Only In My Dreams: A Time Travel Anthology

by Sahara Kelly

  Only In My Dreams

  Sahara Kelly

  Content Copyright © 2018 by Sahara Kelly

  Cover by Sahara Kelly for

  P and N Graphics

  First Publication: 2007; Reprinted: 2014

  .

  Author’s Note

  The titles of all three books in this volume are taken from the archaic collective nouns used to describe flocks of particular birds. There’s no special significance to them, but I note with some sadness that such picturesquely descriptive phrases have all but disappeared from today’s language. We are the poorer without them.

  All three of these novels were published individually elsewhere more than a decade ago. They have been revised and re-edited for this edition.

  An Unkindness of Ravens

  Prologue

  His name was Raven and it suited him. His eyes were dark, his hair a slick of black silk, falling in this particular time to the middle of his back. He was a warrior, fit and tanned with muscles better suited to wielding a sword and shield than caressing a woman’s breast.

  And yet he caressed her breast, tenderly and with delicate expertise, following his touch with the tiniest erotic flicker of his tongue.

  She was beneath him, nestled into the soft furs that covered the ground inside his tent. The kiss of the pelt against her spine was a sensual counterpoint to the harsh rasp of his chest hairs as they grazed her belly and her thighs.

  He pinned her, hands holding her wrists high and wide, as easily as he would hold a warhorse still and ready.

  His strength was tempered when it came to her, she knew this—sensed this, even though no words were ever spoken.

  She smelled his particular scent, the one that seemed redolent with a fruity sweetness blended with musky male and some tropical flowers. It was uniquely Raven’s, a fragrance that aroused her every time she breathed it deep into her heart.

  For the truth was his mere presence aroused her.

  Whether he was a knight, a peasant, a warrior or just a man, he held her captive within his soul.

  He knew how to touch her, where to love her, when to kiss her. He knew how to bring her heat to a boil, how to arouse her body to fever pitch and how to stroke her to the edge of madness.

  How often had she shuddered on the very brink of that magnificent precipice? She’d lost count. How many times had she parted her thighs and thrust her wet pussy up towards his cock, desperate to be filled, completed, plundered by this man who haunted her—she’d lost count.

  All she knew was that yet again her dreams had called him and she was in his embrace once more, trembling with erotic arousal, desperate to be taken, to be loved, to be—in a word—fucked.

  And yet again, it was not destined to occur.

  With a cry of frustration, Renny Piccione woke in her own bed, in her own apartment, the taste of her Raven fading from her lips.

  It was enough to drive her insane. More than enough to drive her to seek help. She lay back on her pillow, panting, trying to tamp down the heat that suffused her. Beside her bed in the little drawer of the nightstand was her vibrator. A trusty friend that she’d ridden to completion on many occasions just like this.

  It was either get herself off with the toy or die of unfulfilled desire. Renny had opted for the technological solution. But it was a stopgap measure at best and she knew she needed professional assistance. Most everything else had failed.

  She crossed her fingers that the weather wouldn’t keep her from the appointment she’d made for that afternoon. And that in the meantime she might get an hour or so of dreamless sleep. It wouldn’t do to arrive at a psychologist’s door looking like death warmed over…

  Chapter One

  He watched her, dark eyes fixed on the figure approaching his front door. Swathed in a winter coat of some practical tweedy color, he could tell little about her body, or much else if it came to that.

  New England winters did not encourage revealing fashions. Not even a lock of hair escaped the knitted hat pulled low around her ears and the scarf wrapped around her neck was tucked snugly into the collar of her coat.

  He knew who she was, of course. She was his destiny.

  And he’d waited over a thousand years for her to come to him. Or perhaps he’d not waited any time at all. It was hard to tell.

  A clatter from behind him attracted his attention and he wrenched his gaze from the dark figure in the white snow to the equally dark figure in the shadows of the room. “What is it, Jakob?”

  The bird hopped off its perch onto the desk and sauntered to the letter lying there. With a couple of swift taps of its beak, it made its point.

  He sighed. “I know. She wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, was she? I sense desperation in her words. She certainly doesn’t realize what awaits her. Or who we are.” He turned back to the window and watched her once more. “She doesn’t realize who she is, either.”

  The bird squawked harshly.

  The man smiled. “Quite right. We will have to educate her.” He licked his lips. “I can’t wait.”

  There was another squawk, a rough and abrasive sound. Two jet-black eyes fixed the man with an unblinking gaze. He met it—keeping his expression blank. “I know that too. I do not gamble lightly with my life, you know. But isn’t the risk less than the reward?”

  There was a moment of what seemed like silent communication between man and bird. The man was the first to look away. “I care not, Jakob. You know—you of all creatures in time and space—you know what this means to me. What she means to me. Or will mean to me if I am not cheated by the fates once more.” He sighed.

  The bird ruffled its wings, waggled its tail feathers and fluttered back to its perch. The movements were a little reproachful but mixed with a resignation that was almost human.

  “Don’t try the guilt thing. It won’t work.” The man shifted and stood. “She’s almost here. I must go and answer the door.” A lean body unfolded from the window seat and stretched a little, white hair falling freely around a lined face. “I wonder what she’ll think when she first sees me?”

