The Dream Stalker (Gifted Liaisons)

by Capri Montgomery

  “Tell me about it,” Daya mumbled. “I’m sorry,” her cheeks flushed. “It’s just…I feel like the past few nights are the calm before the storm. And all this weird stuff just keeps happening.”

  “Weird?” Warren snapped his attention back to Daya.

  “How so?” White Eagle sat across from them, giving full attention to Daya as well.

  “Okay, probably irrelevant but…Christopher Jordan, the head partner in the firm, told me yesterday that I was at the top of their list for partner and he doesn’t have any idea why I didn’t get it. He seemed as if he were trying desperately to figure out how they came to the decision they came to. And then there’s Warren—”

  “Me?” He said incredulously. “What do you mean?”

  “Warren, seriously where did you get the idea that I’d have an affair. I mean, I know that’s not something that would just creep into your mind on a whim. And I also know I haven’t given you any reason to suspect that I would.”

  He thought about it; she hadn’t. It was just an urge, a sudden thought that Daya and the Judge were having an affair. Once it was in his mind he couldn’t stop.

  “How is it that normal people can suddenly do insane things without knowing why?”

  “Hey! I’m still in the room.”

  “I know; that’s why I’m talking about you.”

  White Eagle chuckled before turning serious. “It has been said that a dream stalker, one who has truly mastered his skill may be able to project thoughts. Not completely take over, but have the ability to influence.”

  “So, he could have planted the thought in Warren’s mind.”

  “That’s crazy,” Warren said before realizing that it wasn’t so crazy after all. “On the other hand, it makes sense. My fear of what I would see in your dreams kept me from walking your dreams. My not being in your dreams gave him free access to you.”

  That would mean the guy knew about his abilities as well. Perhaps the other women were just practice or a way to cover his tracks—whatever they were it was becoming increasingly clear that Daya may have been his intended victim all along. If that were the case what he needed to find out was if the attack was meant for her, or as a way to hurt him.

  He had helped put a lot of people in prison. Only a few had been Indians, and that was only because they had committed crimes off the reservation and hadn’t made it back before they were arrested. Those were the drunken idiots who started bar fights that usually ended in serious injuries. None of those men seemed like dream stalkers; they could barely string together a sentence. Of course that was when they were drunk; he couldn’t vouch for when they were sober.

  Even still, those men hadn’t gone away for life. A few months, some a few years, but not life in prison. So why now? Why chose now to wage war? Why go after Daya? Then there was the situation at her office. No, if the partners were being influenced to go against her then this had to be about Daya, not him.

  “So you think the partners were influenced not to give me the promotion?”

  “It’s possible; although I have never seen such power in my lifetime. I have heard stories, rumors, legends of powerful dream walkers, and dream stalkers, but I have never seen one modern man capable of such power.”

  “So if he is that powerful, and he is influencing people, then is there anyway to stop him?”

  He looked at Daya; he could see the worry, the concern. “I can’t stop him,” he nearly mumbled, but she heard him.

  “You’ll have to, because I can’t.”

  “Perhaps you can share your strength with him—in your dreams.”

  “No!” Warren jumped up from his seat at the table. “She’s not Cherokee, she’s not even Indian. And I won’t risk her life.”

  “It’s my choice,” she said.

  “No; it’s mine. You will not share your strength with me—provided you even could.”

  “What would be so bad about my trying to help you stop a killer?”

  “You don’t get it do you? To share your strength in a dream means you separate yourself, your consciousness from your body and you give it to me. Anything could happen. You could die in the attempt before you even get to me. I could get kicked out of your dream. I could wake up, anything could happen. I could die and then you’re dead. Do you understand that!”

  She stood so that they were on a more level playing field. “I,” she snapped, “and the rest of Arizona understand that.” And with those words she stormed out the front door and down the steps. He could see her pacing in front of the house, as if she were trying to calm herself before she came back in. The look in her eyes told him she would probably kick him straight in the balls if she came in right now. The hell if he cared. He would not lose her. He would do whatever it took to see to it. He would have to find another way. He would have to rely on his own strength and training, because by God if she died he would never forgive himself. He’d never fill the empty void not having her in his life would bring.

  She came back inside, the door slamming shut behind her. “How do I do it?”

  “Damn it woman! Were you not listening to me?”

  “I heard you. I made an executive decision. How do I do it?”

  “It’s a matter of conscious desire,” White Eagle started and then stopped.

  “No!”

  “Conscious desire? I can do that.”

  “You would have to breathe your spirit into him inside of your dream.”

  “Is anybody listening to me? I said no!”

  “Does it matter that he’s going to be a mule about the transfer?”

  “No. He does not have to be willing. Only you.”

  “Good. I’ll work on it. We can try it out tonight.”

