Dreamwalker

by Allyson James

  The coyote was the only thing that came with me from the dream. He was on the bed next to me, having backed off being right on top of me when I jerked upward.

  And Mick. He was sitting on my other side, fully dressed, his blue eyes gone black, hands hot with his dragon fire. When Mick realized I was conscious, he hauled me to him, wrapping his very strong arms around me until I couldn’t breathe.

  “Janet.” His commanding voice went hoarse, filling with tears. “Gods, I thought I’d lost you.”

  I heard a crackling sound, then the weight on the bed changed. The giant coyote was gone, but a man’s broad hand landed on my back, warm through my T-shirt.

  “Welcome back, Janet,” Coyote’s voice rumbled. His tone held relief.

  “Yeah,” Colby said. “Welcome back, sweetie. You know it’s a bad day when Micky calls me for help.”

  Memories of my life now rushed back at me, hitting me all at once in a body slam. I wheezed, cramping with the pain, and realized my hand was bloody. A shard of magic mirror had cut my skin, and now my blood smeared its silver. The same hand wore my engagement ring, back in place where it should be. It was the mirror and the ring that had burned me in the dream, I realized, reality finally cutting through to me.

  Janet, honey, the mirror cried. I missed you!

  Mick gently took my face in his hands, as he had in the past, and looked deep into my eyes.

  I rarely had this many people in my bedroom. I was dressed only in one of Mick’s T-shirts, and I couldn’t feel any panties on my butt. I self-consciously tugged the T-shirt down.

  “What the hell happened?” My voice was a croak. “Last thing I remember is fighting at Flat Mesa last night. That guy, John, smacked me, and knocked me out. Where’s Gabrielle? Is she okay? Why are you all staring at me? I had some weird dreams, but I’m fine …”

  Mick gently opened my hand, which was still squeezing the mirror, cutting into my skin. He set the shard aside.

  “Sweetheart, you’ve been out for two weeks.”

  Disorientation smacked me between the eyes. “No way in hell.”

  The grave faces of those around me told me Mick wasn’t kidding. Cassandra looked particularly worried.

  “Then why aren’t I in a hospital hooked up to machines?” I demanded. “How am I still alive?”

  “Micky kept you going,” Colby answered. “And Cass with some wicked-ass spells.”

  “You weren’t seriously injured,” Cassandra said. “Not physically anyway. Mick healed your burns and bites, but we couldn’t wake you up. I kept your body going with spells, but I was afraid I couldn’t keep it up much longer.”

  Her voice wavered, and I saw her blink. My cool, all-business manager was on the edge of crying.

  Coyote, who hadn’t bothered to dress himself, stood up. He was a big man, well muscled all over, his black hair pulled back into a tight braid. Why his hair didn’t come out of the braid when he shifted, I didn’t know, but he was a god, and they had their own rules. He saw no reason he shouldn’t stand among us without wearing a stitch, but again, gods do as they please.

  “They found me when they got scared,” Coyote said. “I had my eye on you already, though. I was wondering how it would play out.”

  My head was a place of fog and confusion. “Keeping an eye on me—in my dreams?”

  “Sure,” Coyote said. “Why not?”

  “What were you dreaming?” Mick asked me.

  I looked right back into his eyes. “I was with you. A long time ago. In South Dakota, and then …”

  I reached for the images, the happiness I’d been willing to drown in. It slipped from me, the vivid dream dispersing like a bursting soap bubble.

  I screwed up my face, trying to hold on. Thoughts, feelings, and memories slid away. “It’s fading. I don’t remember.”

  “Dreams do that,” Colby said.

  “I’m hungry,” I started to heave myself up, eager to see what was in the kitchen, then sat back down and hauled the sheets over my bare legs. “Could you all, ah, give me a sec?”

  “Of course,” Cassandra said smoothly.

  She walked away after giving Colby a pointed look. Colby, with a wink at me, followed her out.

  Pamela, the tall woman with black hair and wolf eyes, came to the bed. She was powerful, a Changer who could take the form of a black wolf. “Keeping you alive nearly killed her,” she snapped.