  A sound curiously like a snort came from the perch and the man grinned, sending a fretwork of wrinkles to crease his eyes and cheeks. “Yes, I know. An old man with an interest in the human mind.” He crossed the room to the door. “But when she meets both of us…ahh, Jakob. That’s the look in her eyes I want to see.”

  He opened the door and closed it behind him, leaving the bird sitting quietly on its perch. The feathers were sleek, black in some lights, blue in others. The eyes were bright jewels, onyx cabochons that saw everything and revealed nothing.

  The shape—familiar. A raven. A bird possessed of great intelligence, said many an expert. A bird possessed of a reputation mired in gothic tales of mystery and darkness. A bird…well, in this case, Jakob the raven ignored all the mythology. He knew who he was.

  He was his master’s heart, his master’s vulnerability and his master’s passion. He was, not to put too fine a point on it, his master’s lust.

  And the two of them had traveled together for eons through time and through worlds uncounted to arrive at this particular moment. Sometimes they’d traveled as man and bird, others as different forms. Whichever way it had been, they were inseparable. No one could cleave a man from his desires. None who had tried had survived.

  And yet their joining could not be completed without that unique something that had thus far eluded them both.

  Hence the arrival, even now, of a woman at their door. A woman who might possess the one thing that would bridge the final gap between the two parts of a man and unite him. A woman who might become the vessel of transportation, t
heir route to unification.

  And who would have to willingly risk her life if such a thing were to be accomplished.

  The raven closed his eyes and ruffled his feathers comfortably once more. He doubted she was the one. Being a bird wasn’t such a bad thing—flying was exhilarating and this world had much to offer. He particularly enjoyed taking to the air amidst others of his present kind—of being part of what was called an Unkindness of Ravens.

  If he’d possessed the ability he would have smiled wryly at the unintended humor. He didn’t want to be unkind. Neither did his master. Only time would tell however, if they’d both live up—or down—to that reputation.

  Only time and the carnal desires that had driven them in their quest. Whether they would survive the events that marked the end of that quest, well, that remained unclear.

  A loud clang from the ground floor heralded the woman’s arrival and the raven tucked his head beneath one wing. It was time to rest—to gather what strength he could in sleep.

  For it was certain he would need every drop of energy he had over the next few days. Once it began, there would be no real rest at all. For any of them.

  *~~*~~*

  “Dr. Corvo? Dr. Greydon Corvo?” Renny Piccione blinked at the elderly man holding the door open.

  “Yes. You must be Renny Piccione. I’m so glad you made it in spite of this dreadful weather.” He stepped back and gestured for Renny to step inside. “Do come in and let me get you something warm. It’s quite brutal, isn’t it?”

  She brushed the snow off her arms. “It’s New England. We have to expect it, I suppose.”

  “It has its appeal, too.” The door closed solidly behind her. “This way. I have a fire going in my study. We can make ourselves comfortable in there if you don’t mind the informality?”

  “Not at all.” Renny followed him down a long hallway, steps muffled by a faded carpet that had obviously lain exactly where it was for several generations. “This is quite an interesting house.” She felt some sort of comment would be appropriate.

  “I like it. I was lucky to find it on the market actually. There’s something charming about this Victorian effusiveness, isn’t there?” He glanced at her with a grin as he led her up an over-embellished staircase.

  “Good description.”

  Renny couldn’t help returning his grin. He was nothing like she’d expected, older for one thing, but every bit as erudite as his letter had suggested. There had been one moment when he’d first opened the door—silhouetted by a dim glow from inside the house—when she’d almost believed she’d seen something…

  But that was why she was here, after all. To settle her concerns. Reassure herself that she was not losing her mind. To deal with her dreams and her visions and put them all to rest.

  So that she could, finally, sleep.

  Dr. Corvo’s study turned out to be a perfect representation of what a learned and educated gentleman’s study should be. Tall bookshelves filled to overflowing with a haphazard array of volumes, windows with heavy drapes drawn shut against the rush of the storm and a magnificent desk littered with papers, pens, a coffee mug, several half-open books and a laptop with a screensaver flickering softly across its monitor.

  It should have been incongruous—an intrusion of technology into a place of quiet and scholarly contemplation—but oddly enough it wasn’t.

  What did strike Renny as odd was a rattling sound from a dark corner and she turned in the middle of removing her hat and scarf as the noise caught her ear. The light from the desk lamp didn’t penetrate far enough for her to make out the source of the sound and she glanced at Dr. Corvo. “The wind?”

  He chuckled. “Not exactly. Let me take your coat and I’ll introduce you.”

  Renny stilled for a moment, then continued removing her coat, keeping her movements slow and studied. She had no idea what was in that corner, but she hoped the whatever-it-was liked visitors. Her heart thudded, adrenaline pushing her body’s responses to a higher state of awareness. She recognized the “fight-or-flight” reaction, a natural answer to a perceived possible threat.

  “Jakob. Would you care to say hello to Miss Piccione?”

  Renny gulped. For a moment there was nothing but the howl of the wind outside and the soft crackle of the logs in the fireplace.