  “No we can’t. And if that means I stay out of your dreams from here until eternity then I will.” He slammed his hand down on the table. Now he was pissed beyond hope. He was more pissed at White Eagle for even suggesting it. “It’s a dumb idea.” Warren shoved his hand through his hair. Unfortunately, Daya had made sense in her argument. If he didn’t walk her dream he would risk leaving her alone for the bastard to take her at will. If he walked her dream, he would risk losing her to some insane impulse that she would have to try to save him.

  “That’s not the idea I was talking about.”

  “Then you should have specified, Detective. White Eagle’s, and inevitably, my, idea is a very good one.”

  “The hell it is. Listen to me, Daya—”

  “You two have work to do,” she picked up her sweater. “I’m just going to go outside and sit on the porch until you finish.”

  “Daya—”

  “Work,” she shooed him with her hand as she left him standing there.

  “She is a strong woman,” White Eagle said. “She is very good for you. Your match, in all things. A life match…it is a rare find.”

  “Yeah, and you’re trying to get her killed.”

  “Accept her help. Perhaps the power in both of you will be strong enough to combat this evil spirit.”

  “And maybe it’s not. Did you think about that?” He wouldn’t risk Daya to take care of something he should be able to take care of himself. This was his heritage, not hers, and by God he should be strong enough to shut this monster down. If he wasn’t strong enough then he would be the one to die, not her. But then he realized, if he wasn’t strong enough they would both die. She would die because he was too weak to save her. That realization made him angry for the years he wasted trying to fit in instead of trying to connect with his people. He couldn’t get those years back. They were gone, and this was now. He would make this right. He would keep Daya, and every other woman in Arizona, safe from this bastard. If he had the chance, officer of the law or not, he was going to make sure this dream stalker never woke up from his dream just as that bastard had made sure those five women hadn’t awakened from theirs.

  This was no longer about right and wrong, legal and illegal. Those terms didn’t seem to apply in this world. A dream wal
ker could walk a dream from anywhere in the world. A dream stalker was far more relentless. This man would never stop. And if he were locked away in a prison, if being the operative word, because no judge in the world would even let the case get to trial, he’d have far too much free time to rein hell on anybody he wanted to. No, this was about survival, and there was only one way to survive something this maniacal.

  Chapter Nine

  “Anything out of the ordinary?” Warren rubbed his hand over her thigh.

  “Just you,” she grinned, “still fully clothed when we’re in this beautiful place.

  “I’m here as protector, not lover,” he admonished.

  “Bummer…well, since we’re working.” Within seconds she was fully clothed in jeans, stiletto boots and a red sweater. “Let’s practice what White Eagle talked about.”

  He vanished. “Warren?” She came out of her sleep, groggy and dazed. “Warren? Why did you leave?”

  “I told you no earlier and I meant it, Daya.”

  “I’m not a child, Warren. I want to do this. I want to help.”

  “You could die.”

  “As if he can’t kill me anyway.”

  He stood from the bed abruptly and started pacing the room. He was angry, no that was an understatement; he was pissed.

  “Warren, let’s think about this rationally. Let’s say I don’t learn how to do this. Let’s say you go up against him in my dream and there’s a need for just a little extra power. If I don’t give you my strength and you die where does that leave me?” He didn’t respond, but she knew he knew the answer. Just to be sure she said, “dead, tortured, and provided on some off chance he leaves me alive to do it again I’d still be without you. I don’t want to be without you. I won’t live with knowing you died because of me.”

  He sat down on the bed, as if the weight of her words were too much to bear. “Warren,” she stroked his cheek. “I love you. Please let me help you?”

  He exhaled sharply. “I can’t, Daya. I just can’t risk it.”

  He left the room. She felt her heart breaking at the pain he was facing, but she knew what she had to do. She knew she had to make sure he survived even if she didn’t. If he wouldn’t help her then White Eagle would. She would call him come morning and get the answers Warren refused to give her.

  Well there was no sense in wasting the night on his pouting. She climbed out of bed, stripped off her nightclothes and went to find her man. “Warren?” She giggled when his brows furrowed together as if he were ready to go to war over the conversation he thought was on the other end of her sweet voice. “I’m cold,” she said when he finally looked up at her. “Come keep me warm?”

  “Warm,” he mumbled. “Baby I can do a lot better than warm.” He crossed the floor, one long, easy stride, and then took her into his arms. One hand slid down her back and closed over her butt cheek, the other slid up her arm, pulling her closer into him.

  “God, baby I need you,” she whispered as his hand squeezed her behind, willingly arousing her and sending heat pooling between her legs.

  “I’m going to take you right here,” he said before turning her around toward the table. Her hands automatically flattened against the hard wood surface as he gently kicked her feet apart to spread her legs wider. If she thought she was going to get any foreplay she was wrong because Warren took less than a second to push himself so far inside of her, so hard, so fast that she gasped in sheer surprise. “Oh God,” she panted as he hammered into her as if his control had broken and he had no intentions of putting it back together.

  She wasn’t complaining. She wanted him, wanted this. He felt so good, so right that all she could do was take him inside of her as he took what he wanted.

