“Yes. Good night. I’ve had an enjoyable evening.”
She smiled up at him, feeling warm and relaxed and full of affection. “I did, too. Thank you. I really enjoyed this.”
“We’ll make a habit of it.”
“Did we get to the dance scene?”
His eyes glinted strangely. “Let’s save it for later.”
She nodded and looked around for her crutches.
“Allow me.”
He picked her up and carried her into her bedroom. There was electricity in his touch. Or else that was her infatuation talking to her libido. It plunged her into the closeness they’d shared in her dream last night, the intimacy, the pleasure…
In her sleepy, bemused, aroused state, Caroline didn’t even think twice. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could keep from saying them. “Just so you know, Meical Grabian, Mr. Darcy can’t hold a candle to you.”
For five seconds after she’d said the words, she regretted them. Then she saw the beaming grin he gave in response, the appreciation in his eyes. The glint. The gleam. The need.
Caroline held her breath while Meical laid her down on her bed—very slowly—and remained poised over her for a moment. His gaze settled on her mouth.
He was going to kiss her. She could see it coming. But was it the right thing to do? For either of them? Dreaming about him was bad enough, but this? This was real. If she kissed him once, she’d be kissing him all night long. But she wanted that kiss so much. She wanted him. Caught between confusion and anticipation, with her safe self-identity teetering and her safeguards trembling, Caroline closed her eyes in breathless expectation…
“Sleep well, Caroline.”
She opened her eyes to find that Meical was already halfway to the door. “Oh. Okay. Right. Good night.”
Dumb, she chided herself. His body language was enough to tell her she’d just exposed them both to something neither of them was ready for. The moment he was out of sight, she covered her face with her hands. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Chapter 9
After centuries of rooting out Benemerut’s lairs, Badru could practically find them by scent. He had found them all, though always after his quarry had flown. This time was no different. Just before sunrise, he discovered the catacomb beneath a stretch of Maine’s rocky coastline, where the so-called Alchemist had committed his latest atrocity.
With practiced stamina he defied the deep sleep, while searching the underground corridors for Benemerut’s inner sanctum, his sleeping chamber. It was almost mid-morning when he came upon the room. Only a narrow bed in the center of the chamber remained.
Upon the bed lay a note.
Benemerut had never left anything behind before. Badru read the note without picking it up.
Badru,
I am close to perfecting my research. If all goes well, life among humans can soon belong to our kind again. I have the perfect subjects for my experiment. They’re young and strong and beautiful. The union they will forge will bear out all of my work. Give me time.
Benemerut.
Badru sighed. “Benemerut, you haven’t been paying attention. After all these years, you still underestimate me.”
He held his palms poised above the note and murmured the arcane words. The text began to glow like flames and disintegrated the paper upon which they’d been written, leaving behind an orb of energy, like a tiny blood-red star, that floated just under his hands.
Bracing himself, Badru turned his palms up and murmured the final words of the spell. The orb sliced through him, icy-hot, burning into him the very essence of Benemerut’s emotional state at the moment he’d written the note. When the heat dissipated, he possessed a copy of Benemerut’s signature vibration, his soul’s thumbprint, so perfect that he would know it anywhere.
It took him by surprise, how familiar Benemerut’s essence felt to him. Surely, eternal night had changed them both, yet he recognized echoes of the man Benemerut had been, when he had been the one man Badru looked up to.
But on the night he had needed Benemerut most, he had had no advice, no answers and no help to give.
It was only right that he should be the one to end Benemerut’s existence. Before his own end came, he would leave behind no stain on the memory of the most promising young physician Cairo had ever known. That was what Benemerut the man would want, even though Benemerut the vampire was lost to reason. All evidence of Benemerut’s shame must be obliterated, especially the creature Grabian.
With his strength exhausted, he succumbed at last to the weariness of the deep sleep and sank onto the bed. His heart began to shut down for the day, and his mind dulled, yet the vibration of Benemerut’s being remained with him, like a fire in his soul.
Miles from everything and everyone. Safe and warm. The sound of the gentle rain outside was all she heard.
Rain?
Caroline opened her eyes to find herself in one of her favorite dreams. Nighttime in a dark, gothic mansion, an old ruin of a castle that was given a facelift in the eighteenth century.
She grinned at the tapestries that adorned the gray stone walls in hues of rich burgundy and gold and green. They depicted scenes of private gardens ripe for romantic trysts, vignettes brought to life by the light of the torches on the walls.
“You’ve outdone yourself, I do believe.”
When Meical stepped out of a corner beyond the light of the fire, Caroline couldn’t help but stare. He was dressed like a commoner this time, in a rough woolen shirt that hung loose and open. His pants were rough-woven, too, dark brown like his boots, and they fit him perfectly—everywhere.
Caroline gulped down her next breath. What kind of spell was she weaving for herself now? The thought of her last dream with Meical made her face burn, but she couldn’t get the memory out of her mind. The feel of him…
She sat up in the big canopy bed and drew her legs up close to her. “We seem to be making a habit of this.”
