Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  Cara felt him jerk and go stiff. She felt his cock pulse as wetness seeped through the front of his pants. What the fuck am I doing, she wondered. Horrified, she pushed away from him and sat up. Gregg was still breathing hard, his eyes were mere slits, but she could tell they were trained on her, hot, intense, frightening. What now? What next? She was trembling as she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Unbelievable.” Gregg sounded dazed, half asleep. “You are so... wonderful…like this, so sexy.”

  Sexy? Cara shook her head. She didn’t feel sexy. Or, wonderful. She felt exhausted, disgusted, confused. Anything but wonderful.

  “Yes,” Gregg insisted, “you are. You are.”

  No. Cara continued to shake her head in denial, continued to tremble; in fact, she wasn’t altogether sure that she could stop. No, no, no, no, no.

  Gregg laughed softly as he pulled her down to lie beside him. “Yes,” he said triumphantly. “Yes.”

  “I’m cold,” Cara whispered, wanting only to shut him up. “I want a blanket.”

  Gregg nodded as he pulled the blankets up to cover them both. He framed her face with his hands and licked the blood from around her mouth.

  At the feel of his breath on her cheek—warm, wet, smelling of blood – Cara shivered. It was suddenly too much. Time to check out, she decided as she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

  * * *

  Gregg chuckled as the first soft snore broke from her lips. Sleeping. What next? He stroked her face gently. She was amazing, and her sudden metamorphose from frightened adolescent, into a woman whose dark, twisted tastes seemed to mirror his own– that had to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

  But even better was knowing that he was the one responsible for it. He had done this. He had brought her to this point, and turned her into the depraved woman she now was. God, what a feat.

  She was his possession. His creation. His mate. His match. He lowered his head to nuzzle at her neck, closed his eyes and allowed contentment to wash through him. He was not going to kill her. The realization, when it came, didn’t really surprise him all that much, he should have seen it coming months ago. She was his now. And, he was not going to kill her, not going to share her, not going to let her go. Not ever.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chenoa was just clearing up from the late night snack she’d made to ground herself after her ceremony, when the doorbell rang. Tension sizzled along her nerves. What now? She’d been wishing for companionship, or for anything that might distract her from the unaccustomed loneliness she was feeling. Were her prayers being answered? Or was she about to be gifted with another problem to solve?

  Be careful what you wish for, she thought as she headed down the hallway toward the front door, passing beneath the personal shield she’d made for herself on her last birthday. The hoop of twisted willow that she’d covered in deerskin and trimmed with bear fur, feathers and shells, was suspended from one of the rafters in the stairwell. Facing the door, it symbolically guarded the entrance to her home. Now, she raised her hand and brushed her fingers across the feathers that hung beneath the shield, partly out of habit, partly for luck.

  Something told her she’d need all the luck she could find tonight.

  This better not be Chay needing help again, or she’d be pissed. Two nights in a row was just too much. Besides, he should know better. She was still buzzing from this evening’s ceremony, making this a lousy time for her to try and minister to any more of his wounds. But, on the other hand, why should she assume it was her brother, when it could be almost anyone?

  Thinking of that, she was all at once struck by the vulnerability of her position. She was a shaman now, or well on her way to becoming one. So she shouldn’t be surprised that people would seek her out at all hours of the day or night. It was her job and her privilege to help them. She couldn’t turn them away just because their arrival came at an inconvenient time, but that didn’t mean she might not sometimes want to.

  She was just starting out and there was still so much she had to learn. She didn’t have Paco’s abilities, or his wisdom. Worse yet, she had no one to turn to, either for guidance or assistance. She was a woman on her own.

  Usually, that didn’t bother her. She liked her independence. She liked being in charge. And she was confident of her ability to defend herself, if need be. But she wasn’t stupid, either. There was a reason most people who were Medicine acquired students, or helpers, or some sort of apprentice. There was just too much involved for any one person to deal with alone. Plus, sooner or later, she was bound to come across people whose demons were too strong or too deeply entrenched for her to remove... at least not without a good deal of effort, or even some danger. It would be nice to have a warrior on hand for those occasions, someone with the strength and resolve to protect her if the need arose.