  One hand slid into her hair, fisting a chunk of silky strands, rubbing and twisting as he pounded into her harder. Each thrust pushing her closer to the edge of orgasm. She could feel his hips undulating, rotating, pushing and she wanted more.

  “Fuck,” he growled as he pushed into her again. The sound of his strained voice on that one word sent her off like a firecracker. She convulsed around his shaft milking him for everything he had, everything he could give. The apex of their orgasm was so strong, so primal, that afterwards neither one could move.

  “Wow,” she blew out a shaky breath. “Warren…wow!” His grip on her hair relaxed.

  “Damn, I’m sorry,” he pulled out of her and with shaky legs managed to sit in a chair before pulling her down into his arms. “I should have given you more time to get ready for me.

  “Are you kidding me? That felt so good.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah.” She stroked a lazy line up and down his forearm. “Can we do it again?”

  “You’re ready for more?” His tone took on a hint of disbelief. After what they’d just done how could she be ready so soon…but she was. He wasn’t. She could tell he needed a little more recovery.

  “Give me a little while and I will be,” she kissed his cheek

  “I love you,” she whispered. “With all my heart, Warren, I love you.” She wanted him to know that, not just because she might not live much longer with her dream stalker after her, but because she wanted him to know just what he meant to her, just how much she wanted to be with him.

  “I love you too, baby, but if that’s your way of saying goodbye to me—”

  “No such thing,” she quickly said. “I’m just letting you know how I feel.” She looked out the top of the crescent shaped window. The night sky was thick with stars. Normally she would love the change from day to night, the stars high above were one of her favorite things to watch. But right now the stars meant it was nearly time for bed. She would have to sleep and that meant the dream stalker might attack again. She went to bed each night since the first attack afraid, fearful that he’d kill her. Now she had Warren back in her dreams and even if he couldn’t save her, she knew he would try. At least if she died he would know that she loved him.

  Warren slid into bed, praying Daya hadn’t fallen asleep without him. He had planned to be home earlier, but work was murder, literally. One more woman, dead in her sleep, just enough to keep the case on the front burner at the precinct and in his mind. “Daya,” he whispered.

  “I’m awake,” she opened her eyes. “I saw the news. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I just hate reporters,” he reclined next to her. “I almost lost my temper with that little bastard.”

  “I know,” she rolled over and propped herself on her elbow. “I could tell you were biting your jaw to keep from saying anything that you shouldn’t have.”

  “Yeah, I can’t believe my restraint.” He had been stressed, too stressed, lately to curtail his words. What he wanted to say and what he could say were two different things. He also wanted to issue a warning for all women. Don’t go to sleep. But he couldn’t say that for far too many reasons. It also wasn’t reasonable.

  “I only have one way I know of to stop him, Daya.”

  “I know. You have to make sure he doesn’t wake up.”

  Never before had he taken a life willingly. What he planned was murder, plain and simple murder. Whether he got the bastard in his sleep or shot him on the streets wasn’t different; it was murder. But he had to stop him. There was no other way because even in jail the maniac could still kill.

  “He’s trying to distract you,” she stroked a lazy line down the center of his chest to his navel. “He wants to make sure you’re not together enough, sharp enough to—”

  “To stop him from killing you.”

  She nodded. “Clearly he sees you as a threat.”

  He read the meaning behind her words. If this guy saw him as a threat then he was strong enough to stop him. She believed in him, and he needed to believe in himself. He would believe in himself because there was no way he was going to lose her.

  “I just don’t get why me? I mean why choose me to stalk when he could have killed me like the others?”

  Warren’s jaw tighte
ned at her words. She could have died that first night, but that wasn’t his intent. He intended to stalk her, scare her, torture her and then kill her. Why? He didn’t have an answer to that question.

  “Or maybe it’s not me,” she said absently. “Maybe it’s you.”

  “Me? Baby I’m not the one he’s stalking.”

  “Aren’t you? Those women were all within your jurisdiction, and I’m your wife. He killed them and he’s stalking me. I think…maybe…he’s after you. Maybe he knows how much it will break you to know you didn’t stop him. Maybe he’s trying to prove something to himself, and to you.”

  “Okay doctor; tell me why he didn’t just come after you first.”

  She shrugged. “I thought I told you not to call me doctor. Attorney is more professional in my field, doctoral degree put aside, no calling me doctor.”

  He shrugged. “Counselor,” he grinned.

  “You’re impossible.”

  He knew she wasn’t thrilled with either term, but he couldn’t stop himself from using it.

  “Okay,” she sat up completely, folding her legs to sit more comfortably on them. “Let’s just say that he wanted you to know who he is…or more like what he is. Think about it. Had he killed me right away, without the other women, then you’d probably chalk it up to a nightmare you weren’t here to stop. It would hurt you—”

  “It would kill me,” he stated with a hint of rage in his tone.