Thirty-three

Quinn stretched and opened her eyes to a room brightened by only a skylight in the low, sloped roof directly above her. Several smoke detectors randomly guarded the small loft, blinking a steady green. The softest blanket ever snuggled her close on a bed…

Where the hell was she?

Something touched her back.

She flung her elbow, and it struck a solid obstacle. Someone oofed as she scrambled to the floor and spun.

Reclining on the far side of the bed, dressed in all black and looking sexy as sin, Zaire scowled. He rubbed his chest where she’d stabbed him in the dream what seemed like years ago.

Oh. Maybe this was a dream. Or heaven. “Did I die?”

“Not yet.” The words were a dark rumble, and his black eyes glittered with anger.

“Did you not have your morning coffee yet?” She batted her eyelashes, her attempt at innocence. “You look a little grumpy.”

His black void gaze fixed on her, he straightened, sat, and slung his legs over the edge of the bed. Thundercloud was a perfect name for his expression. “Do you have any idea how deeply you’ve scarred me, Quinn?”

She gulped but refused to step back, to surrender any ground. “Um…no?”

His features darkened. Shadows separated from the corners and curled around him like smoke. Yeah, he was pissed. “I thought—” His voice cracked and he raked his fingers through his hair. “I thought I’d lost you again.”

Her heart twisted, an echo of her own memories. She’d lost him twice, the first time for years. That hollow ache was a feeling she never wanted to experience again.

“Z.” She hobbled back to him. With the initial spike of adrenaline burnt out, her body pounded everywhere, none of it pleasant. Stopping between his splayed knees, she slid her arms around his neck and held his stare, shivering under his intense focus. “You can’t lose me. I’m like an incurable disease. Sorry for the grim prognosis.”

His mouth twitched, and the shadows receded. Resting his hands on her hips, he pulled her closer and laid his forehead on her shoulder. His midnight winter scent surrounded her, a reminder that he was real, not a dream. “You’re not leaving without me ever again.”

“I’m down with that.” She sifted her fingers through his silky hair. As much as she loved the dangerous edge of his buzz cut in the dream, she liked the sensual slide of his hair against her skin. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

“No, dearling.” His warm breath caressed her collarbone. “After almost three days of much-needed sleep, you are now awake.” He hesitated. “Does that disappoint you?”

“Not even.” The heat of his hands filtered through the yoga pants someone had kindly dressed her in, and she wanted to stay wrapped in his solid strength forever. “Waking up to you couldn’t possibly get old. Or sharing dreams with you. So long as you’re with me, I’m good. Speaking of, where are we?”

“The loft above a pub belonging to Danyella,” he said with a hint of reluctance. He sighed. “In the new V’alkara community. She’s also a dreamcaster.”

She eased back enough to gauge his expression. Neutral, giving nothing of his emotions away. He voluntarily agreed to check out the V’alkara with her, no further harassment. Her mind was officially blown. “Get out.”

“Never.” Grasping her fingers, his black gaze burned. “Where you are is where I’ll be. Always.”

Her entire body went gooey for the boy from her darkest dreams and the man he’d become. As she took his hand, cool, smooth metal slid along her palm. A black band rested on his middle finger. “What’s this? Need more bling to go with the cross I gave you?”

“Give is a gentle word for how I received your cross.” He frowned down at the ring like it might bite him. “This is a necessary device for a V’alkara to enter the premises. White constructed an underground security system that prevents unauthorized entry.” His lip curled. “Though I loathe admitting it, this is the safest place for you and Braden for the time being.”

Everything flooded back—Braden’s rescue, her capture, the long, numbing, terrifying hours trapped in a box. As if sensing her panic, Zaire squeezed her hands, and she forced her shoulders to relax, releasing the fear. Everyone was safe, free. At last.

She seriously needed some coffee. And the bathroom. “Is Braden okay?”

Zaire released a long breath through his nose. “He has discovered a teenage V’alkara named Alun who shares a mutual infatuation with comic book heroes. I have dropped significantly in importance.”

“I’m sure you’re still his favorite uncle.”

“I’m his only uncle,” he grumbled.

“You’re still my favorite person.” She gave him a winning smile.

His scowl softened, and he twined his fingers with hers, studying their clasped hands. “I was forced into the V’alkara traditions as the others,” he said softly, “dealt with the same methods of pain and breaking. The violent V’alkara nature doesn’t change, it never will.” He paused, and his forehead furrowed. “And yet, there are differences here. The presence of two dreamcasters seems to temper the violence.”

Quinn bit her lip to hold in her excitement. This was finally it. Her open window to discovering who she was, what else she could do, no more uninspiring college classes in subjects that didn’t quite fit. Everything was falling into place.

It was about blipping time.

“White is also different,” Zaire continued, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “He prefers not to be called White, claims to despise torment and chains. I daresay even Black respects him in some measure. The dreamcasters adore him.” He finally lifted his gaze to hers. “I still don’t trust any V’alkara.”

“Shocker.” She snorted. “You’d be suspicious of a nun handing out food to the homeless.”

“A reasonable reaction, dearling. A nun is the perfect guise for any demon.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “But if you desire to remain here for a time…” His jaw bunched, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “There are worse places to be than in the midst of other dreamcasters and their V’alkara.” A growl rumbled from deep in his throat. “To be clear, I’d stay in Hell with you if that’s what you wanted, and this may be a close second.”