  That’s why she’d been praying for a partner. It wasn’t just selfishness or laziness or loneliness, or even lust that had fueled her requests. She had a real need here! One that had everything to do with the job she’d taken on. She needed someone who understood the demands of her position and would respect her authority, someone strong enough to support her and confident enough not to feel threatened by her strength. And it wouldn’t hurt her feelings in the least if that someone was also a bit of a hottie – someone who could watch her back and warm her bed.

  Reaching the front door, she peered through the window. Her eyes widened in surprise. An odd tingle ran through her and her stomach tightened – but was it with fear or excitement?

  “Liam? What are you doing here?” she asked as she pulled the door open. The words were out of her mouth before she considered how stupid they must sound.

  If Liam thought her question strange, however, he didn’t show it. He leaned against the door frame and gazed at her wearily. “I need your help.”

  Well, that was obvious, wasn’t it? He was radiating sexual energy, along with guilt, frustration, rage, and who knew what other black emotions. So tense, she was surprised he wasn’t vibrating, he appeared even more wound up now than he’d been the last time she’d worked on him. What does he do to get himself into this condition, she wondered as she pulled the door wider and stepped aside so he could pass. She pointed toward the stairs that led up to her apartment. “Come on up.”

  He glanced at the stairs and his eyebrows rose. “Are you sure? They told me at the bakery where I could find you, and I know it’s closed, but I figured we could just go into the shop, maybe, and..?”

  Chenoa shook her head, feeling equal parts exhausted and annoyed. It seemed she couldn’t get away from either of her jobs. “You want me to open the shop back up, at this time of night? I don’t think so, dude. In fact, if you’d come a few minutes later you’d have caught me in bed.”

  A faint smile curved his lips. “Really? Just a few minutes, huh? And here I thought I’d timed things so well.”

  Maybe he was teasing, but there was a speculative light gleaming in his blue eyes, it ignited another flurry of nerves. Chenoa refused to let it unsettle her. She met his gaze squarely. “Well, yeah, I guess sometimes it really doesn’t pay to rush into things, does it?” Again, the words were out before she thought about how they’d sound. She felt her cheeks burn. Wow, that was subtle. Why don’t I just invite him to do me right here?

  Liam’s face all at once turned serious. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late. Would you rather I come back some other time?”

  He sounded sincere, but she could see the tension that seized his muscles as he waited for her answer. She was all but knocked off her feet by the heat and need and desire he was radiating. He wanted her, or he wanted her help—she just wasn’t sure which. But his eyes were begging her not to turn him away and she could almost hear him pleading silently with her to ease his pain. Now, now, now…

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said, as she dropped her gaze from his face. “Come on in. Really.” She motioned again for him
to come inside, and felt another frisson of nerves as he brushed past her. She wasn’t afraid – exactly. Liam might be wound up, but he wasn’t dangerous. She knew nothing was going to happen tonight that she didn’t want to happen. Problem was, she didn’t know what she wanted, and she was so used to being certain about everything.

  Her hands were shaking as she re-locked the front door. She was used to being upfront about her feelings. She was used to going after what she wanted, whatever she wanted – and getting it. But it had been kind of a long time since she’d been with a guy – probably too long – and she felt more awkward and insecure than she’d ever believed possible.

  You don’t want this one, Little Dove, her brother had cautioned and Chay was not one to issue such warnings lightly. But, oh, what did he know, anyway? Was he the one with the pipe? Was he the one people were coming to for advice, for aid, for solace? Was he the one going to bed alone each night?

  Chay had no idea what kind of thing she might want or not want for herself. And the fact that she wasn’t one hundred per cent certain of it either – as she’d only just now figured out – was entirely beside the point.

