Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  “Oh, look, it’s Liam,” Ruth said, smiling as she waved him over.

  Liam? A thrill of surprise ran through Chenoa. What’s he doing here? Force of habit had her checking out his chakras. She was surprised by what she saw. Floored, in fact, by the rush of sexual energy running rampant within him; and by the way her own body instantly recognized and responded to it.

  Like calling to like. Two hungry hearts. Two lonely souls. Someone to connect with. Someone who might fill the empty spaces within her. Wasn’t that what she wanted, what she’d been hoping for tonight?

  Their eyes met and a smile brightened his face. She could sense the connection between them. She knew what he wanted, because she wanted it, too. They had both been too long without a mate. If there were someone here who could read her chakras, would her energy really look all that different from Liam’s? She thought not.

  Still, despite her body’s attraction, despite her heart’s yearning for romance, some instinct for caution was at work within her. She wasn’t ready for this. Not even close to ready.

  There was something too strange about the energy coursing through Liam tonight. Something alien. It was a little too dark. A little too angry. Too volatile. Too dangerous. He looked about ready to burst into flames, and not a nice steady glow at which she might warm herself, either. A girl could get herself hurt, playing with this fire.

  Even before he finished working his way through the crowd to fetch up beside her, she was busily planning ways in which to neutralize his energy; to cool his jets, dampen the fire that burned within him, or, at the very least, to insulate herself against it.

  “Chenoa. Well, this is a nice surprise.” Liam scanned her face eagerly. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” His own face was faintly flushed, his eyes dilated, his body all but vibrating with sexual tension.

  Chenoa shrugged, dropping her eyes from his heated gaze, feigning an indifference she was far from feeling. In truth, she was both intrigued and repelled by his aroused condition. “I’m here quite a lot, actually.”

  “I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Liam murmured. He nodded at the dance floor. “Care to dance?”

  The band had segued into one of their slower, smokier ballads. Ordinarily, under such circumstances, Chenoa would have demurred. But, if she wanted to rein in Liam’s runaway emotions, she’d need to get her hands on him in some fashion, and slow dancing certainly fit the bill. She met his eyes again and smiled. “Yes, I would. Thanks.”

  As Liam’s arms swept around her, Chenoa sighed – partly in satisfaction, partly with regret. It was nice here. Exciting. His body, pressed close against her own, promised everything she’d been missing, everything she’d been hungering for, and then some. It was the then some that had her worried.

  She ran her hands up his arms, testing his muscles along the way; and then lightly kneaded his shoulders, his neck. “What have you been up to? I’ve never seen you so tense. This doesn’t have anything to do with any of the guys you used to work with, does it?”

  “Tense?” Liam laughed; a harsh, bitter sound. He smoothed his hands down her back to clasp her hips, grinding lightly against her, spreading warmth throughout her body. His eyes narrowed as he assessed her speculatively. “That’s funny. I don’t feel at all tense, when I’m with you.”

  Chenoa smiled wryly. “You don’t, huh? Could’ve fooled me.” Not really a surprise though, considering the huge ball of calming energy she’d imagined into being around them, and which was currently bathing them in its cool, blue-green glow. She was feeling very relaxed herself, at the moment; even despite what his hands were doing to her.

  She waited, expecting him to continue talking, hoping he’d say something more about his state of mind, but it soon became clear he had no intention of telling her what it was that had gotten to him tonight. He just sighed, and pulled her closer, rocking them slowly around the room. Chenoa frowned. His reluctant silence was something different. It was a bad sign, and one more reason for her not to trust him.

  This dance was all the romance she was going to allow herself tonight, she decided, pouring even more of her attention into the circle of light she was weaving around them. Even though she was attracted to Liam, even though her blood heated at the thought of what they might be like together, it was not to be.

  They would have one dance, and that would be all. She let her mind move forward in time, scanning the near future for confirmation of what she’d already foreseen.