Devilish humor shone in his eyes. “I can’t say I’m sorry about it.”
“Well, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. I have to be professional with you when I wake up. And even though this is just a dream, you’re way too gorgeous for your own safety, and that last dream left me with some very realistic feelings.”
He laughed and then bowed. “I’m honored. Or at least I would be, if this were real and I knew anything about it.”
Yet it was there in his eyes, even now. A knowing look.
The thunder boomed outside and lightning danced into the room, casting a glint in Meical’s eye, but not the gleam of romance.
A shiver skittered up Caroline’s spine. She felt out of control and vulnerable here in the middle of a lucid dream with a man who was half-mad and very angry inside. And hungry. He was so hungry.
On instinct, she got out of the bed. “Let’s explore.”
“Sure, Caroline.”
She went to the wardrobe. It was empty. “I seemed not to have dreamed up any clothing for myself. That’s not fair. You’re wearing clothes.”
“I like what you’re wearing.”
She turned slowly from the wardrobe and leveled her gaze on him. “I don’t usually dream for two, okay? I don’t know why I’m…dreaming like this…”
He looked down at himself as though he hadn’t heard her. “You seem to have cast me in the role of a—”
“Rogue,” she gulped.
He smiled. “That’s a quaint word for it.”
Great. That was all she needed. Meical the Gothic bad boy. What was she doing to herself?
“Well, let’s see how far my imagination has gotten carried away this time.”
With a sigh of exasperation, Caroline marched to the door of the chamber. It opened on its own accord before she reached for the latch. That had never happened in her dreams before.
Beyond was a larger room, with a fireplace that took up one whole wall and a fire that burned so high and bright that it could have been consuming a small h
ut.
She had never dreamed about this large chamber before. Maybe if she kept pushing the confines of her imagination, she’d wake herself up. Lucid dreams were like that. Once you were aware that you were dreaming, you could change the dream.
She took one or two tentative steps into the big room. Looking over her shoulder, she found Meical following close behind, with his hands behind his back and a smile on his face.
There. There was that knowing look in his eyes again.
The big chamber was warm and bright and beautiful, with more tapestries and rugs and bits of armor on the walls. The swords gleamed in the firelight.
“Sweet,” she murmured.
“Lots of toys.”
She followed his gaze to the swords. “You like those, huh?”
“Apparently you do, too, or they wouldn’t be here.” He looked down at her and smiled. “A girl after my own heart.”
He pushed past her to stride across the room, took a rapier off the wall and tested its weight in his hand. “Lovely.”
He was so beautiful. Caroline’s face flushed hot again. She wished he really was here, rather than being a tease from her subconscious. She chuckled, and he glanced her way.
“Do I look that ridiculous?” he asked, grinning.
She shook her head. “No, you look phenomenal. Like you belong here.”
He quirked a brow at her. “Really? I look like I belong in your dreams?”
“Um…here in this…” she waved a hand around at the room, “…this kind of…whatever.”
“Ah. Well, whatever you’ve cut me out to be while I’m here, Caroline, I like it.”
He sliced the air with the sword a couple of times and then settled into what looked like some kind of drill or exercise, a series of movements that seemed way too authentic for anything she could come up with in a dream. She must have stored a lot more info from her reading than she realized, because he looked like he knew what he was doing.
Caroline leaned against the wall and watched him. When was the last time Meical Grabian had had any fun? She had an impish urge to indulge his enjoyment of this place. Why shouldn’t she?
An idea formed in her mind. It was pure nonsense, but who cared? It wasn’t like any of this was real.
Caroline turned and eyed the row of swords above her head. She reached for one that looked like Meical’s. The instant her hand closed over the hilt, it felt right and real and familiar to her.
“Cool,” she murmured. “I can do this. Amazing.”
She eyed her golden-haired opponent, who was making a show of himself on the other side of the room, hitched up the folds of her voluminous nightie and approached him.
“If you want to play, Meical, let’s do it right.”
She amazed herself by giving him a perfect salute. She raised her blade to her nose and snapped it down with a flick that made a satisfying whooshing sound.
Meical’s eyes widened for a second, and then he emitted a low, dastardly, thrilling laugh. “You’re on. What shall we play for?”
Caroline followed him into the center of the room where they had more room. “Just to win, I guess.”
He shook his head. “Come on, we have to have a bet.”
She watched him shove his hand in the pocket of his breeches, wiggle his fingers around and dig out a leather lace. He looked at it and smiled. “Accommodating of you.”
“Yes, well, the human mind is a remarkable thing. What’s it for?”
He winked at her, set his sword aside on a nearby table and used the tether to tie his hair back in a ponytail. Plucking up his weapon, he started toward her with a gleam in his eye.
Caroline lifted a hand to hold him off. “Wait. How will we know who wins?”
He laughed again, with relish convincing enough to give her a chill. “I suspect we’ll know when the moment comes.”
“Whoa. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Meical turned his head aside and coughed loudly. When he looked at her again, his eyes were twinkling with laughter. “I don’t think that’s possible, is it? I mean, if all this is merely a dream, what’s the worst thing that can happen? If you feel pain, won’t you just wake up?”