  So, okay, maybe she didn’t want Liam, but, on the other hand, maybe she did. Maybe he was exactly what she’d been longing for. She studied him surreptitiously as he took the steps two at a time with a quick, athletic stride that betrayed his impatience as much as it drew her attention to his butt. It was a nice butt, she decided as she let her gaze linger, in fact, he seemed to be in pretty great shape overall. She could do worse than have someone like him guarding her back.

  Where was the bad here?

  A former cop, he was a warrior practically by definition. He was obviously strong enough to admit he wasn’t invulnerable, and smart enough to seek her out when he needed help. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed that he was everything she’d been looking for.

  True, she hadn’t always thought so. In fact, she’d initially written him off as too damaged, too high-maintenance, too prone to depression to be around for any length of time. But the Universe kept tossing them in each other’s paths. There had to be a reason for that.

  “Would you like some tea?” Chenoa asked when they reached her apartment. And then it hit her: she didn’t even know if he drank tea. She knew he drank coffee, but it seemed a little late in the day to offer that.

  Liam shook his head. “No, thank you.” He stood in the middle of her living room, scanning the room with a puzzled frown.

  She gazed at him doubtfully. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s just…so…surprising. This place, it looks just like you. I had no idea.”

  No idea about what? Chenoa glanced about her, trying to see things with fresh eyes and only partially succeeding. This apartment had been her home for a lot of years. And, in truth, she’d done very little to the place since she’d inherited it from her grandfather – other than to paint it.

  But except for the red walls and saffron drapes that gave the living room a warmer, cozier feel, the room looked very much like it always had, reflecting her grandparents’ tastes as much as it did her own, maybe more so.

  Warning bells were going off in her mind, but she refused to heed them. She was struck once again by how little she and Liam really knew about one another. But, so what? Every relationship has to start somewhere, doesn’t it?

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” she asked, ignoring the uncertainty that tugged at her consciousness. She pulled a chair away from the small dinette table and motioned for him to sit. “And take off your shoes.”

  They might as well get started right away, she decided, as she assembled her smudging materials. First, she’d exorcise his demons. And after that? Well, they’d just have to wait and see…

  * * *

  Liam sighed in relief as he sat and pulled off his boots. He didn’t know what he would have done if she hadn’t agreed to help him tonight. Drive off a cliff or something, he supposed. Or... but, no, scratch that. With Nick’s accident still fresh in his mind, he wasn’t inclined to make jokes about such subjects, even to himself.

  Nick. Jeez... he had to have been coming to see me. He must have found out something. But, what?

  He was recalled to himself by an acrid, burning smell that seemed suddenly to fill the air. “What’s going on?” he asked, turning his head to see what Chenoa was up to. “What’re you burning?”

  She looked surprised. “It’s not pot, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just getting ready to smudge you.”

  “Smudge?” he repeated the unfamiliar word suspiciously. He was pretty sure it wasn’t synonymous with ice or whack or wet or any of a dozen other terms that meant to end his life. But she’d been helping him for almost six months, and she’d never done this before, or even mentioned it. And, tonight, given the state of his already shredded nerves, any break with protocol seemed sufficient cause for alarm.

  A disbelieving smile curled Chenoa’s lips. “You’ve never been smudged, Liam? That’s hard to believe. Think of it as bathing in smoke. It removes negativity. Once I’ve got these herbs going, I’ll use feathers to fan the smoke all over you. Paco always claimed it was as good as a shower for cleansing the aura and clearing your mind.”

  Maybe that was true, but Liam was reserving judgement for now. And, come to think of it, it did smell a little like pot. “What kind of herbs did you say you were using?”

  “White sage, cedar, a little sweetgrass. In your case, I added some lavender.” Chenoa looked at him a moment longer. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not gonna freak and go all cop on me if I bust out some of my special feathers, are you?”

  Oh, good, something else to stress about, a little visit from the nice folks at the DNR. Liam sighed. “What kind of feathers?”

  Chenoa shook her head. “Never mind. Forget I mentioned it. I’ve got a nice vulture wing fan I can use. That’ll work. They don’t migrate, they’re not endangered, they’re not sexy enough for anyone to get really upset about. Besides, vulture medicine is probably just what you need. It’s all about transformation and purification.”