  Then there was a rattle, a clatter and a quick flutter of wings. Renny found herself staring at a bird, a large raven, who stared back at her with equal interest, head tilted curiously to one side.

  “Good heavens.” She blinked. “Hello, Jakob.”

  The raven moved a little, fluffing chest feathers and spreading his wings slowly as if stretching. His eyes never left Renny’s face and she found herself breathing rapidly as the shadows seemed to swell behind Jakob.

  “I…I…” She lifted a hand to her forehead, feeling the heat of her skin as she began to sweat. The bird still fixed her with his gaze, but he seemed larger now, growing…dominating her vision…filling her senses, her thoughts…her brain…those black eyes…oh God…

  Catching herself completely by surprise, Renny fainted awkwardly onto the carpet of the study as the good doctor and his raven watched. Then Dr. Corvo smiled. “Good, Jakob, good. All is as it should be.” He picked her up easily off the floor and carried her from the room.

  Chapter Two

  Renny moaned and the sound brought Grey to her side. “How are you feeling?” He ran his hand over her forehead in a paternal kind of way.

  She swallowed roughly and tried to lick her lips. “Dunno.”

  “Here.” He slid an arm behind her shoulders and lifted her a little. “Drink this. It’s just water.”

  She blinked and reached for the glass, her hand still weak. She settled for resting her fingers over his in an effort to regain her equilibrium. “I’m so sorry.” She sipped and slumped backwards onto the cushions. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. The cold snowstorm, the heat of the room—I doubt you were expecting to be introduced to a raven within five minutes of arriving, either.” Grey smiled at her.

  “Nothing here is quite what I was expecting.” She tilted her head to one side, then reached upwards. “You unfastened my hair.”

  “I had to. It hurt me to see it pulled back so tightly.” Grey glanced at the riotous spread of white-blonde curls that had fizzed out of containment when he’d pulled them free of that absurdly rigid bun.

  “Feels good.” She absently rubbed her scalp. “Thanks.”

  “So what did you expect?” He pulled his chair close to the couch on which she lay and settled back comfortably.

  “Well, to not pass out on your study floor, for one thing.” She glanced around. “Um…where are we?”

  He lifted a hand dismissing her question. “In the parlor. What did you expect, Ms Piccione?”

  She winced. “Please, we’ve written to each other enough. I think you can call me Renny. I’m stuck with that last name but I don’t have to like it.”

  “No? It’s Italian for dove, isn’t it?”

  “Also pigeon. Don’t think I didn’t hear about that from the kids in my first language class.”

  He smiled. “It’s amazing how so much of our lives can be shaped by the relatively small portion of them that we spend in school. But…” Once again the hand lifted, as if turning a page in the conversation. “To return to my original question, what did you expect?”

  Renny’s shoulders lifted and fell with her breath and her eyes turned more gray than green as she thought about her answer. “I’m not sure I had too many preconceived notions, Dr. Corvo.”

  “If I’m to call you Renny, then you must call me Grey. I dislike Greydon…awfully butler-ish, don’t you think? What-what?” He let a British accent slide over his words.

  She laughed, a little snort of amusement that made him smile. “Very well. Grey it is.” She sighed. “So when do we start, Grey? You know I’m here for your help. I need it. Badly.”

  “Direct a
nd to the point. Like your letters.” Grey nodded. “We’ve already started, Renny. But I’d like to hear the story from you. In your own words.”

  “So that you can read my body language as I speak? Deduce more intricate facets to my psyche from my facial expressions?”

  “Something like that.”

  The curves of Renny’s face hardened for an instant. “I’m not insane, you know. I doubt that I’m any more psychotic than the next woman.” A slight twinkle lurked in the back of her eyes. “Depending on what time of the month you ask her, of course.”

  “I’m not even going to attempt to respond to that comment.” Grey smiled back. “Suppose you just relax and tell me what’s been going on with you. Tell me, Renny. In person. Why can’t you sleep?”

  *~~*~~*

  Renny stilled at Grey’s question—the root cause of so many of her problems. How honest should she be? How honest could she be with this man? He knew a lot, but not all of it.

  She’d ended up writing to him after a long series of failed attempts to deal with her insomnia. Drugs had made her groggy and she’d hated taking anything anyway. The usual stuff—aromatherapy, yoga, scotch—all temporary fixes that had worked for a night or two.

  She’d found some sleep “experts” in her psychology department and consulted with them. Their findings weren’t encouraging. “Nothing wrong with you,” they’d said. “No deep-seated anxieties that we can find.” They’d written more prescriptions she’d torn up as soon as she’d left their offices.

  Then she’d turned to the Internet—and found Dr. Greydon Corvo. A small site, listing only an email address, but offering something Renny hadn’t found thus far. An ear. Non-judgmental too. She’d written him, pouring her need for answers into her letter and he’d responded with interest.

  They’d exchanged emails, sharing more and more of Renny’s anxieties. She’d found herself intrigued by his knowledge and his calm acceptance of her occasionally frantic rantings. Over time, she’d become very comfortable discussing a variety of things with Grey, so that meeting him seemed less like introducing herself to a stranger and more like reconnecting with an old friend.