It was funny that Meical thought the worst thing that could happen was that she would wake up.
But of course, that was just her putting words in his mouth. All of this was her doing, all of it her, talking to…herself? To her fears? It was all symbolic of larger issues, and she was actually about to battle something inside her on a psychological level, and whatever it represented, she had put it in the guise of Meical and turned the whole thing into some kind of enticing competition between the two of them.
Why swords?
Well, she could have a field day with that one, but Meical was getting impatient, as if he didn’t have time to waste while she sorted out her psychological wherewithal.
“All right,” she said, “if I win, I want…”
It came to her as though someone whispered it in her ear. What she wanted was Meical. In her life. For real.
These dreams were just her unconscious mind’s attempt to invent a safe place for her to admit this to herself. They gave her a buffer zone where she could feel it was okay to really, really want this man, regardless of what she’d been through and what she might face in the future.
Not that it could happen.
“You know what you want, Caroline?” he asked her.
He was as serious as death suddenly. His gaze probed hers until she had to look at the floor, his booted feet, his exquisite legs.
“Yes, I know. But…”
“It’s only a dream,” he murmured. “It’s all right to want anything here. Isn’t it?”
Caroline raised her blade and struck an en garde position. “Maybe I’ll keep it a secret until I win.”
He gave a half bow and then assumed a deadly pose of his own, as if he’d run her through if she gave him half a chance.
“You haven’t said what you want, if you win,” she said. “Not that you will because that would mean you were in charge of this dream, and because that’s impossible—”
“You, Caroline. I want you.”
Good grief, he was terrifying. Her voice came out in a squeak. “That’s kind of redundant, don’t you think? You had me in the last dream.”
He smiled like a satyr. “No, dear heart, you had me.”
“Okay, but if I don’t want to go through with it—”
“I expect no quarter. I give none.” He pointed his sword in the direction of the bedchamber. “If you’re not ready to see this through, you’d best quit dreaming.”
There was so much more to his words than a mere taunt.
Dream though it was, the very thought of what she could be getting herself into was enough to make her want to claw her way back to wakefulness, but nothing seemed as important as facing up to Meical’s challenge.
Deep down inside her, in a place beyond fear, the risk itself felt sublime to her, and Meical’s taunt boiled deliciously in her blood. The psychological diatribes with which she armed herself by day were far from her now. In her hand she held the only weapon she needed here. Could she wield it?
There was only one way to find out.
Caroline squared her shoulders. “Don’t let the nightgown fool you, buster. If I had the nerve to dream all this up, I’m sure I equipped myself to handle you just fine.”
Meical grinned. “That’s my girl.”
“I’m not your girl until you win.” She snapped her sword in the air again and circled him. “So don’t get cocky.”
He began to circle, too. “No verbal swordplay for us, eh?”
Caroline studied Meical’s face. He was perspiring, pale and sharp-eye, as though he were focusing all his will and concentration on one thing and it cost him his strength.
The jar and clang of Meical’s sword connecting with hers ended her perusal of him. “No quarter. Remember?”
“You look exhausted,” she said. “Don’t make t
his too easy, or all our fun will be over too soon.”
His only reply was a quick, half smile. Then he lunged, and all Caroline could do was react from pure instinct that came from heaven knows where.
For the next few moments, their swords did all the talking. The sound of it echoed off the walls, fit for an Errol Flynn movie. Once, Caroline let her guard down and narrowly escaped a nip from Meical’s sword.
“Keep your eyes on mine,” he rasped, “and stop watching my sword hand.”
“Are you giving me advice in the middle of my dream, you cheeky thing?” she shot back at him.
She laughed and parried another of his thrusts, turning his sword aside, which brought them shoulder to shoulder.
With a low growl, Meical bent and kissed her swiftly.
“Cheater!” she half squealed, and shoved him back.
“This will end the way you want it to end, Caroline. Just remember that.”
“Then you’re going to need bandages, buddy.”
He was so fast. He seemed everywhere. But she found she could anticipate his moves, as though they were dancing, as though she’d been fencing with him all her life. They seemed perfectly matched in every way.
After a few minutes, however, the sword began to feel heavy in her hand and the room a lot warmer. Meical looked more tired than she did. What was that about? Why should either of them feel tired in a dream?
Needing a rest, she maneuvered to get the table between them for a moment. She thought she’d just duck and roll, but Meical planted his boot on the hem of her nightgown, and with a rip, she almost rolled right out of it.
“Time out,” she said, trying to straighten her nightgown.
He smiled and withdrew for a moment, panting and pacing.
“How much longer are you good for,” she asked, “just out of curiosity.”
“Not tired, are you?” he shot back.
“Aren’t you?”
He smiled, but it was a hard, resolute smile. “No quarter.”
She got her nightie untwisted and came out from behind the table. “Fine, then.”
Meical closed the distance between them in two strides, and they were at it again.
Incubus Page 11