  By her, she meant Cassandra. Pamela considered Cassandra her mate, and was very protective of her. If she’d thought she’d have to kill me to save Cassandra, she’d have done it. Mick would have tried to stop her, possibly killing her in the process, and then Cassandra would have taken out her grief on Mick. Good thing I woke up when I did.

  “I’ll make it up to her,” I said to Pamela. “Tell her thanks.”

  “Thanks. After she nearly drained herself dry.” Pamela’s mouth turned down and she clenched her fists, but she quickly turned and strode out.

  Mick dragged the fiery gaze he’d rested on Pamela from the door, and looked at me again, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “I’m staying.”

  “Good.” I glanced at Coyote who’d remained, watching us, his hands on his hips. “Coyote, could you, you know … leave?”

  “Why? You have nothing I haven’t seen before, Janet. I don’t mind seeing it again.”

  Mick growled, and fire sparked in the hand that wasn’t touching me.

  I didn’t think Mick would actually throw the fire at Coyote, and Coyote didn’t either, so we both jumped about a foot when Mick’s fire smacked Coyote in the side.

  “Hey.” Coyote put a hand out and caught the next wave Mick threw at him.

  I held my breath. Coyote could obliterate Mick in the blink of an eye if he wanted to. Then again, I remembered Coyote telling me that he and Mick had fought before, and Coyote had lost.

  Truly lost? I wondered. Coyote was always going on about things happening for a reason—had he known how much I’d need Mick in my life and so had let him live?

  “Just go,” I said, flapping my hand at him.

  Coyote heaved a long sigh. “All right. I know when I’ve worn out my welcome. Janet—if you start remembering your dreams, you come and tell me about them. All about them. Got it?”

  Behind his pain-in-the-ass grin was a serious look, one of profound worry. There was more to this than me taking a hit and having two weeks’ worth of strange dreams.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll find you. Keep your cell phone on.”

  “Gah, I hate technology.”

  With that, Coyote turned his back and walked away. He didn’t shift, didn’t look for clothes. I hoped that, if he planned to parade through the hotel lobby, the guests were either out or used to shape-shifters enough not to be bothered.

  As soon as Coyote had gone, Mick sent a sparkle of fire to slam the door and lock it. He was pushing me back down onto the bed in the next instant, over me on hands and knees, giving me his intense scrutiny.

  “I couldn’t wake you up,” he said, his deep voice going scratchy. “I tried so hard. I healed your wounds, but I couldn’t reach you. Damn it, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

  Tears formed in Mick’s eyes, which had reverted to the deepest, most beautiful blue, and flowed to wet his cheeks.

  Chapter Eight

  “Mick.” The word held my profound love for him, past and present. “I’m all right. You took care of me.”

  Mick studied me a moment longer, then leaned down and kissed my lips, the tenderest, most heart-wrenching kiss he’d ever given me. I came out of it with my body hot, my exhaustion easing.

  “Gabrielle,” I said, that one knot of worry still squeezing. “Her arm got burned. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. She’s in Many Farms. I healed her.”

  Of course. Mick took care of everyone.

  His look turned concerned. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

  “You never hurt me, Mick.”

  Mick removed th
e T-shirt with the gentlest of touches. His hands went all over my body, healing magic entering my bones.

  Mick loved me then—stripped off his clothes and came down to me in silence, his hot tears dropping to my skin. The lovemaking touched memories of my dreams, which had been so real. I’d felt him then as I felt him now.

  I slept when we finished, but a dark, dreamless, refreshing sleep. When I woke, the afternoon was fading, though still warm, the hint of storm in the air gone. Mick was beside me on his stomach, watching me, his eyes fully blue now, no trace of the dragon. Just the man who loved me.

  He hadn’t bothered with covers. Dying sunlight brushed the tanned skin of his backside, the muscle of the arm that curved on the pillow.

  “I’m surprised my grandmother’s not here,” I murmured, then I sent the closed door a worried glance. “Or is she?”