  She knew this was the last song the band would play in this set. When it was ended, Liam would return with her to her table, where he’d stay for one drink. Then, after making some feeble excuse, he’d leave, and she would be disappointed.

  She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed again, inwardly this time. It was just as well. Better to be disappointed than to end up overwhelmed or even hurt by whatever dark force was at work within him tonight. What was meant to be was not that easily turned aside. And, if they were fated for each, then... they would be together. But, it would be at some other point in time. Not this evening.

  * * *

  “So, what was the deal with your friend tonight?” Chay asked, soon after Liam departed.

  Chenoa glanced up from her drink. She was surprised by her brother’s tone, and even more surprised by the odd emphasis he’d put on the word friend. “Deal? What deal? It’s late. He was tired. He went home. What part of that needs explaining?”

  Chay shook his head. “Oh, it’s not his leaving I’m concerned about – that part was fine with me. There was just…I don’t know. Something about the way he was looking at you earlier. The way he kept touching you while you were dancing. I don’t know what it is, but…I don’t like him.”

  “You don’t like him?” Chenoa’s mood went from surprised to astonished. Chay so rarely disliked anyone. She trusted her brother’s instincts – as long as the subject was someone other than himself, and those he cared about. And she respected his intuition, in most cases. But it had been months since he’d admitted that her own abilities in that regard were superior to his. And it had been years since he’d tried to come on like a heavy handed, over-protective older brother. “Paco didn’t have a problem with him,” she reminded him, even though invoking the memory of their grandfather was a low blow.

  If she expected Chay to back down, she was disappointed. Gold eyes met hers, dead on. “Well, maybe that’s ‘cause Paco never watched him dance with you.”

  At the memory of Liam’s hands on her, at the way she’d responded to his touch, Chenoa felt her cheeks grow warm. She bristled as her badger – that portion of her personality that was aggressive, defensive, quick to attack – reared its head. “You trying to tell me who I can dance with now, bro?” she asked in disbelief.

  Chay shook his head. “No, it’s not just the dancing. I think you should stay away from him altogether.” His eyes met hers once again; leaving her with no doubt as to her brother’s sincerity as he added, “He’s not for you.”

  Not for me? What the hell does that mean? Chenoa glared at her brother. He’s not my soulmate? Not the love of my life? Well, I didn’t think he was. But, even if there was someone like that out there for her, that didn’t mean she had to lock herself up in some ivory tower while she waited for him to arrive, did it? “Well, thank you for the advice, brother. Your opinion is noted.”

  Chay grinned suddenly. “Oh, put your claws away. You’re just angry ‘cause you know I’m right.”

  Easy for him to say, Chenoa thought. After all, it wasn’t Chay who was going to bed alone each night, was it? “I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?” That was the one thing you could always count on. Sooner or later every question would have its answer, even if it wasn’t the one you wanted.

  “Yeah, we will,” Chay said, turning serious once more. “But, if you’re smart, you’ll listen to what I tell you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Chenoa felt her mouth tighten. “I can take care of myself,” s
he reminded him, her tone icy, her mood one of outrage. Confusion. Loneliness.

  Chay nodded acknowledgement. “I know you can. But, we all make mistakes sometimes.” His eyes gleamed with sympathy as he repeated softly, “You don’t want this one, Little Dove. He’s not for you.”

  * * *

  What the hell were you thinking, you dickhead? Liam berated himself as he paced through his apartment, trying to remember why he was even there. Sure, he was feeling better than he had been earlier, but, so what? He was by no means back to normal yet, was he? So, why he’d walked away from Chenoa – whom he knew damn well was the only woman capable of pacifying his sorry ass tonight – was a total, fucking mystery.

  Nobody made him feel more relaxed, more comfortable in his own skin than Chenoa did. She was just what he needed to put Cara from his mind. And while that might not be the best reason to go to bed with someone, well, it wasn’t the worst reason, either, was it?

  Ah, but would she agree with that logic?