She would have jumped up and down if her body didn’t feel like it had been dragged behind a horse for a mile. Instead, she lifted her arm for a fist pump, winced, and dropped it. “Guess twenty-four is too old to fight a horde of demons and be captured by the Crows in the same day.” At the sudden anger thickening the air, she settled into Zaire’s lap to distract him. “I’ll celebrate with a kiss instead.”

“You need to heal.” The darkness in his eyes deepened, and his gaze drifted to her lips. “I’ll give you two days to recover.” He leaned in and trailed his nose up her neck to her ear, the sandpaper scratch of his stubble making her squirm. “Then I’ll kiss you, and I won’t stop until I’ve faced the full consequences of doing so, as you promised.”

“As if I’d let you.” Her voice came out breathy, needy, a reflection of the molten heat flooding her and throbbing in all the best places. “One day,” she countered. “No more.”

He fisted her hair. “Tomorrow night,” he said in a rasp. “A day and a half, then you’re mine.”

“I’m already yours.”

His crooked half-smile reflected the boy she’d fallen for years ago. He’d only smiled in her childhood nightmares once—just once—and that was all it took for her to know she’d never love anyone else.

Quinn pressed her lips together to hold the words back. He was, annoyingly, right about her injuries. She hurt everywhere, and she didn’t want pain tarnishing the memories of their first time together. They’d had enough of that for a lifetime.

“Did you happen to pick up Wolfgang from Steph?” A chill slipped through her, and she held his gaze. “Wait. Tell me you didn’t go to Steph’s alone. Tell me my best friend is still alive and kicking.”

Zaire looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. “Tempting as it is, I have not harmed your friend. Yet,” he added under his breath. “We can collect Wolfgang from her later today, if you wish.”

She laced her hands behind his neck, more relieved than she wanted to admit. “I’m sure WG misses you.”

“I thought I heard voices.” Gwen’s head popped above the stairway railing, her sharp teeth flashing in the morning light. Her inhuman green eyes sparkled as she skipped up the last few stairs and twirled, her purple plaid skirt flaring. How she moved so gracefully in four-inch spiked heels was impressive, almost as extraordinary as her eye-scorching, neon yellow boots. “What is it with you dreamcasters sleeping all the time? Don’t you know revenge must be exacted?”

A wicked smile surprisingly curled Zaire’s mouth. “Gwendolyn and I have come to a mutual understanding. While you study your dreamcaster heritage, Crows will be hunted.”

“Hunted by whom?” Quinn’s happy bubble threatened to burst. Zaire never smiled at anyone else besides her, which meant his smile was triggered by Gwen’s words. Not good.

Flouncing on the bed beside them as if invited, Gwen twisted a golden curl around her finger. “I have the Demon Master on my favor list, and payback’s a bitch.”

A low growl came from Zaire. “Careful, fairy.”

Gwen hissed. “Fine, Prince.”

Zaire smiled mildly.

“No way.” Quinn fisted his shirt with both hands. “I’ve waited too long for you. I want to know you’ll be there every time I look.”

“I have no intention of leaving you.” He leaned in as though he meant to kiss her and stopped, their mouths a breath apart.

“Oh, puke.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “You, too? I thought the Demon Master would have more dignity than the other V’alkara with their dreamcasters.” She prudently vaulted off the bed, beyond Zaire’s reach, and headed for the stairway. “We’ll discuss timing after breakfast. Better hurry. Dax made cinnamon rolls, and Black’s a bottomless pit.” She strutted down the stairs with a princess sniff, her nose in the air.

Quinn’s stomach grumbled. Cinnamon rolls. Yum. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything. “Do you really think Gwen’s,” she cupped her mouth and whispered, “a fairy?”

Gazing into the distance, Zaire shook his head. “Not that, but something else. Have you not noticed she stinks of dreams?”

“Dreams stink?” Who knew?

“Stink is, perhaps, too precise.” His eyes narrowed. “At times, she shimmers, as though she’s part of a dreamscape. A peculiar aura clings to her. She’s real, but belongs…” He frowned and shrugged. “Elsewhere.”

“So maybe she is a fairy.” Her stomach growled again.

“You need food.” Zaire eased her off his lap and stood. He took her hand and guided her toward the stairs. “Gwendolyn left some clothing in the bathroom for you to borrow.”

Quinn shuddered at what might be waiting for her. A purple-striped super-mini skirt and a sequined bra? Wonderful.

He stopped at the stairwell railing. “Are you absolutely certain you wish to meet the other V’alkara and their dreamcasters? Say the word, and we’ll vanish.”

“Almost as sure as how much I want to handcuff you to my bed, lock the door, and figure out all the places on your body that make you squirm.” She smiled sweetly. “Until tomorrow, you’ll have to distract me in other ways.”

Something between a groan and a growl rumbled in his chest, and black fire danced in his eyes. His gaze fixed on her mouth, but he didn’t kiss her. The man had an iron will.

“One moment.” He released her hand and strode to the dresser in the corner, where a glass of water waited. In one quick move, he tossed the water over his head. He planted his hands on the dresser and bowed his head, his shoulders heaving. At last, he looked at her, moisture dripping from his face.

“Tomorrow.” The snarled word shot heat to her toes.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.