  Mick shook his head. “They don’t know anything happened to you. I got Gabrielle out of there before she saw. No one knows but us. I didn’t want to worry them. Not yet … ”

  Mick started to look sad again. I skimmed my fingers along his arm, brushing the edge of a dragon tatt. “I really am fine. You all took good care of me.”

  I could see that Mick didn’t agree, but he didn’t answer.

  I knew the other reason Mick had said nothing to anyone about my coma—he hadn’t wanted to advertise to the magical world that I was down for the count. If the evil magic-born figured out that someone had bested me, they’d either come out and do devastating things in the world or take notes on how someone had hurt me. They’d try to get at the magic in this hotel, never mind who they killed to find it.

  “What happened?” I asked after a time. “With the demons? And John and Monica? I could swear they weren’t demons themselves, but John sure came after me.”

  “I was never clear on it all.” Mick propped himself on his folded arms and continued to look sexy. “You opened that seam full of demons, and we had a battle. Nash showed up and helped me and Gabrielle drive the demons away from you. He brought Cassandra with him, and we destroyed the demons and their pocket under the motel. Monica and John survived, but they disappeared, and I never found a trace of them.” Mick let out a breath. “Remind me never to piss off Cassandra. I’ve never seen magic like that in a human. She kicked ass without even moving.” The admiration in Mick’s tone was loud and clear.

  “Hey, I’m human,” I reminded him. “Cassandra’s taken, and she’s not interested in guys.”

  Mick looked puzzled. “You’re not human. You’re half goddess.”

  Half evil goddess. It was nice of him to leave out the “evil” part.

  “I was joking,” I said. “I’ve never heard you so impressed. I’m going to get jealous.”

  “Why?” He was still perplexed. “Cassandra’s magic is completely different from yours. I meant she was strong for a human.”

  I started laughing. “You are such a dragon. You take everything so literally.”

  Mick peered at me with that inquisitiveness that could either be funny or terrifying, depending on the circumstance, and kissed the bridge of my nose. “I love you, Janet Begay. Take that literally.”

  I didn’t mind at all.

  ***

  I finally wrested myself out of bed and took a shower. When I emerged, damp, hair dripping, it was dark, and the room was empty. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten in two weeks.

  How had Mick kept me alive all that time? He and Cassandra must have used some massively powerful healing magic.

  Then again, there hadn’t been anything physically wrong with me, Cassandra had said, apart from the slashes and bruises I’d picked up in the fight. My body had functioned, but my mind had kept me asleep.

  As I dressed, I again tried to find the dreams I’d plunged into, to remember them, to figure out what they meant, but met with a great big nothing.

  I had a vague recollection of Mick and me riding together as we’d done long ago, but that was it. The details had gone. By the time I headed through the hotel for the kitchen, ravenous, even those remnants of the dreams had vanished.

  In the kitchen, Elena had dinner going full throttle. Most of the guest rooms must be full, as Elena was preparing a dozen meals to be carried into the saloon, which served as our dining room. I suspected the hotel was full not only by the number of plates waiting, but also from Elena’s snarls. She’d hired a young man called Don from Whiteriver to be her commis chef, and she sent a steady stream of demands and invective his way. The young Apache man carried out her orders stoically and without fuss.

  I didn’t dare ask Elena to throw something together for me, so I slipped into the giant walk-in refrigerator to scrounge for myself.

  The refrigerator kept enough food for Elena’s meals and casual meals for the staff. Elena went over the foodstuffs every day, making lists to thrust at me for whatever she needed. She’d been a chef in a New York restaurant before she’d given it up for the simple life, but she still cooked as though I had an unlimited budget for food. Any argument from me that we really didn’t need things like black truffles was met with stony silence.

  I usually caved and found what Elena needed. She was one hell of a cook, and I didn’t want to lose her.

  I saw movement inside the refrigerator. I tensed, especially when the wave of dark magic came at me, then I relaxed. A tall man in sweats lowered the bottle of blood he was drinking and gave me a relieved look.