  He felt a twinge of guilt, as he pondered that thought. No, probably she wouldn’t. But, then again, it wasn’t something she would ever have to know about, would she?

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t always been attracted to her. Just because he hadn’t ever made a move before now, that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it. He’d thought about it plenty, as a matter of fact. It was always in the back of his mind, wasn’t it? He just hadn’t ever acted on it.

  He tossed back his beer and looked around, trying desperately to think of something else – something that had nothing to do with either woman.

  He had to keep his mind on his mission. He had no idea what he needed to pack for his move to TLV. He had no idea what they’d even allow him to bring – not much, he imagined. And, he had no freakin’ clue when they might be expecting him.

  He could always call Cara and ask, he supposed. That’s what Gregg had said to do. And, oh, yeah, wasn’t that a damn fine idea? Right up there with throwing himself, stark naked and smeared with honey, on top of an anthill.

  Christ. He stilled as he thought about it. Naked? Oh, fuck, why’d he have to go there? He was already finding it harder than it ought to be not to think of her that way. Hard not to strip her bare with his mind, and imagine her pale skin warming the white satin sheets of her bed; her bright eyes burning away the darkness.

  The more he thought about it, about her, about all the things he wanted to do to her, all the ways he wanted to take her, the harder and more tense he became. And the better the idea of getting involved with Chenoa began to seem.

  He could lose himself in Chenoa. She was strong and powerful, wise beyond her years, with a sultry voice and a magic touch; she could take away the tension. She could fix this!

  Right now, walking out of that restaurant alone tonight seemed like the biggest mistake he could ever have made. This was a good time to get involved with her, damn it. It was a good time and a good reason, no matter what anyone thought.

  He felt happier just thinking about her. He felt healthier and more sane, too. All good things. What he was feeling for Cara, on the other hand, was not good. It was not good, at all. What was wrong with him, that he couldn’t make himself stop?

  The fantasy that Gregg had placed in his mind, was still running – like a long playing video loop, endlessly repeating. Try as he would, he couldn’t get the damn thing to shut off. If he closed his eyes, even for a second... she was right there, large as life; splayed across the satin covered bed, back arched, waiting for him to take her…

  He tried to bat the images away. He tried to deflect them, by remembering how she’d looked earlier tonight, frowning at him from the refreshment table, or on any of the previous occasions; looking young and innocent, blushing when he teased her. Just like a kid.

  But his treacherous thoughts kept circling ‘round and returning to that bedroom. To that bed. To her. Looking hot. Looking tempting. Looking sexy as hell.

  Looking so very not like a kid.

  He groaned aloud as the images resumed. As he saw her lips, bruised and swollen, as if from too many kisses; and yet red, ripe, ready for more. As he saw her eyes, bright with heat, wide with passion. Or maybe it was fear that widened them. Maybe it was tears that made them so bright.

  It scared him that he couldn’t tell. It scared him more that he didn’t care.

  He wanted her anyway. He wanted her any way he could get her. He could almost hear her whispering his name, calling him to her, begging for him…

  “Please, she would whisper, her soft voice echoing in the dark recesses of his mind. “Please, oh, please, oh, please–”

  * * *

  “Please,” Cara whimpered in a voice clogged with tears. “Please, stop. No more, now. Please.”

  Gregg cocked his head to the side as he looked at her, considering her request. “Had enough?”

  She gazed back at him, wide eyed; as though she were afraid of giving the wrong response. Finally, her voice no more than a shaky breath of sound, she whispered, “Yes? P- please?”

  Probably just as well, he thought as he rubbed his shoulder. He was already sweaty from working her over. There was no point in overdoing things to the point where his arm got sore. He nodded slowly, gazing at the web of welts that wrapped around her torso. They’d fade away within a couple of days, but, in the meantime, they were really quite artistic. Any more might spoil the effect.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded, tossing the strap on the night table and coming to sit beside her on the bed. He ran his hand up her belly and between her breasts, over the newly corrugated surface of her skin. She shuddered beneath his touch, but otherwise she lay unmoving, uncomplaining, even though he was sure the salt from his sweat must sting. Good. She was learning, then.

