the vanity. Who'd have ever thought an alpha werewolf would enjoy bubbles? I couldn't let him see how upset I was. I took out a bath cloth and started washing my face. As I wiped away the tears and soothed my puffy eyes with the cold water, I knew I would have to ask Mathias for a possible solution soon. This was killing me. But if his answer would somehow hurt Marco, that might finish the job.

  When I walked back through the door, Marco was turned toward me, and hugging a pillow in my absence. I took a moment to just appreciate the sight of him as he stretched out his lean six foot two frame across the scarlet sheets. The crimson and gold comforter was folded back toward the foot of his massive bed. It was entirely too hot to sleep next to Marco's overheated body underneath a thick comforter. Most of the time, we ended up shedding the satin sheet as well. He was all the warmth I needed. He rolled to his back, pulling the covers further down his body and completely revealing one long leg. Every time I looked at Marco, I thanked God for my eyes. Just looking at him made me grateful to be alive. Breathing in his scent made me thankful for lungs, and touching him made me nearly weep at the fact that I had hands. Not a day went by when I didn't count the blessings in my life, and Marco was at the top of the list.