  “Vulture?” Liam barely repressed a shudder. Big, black, flesh-eating birds of death? Damn right they weren’t sexy. He pointed to a bright, feathered object that he’d noticed earlier, hanging on one of the walls. “Why can’t you use something like that, instead?”

  Chenoa’s eyes grew wide. “You think I should use pheasant?” She stared at the fan on the wall for what seemed like a very long time. When she turned back to face him, he was startled, as much by the blush that stained her cheeks as he was by her expression. She looked like she was searching for something – confirmation, reassurance, the answer to some question he’d missed hearing. Her eyes bored into his. Dark eyes, so sweetly soulful that, despite her seriousness and his own confusion, he couldn’t help but smile.

  “Why? You tryin’ to tell me you got something against pheasants now?” he teased.

  She laughed shortly, dropped her gaze from his face for a moment and, if possible, blushed a little more. “No, it’s not that. It’s just... I haven’t worked with their medicine in a while. So, I’m feeling... a little awkward right now, that’s all.”

  Awkward? Over some feathers? What was it she wasn’t telling him? Liam shook his head and sighed. “You know you’re losing me with all this medicine talk, don’t you?”

  She looked up at him again, her gaze steady now, her eyes seeming to smolder. Another small smile curved her lips. “Am I?” she asked softly.

  Liam nodded, trying to rein in his impatience. She definitely was. She was losing him big time. And he kind of wished they could just stop talking altogether now; that she would get to work already, and sooth his jangled nerves. Not that he wasn’t already feeling a whole lot better, just by being around her. Even being in this room–

  He glanced around once more, still feeling a vague sense of disbelief. Red walls. Who’d have guessed? It was the second red room he’d been in tonight.
But this was a brighter, friendlier, healthier red than the walls of Gregg’s room, and the two rooms could hardly have felt more different.

  And as an antidote to the agonizing frustration he was still feeling over Cara, he could hardly have come to a better place. The two women were almost as different as their rooms. Chenoa was dark instead of pale. She was earthy, not airy. She was gentle and soft. Grounded. Straight forward. Dependable. Safe.

  He knew what to expect from her, knew she would give him what he needed. She wasn’t flaky or flighty, or shit... could be Cara had a point, after all. The girl already was Tinkerbell, damn it, whether she knew it, or not. She was a poster child for fairies everywhere. Elusive. Temperamental. Irresistible. Infuriating. Thinking about her was making him crazy. And if he didn’t stop soon, if he couldn’t find some way to turn off the pictures still playing in his head and end the aching, the itching, the anger, he was gonna lose what was left of his mind.

  “Chenoa, please.” He didn’t want to sit here any longer talking about herbs or feathers or medicine…or anything. He didn’t want to think about any of it, anymore, either. He just wanted to heal. “Please, I need... ” His voice trailed off again. If there were words for what he needed, he didn’t know them. He stared at her helplessly, hoping she could understand without being told; relieved beyond measure when she nodded.

  “I know,” she said as she reached for the fan on the wall. “Me, too. But, let me work on your chakras first, and get your energy back in balance before we deal with any of that, okay?”

  “Okay,” Liam agreed. “Sure. Whatever you say.” Any of what, he wondered, as he closed his eyes and waited. She’d lost him again, but he didn’t care. As long as she worked her usual magic on him, that was all that mattered. If she could accomplish that, if she could make him feel human again, he’d be in her debt. Anything else she wanted to deal with after that, was fine by him. He’d do whatever she wanted.

  * * *

  Chenoa stared at the object she’d taken off the wall. She stroked her fingers over the soft feathers and felt her heart beat faster. The fan was very old, one of the few things she had that had belonged to her mother. Made from two, long, red and gold pheasant tail feathers trimmed with rabbit fur, its peyote beaded handle was worked in a strawberry design and its white buckskin fringe was strung with pieces of red jasper, moonstone, amber and jet. It was a beautiful object. A magical object. One that seemed specifically designed for working with the energies of fertility, sexuality, love.