  He prodded her chin with his thumb until she opened her mouth and allowed him entrance. He slid his thumb inside, smiling as she suckled him. “You know you bring this on yourself, don’t you? You make me hurt you. You make me punish you. You know that, right?”

  Her body stiffened. She left off sucking and stared at him. For an instant, he thought he saw a flash of anger in her eyes. He raised an eyebrow. She blinked, and it was gone again. She sniffled just a little as she nodded, yes.

  “You just love learning things the hard way, don’t you?” he sighed, removing his hand from her mouth so that he could softly ruffle the curls on her head. “Always the hard way with you. Isn’t that so?”

  Again she sniffled. Again she nodded. “Yes.”

  Gregg smiled. “Ah, well, I guess, if that’s what you want, that’s how it’ll have to be.”

  He reached into the night table drawer for one of the ‘treats’ he kept stored there for just such occasions. The fruit flavored lozenge on its little plastic stick might look like candy, but it was really a powerful drug, one that would dull her memory as well as her pain, replacing them both with a false sense of well-being and easing her way into sleep. In the morning, she would awaken with only a vague, distorted recollection of events, and no real idea of how much she’d suffered.

  After all, what fun would it be if she learned to fear him overmuch? She might grow too boringly timid. She might even contemplate escape. This way, each time was like the first time. Again and again he could enjoy her shocked surprise as the pain registered. Sharp. Searing. Exquisite. So much more intense than she’d remembered.

  “Open up again,” he instructed as he unwrapped the drug. “And, remember, suck, don’t chew.”

  He waited until she had finished and then reached above her head to unlock the chains at her wrists. He watched as she curled herself up in a tight little ball, covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  “Shhh,” he hushed as he stroked her, running his hand down the exquisite curve of her back, and then up again, tracing over her spine, loving each delicate vertebrae. They’d be so easy to crack, so easy to displace, to damage, to destroy. Not that he ever would, of course. She had beautiful bones. When she was dead,
he’d have them strung on a necklace. Something to remember her by.

  “Now, get some rest,” he ordered as he pulled the covers up around her shoulders, and tenderly tucked her in. “And stop your crying. All right?”

  He waited for her to comply, but although she nodded, the crying continued, unabated.

  Gregg sighed. “You’re just tired, that’s all. You’ve got yourself all worked up over nothing. But if you go to sleep now, like a good little girl, it will be morning before you know it. And who can tell? Maybe tomorrow you’ll have a better day.”

  * * *

  Cara was still crying as Gregg settled himself in front of his computer – but, not so loudly that it disturbed him, so he decided to let her get away with it. For now, anyway.

  It was time to check in with his extended family. He logged onto the first of several chat rooms he frequented, seamlessly morphing into Zophiel, the persona he’d created so that he could keep an eye on what the others were saying about him and monitor his standing in the community.

  He might be a god within his compound, and a law unto himself, but it didn’t pay to completely turn your back on the outside world. That was a lesson he’d learned from his former partner and cellmate. Old Jim had known a thing or two about that. After all, it was failing to take community opinion into account that had landed him in Gregg’s cell in the first place.

  Jim had known a thing or two about a lot of things. Like teenage girls, for instance. And, man, wouldn’t he have loved Cara... who was still crying, damn it.

  Gregg gritted his teeth for a moment, distracted by the noise. He drummed his fingers on his desktop, and then turned toward the bed. “Are you gonna stop crying, or do I have to come over there and make you stop?”

  “I’m. Trying. To,” Cara answered, sounding almost angry, sputtering the words out between sobs.

  Trying? Man, she was stubborn. “Well, try harder,” he advised, shaking his head as he went back to work. Yeah, Jim would have had a real good time with Cara. And he probably would have found a way to make her stop crying by now, too; which would have been fun to watch. So much fun, it almost made Gregg sorry he’d killed him.