  “Janet. I’m happy to see you well.”

  “I’m happy to be well,” I said. “And starving.” I plucked a tortilla from a shelf, lunch meat from another, wrapped them around each other and shoved them into my mouth.

  Ansel watched me a moment, then self-consciously pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed excess blood from his mouth.

  Ansel had been turned Nightwalker when he’d been a young soldier from London in World War II. He’d been captured by Nazis and put through bizarre experiments to create Nightwalker soldiers to help their side. Plans backfired when Ansel and the other Nightwalkers turned on their makers, killing them before vanishing. Ansel and some of the others had hidden nearby, sabotaging and destroying what they could of the enemy camps—their contribution to the war effort.

  Ansel was soft-spoken, polite, and spent his time collecting stamps and antiques. He now had a girlfriend, an antique collector from Santa Fe. She was human, but she and Ansel spoke a language all their own.

  Hard to believe that this affable man, happy I was better, could become an insane, monstrous killer who’d more than once nearly destroyed me, my friends, my hotel … He’d been very apologetic about it later. Of course, almost everyone I’d ever known had at one time tried to kill me, so I couldn’t single out Ansel for my anger.

  “Anything happen while I was out of it?” I asked him. “Any crises?”

  “None that I heard of,” he answered. “Everything shipshape and Bristol fashion.”

  He liked to sound like an old-fashioned Brit to tease me. He was an old-fashioned Brit in truth, a lady-killer from 1941.

  “Are you serious?” I asked. “Nothing went wrong while I was … asleep?”

  Ansel considered. “I sat up every night with Mick, keeping watch. All was quiet.”

  Strange in a hotel that drew the supernatural and the crazy from every corner of the country.

  I chewed through the rest of my makeshift burrito. My stomach was still growling, but this would have to placate it for now.

  “Thanks for helping out, Ansel,” I said, swallowing. “I appreciate it.”

  “This is my home too, Janet. You and Mick protect me. It’s the least I can do.”

  Such a gentleman. Ansel hadn’t taken any more swallows from the bottle of cow’s blood Elena kept stocked for him while I’d stood there eating. I knew he must be hungry, just rising from his day sleep, but he was being polite and keeping his blood-lusting vampire self hidden from me.

  “Still, thanks,” I said. I patted his slim arm, then left the refr
igerator and closed the door behind me so he could get on with his feeding frenzy.

  Elena had all the meals finished by the time I emerged. Cassandra, as elegant as ever in her gray silk suit and high-heeled black pumps, carried the silver-dome covered plates to the guests in the saloon. There she would quietly set them in front of guests and reveal the feast within to their exclamations of delight.

  Don, Elena’s assistant, gave me a quiet smile and blocked Elena’s view while I snitched a fingerful of braised meat from the pan he was carrying to the sink. Damn, it was good.

  I had my finger in my mouth when I walked out of the kitchen to the lobby and ran smack into Colby.

  “Janet!” He lifted me in his big arms, crushing me hard and spinning around. “So glad to see you finally standing. Micky was scared shitless you’d never wake up.”

  Colby swung me around a few more times then thumped me back to the ground. He kept his big hands on my shoulders, his light blue eyes sparkling.

  “What did you mean when you said Mick called you for help?” I asked him. “What could you do that he and Cassandra couldn’t? No offense.” Dragons were proud, and touchy.

  Colby’s grin spread wide. “None taken. Micky asked me to find Coyote. Figured he needed a god for this one. I was recruited so no one else had to leave your side. Besides, dragons can be persuasive, even to gods.” He released me and cracked his knuckles, contriving to look modest.

  My good mood faded. “So it was a spell? Not just me getting whacked on the head?”

  My head felt fine, as did the rest of my body. No pain, no headache—in fact, I felt better than I had in a long time.

  “You did get whacked, but in the face. A couple of times, Mick said. And then hit with one hell of a magic wave. Micky was seriously worried.”

  When Mick was concerned, that meant there was something to be concerned about.

  “Thank you,” I told him sincerely.