She blinked, as if waking, then pushed to her feet.
"Aidan called earlier when you were sleeping.
It's probably him again."
Connor rose as well and followed her into the kitchen. Stacey picked up the handset, revealing the caller ID. Best Western Big Bear. The tension that gripped Stacey's small frame was palpable.
She hit the "talk" button and lifted the receiver to her ear. "Hi, baby."
He placed his hands on her slight shoulders and began to knead gently, fighting the tightening that threatened to knot the muscles.
"But you have school," she began, which resulted in a long barrage of argument from the other end of the line. "Yes, I know it's been a long time…"
Her chest expanded and collapsed on a silent sigh.
"Fine. You can come home Monday night."
The excitement elicited by Stacey's capitulation was audible through the receiver.
"Okay." She tried valiantly to sound cheerful. "I'm glad you're having a great time… I love you, too.
Keep warm. Wear that scarf Lyssa bought you for Christmas." She managed a weak laugh.
"Yeah, who knew you'd actually use the damn thing? Of course… Don't worry about me; I'm watching The Mummy … At least a hundred times, yes. So what? It's a good flick! Okay…
Goodnight… Love you."
She hung up and the arm holding the handset fell to her side in a defeatist gesture.
"Hey," Connor murmured, caressing the length of her arm until he reached the phone. He tugged it from nerveless fingers and set it on the breakfast bar. "It's okay. He'll be back soon."
"That's just it," she said, turning to face him only because he caught her shoulders and forced her to. "I don't know if he will come back, or if he'll stay with me when he does."
He stared down at her unhappy face with its pink-tipped nose and turned down mouth. Cupping her cheek, he brushed his thumb across her cheekbone.
"He's fourteen years old," she said mournfully.
"He wants a dad, a man he can emulate and learn from. Tommy lives in Hollywood, where it's glamorous and there's something going on every minute. Justin hates it here in the Valley. He says it's boring, and for kids his age, I know it is. I moved to Murrieta because it was cheap at the time—I could buy a house and save on my taxes—
and because it's quiet. There isn't much around here that can lure a teenage boy into trouble."
"See?" he said. "A practical woman, just as I said."
A brave woman. A strong woman. A woman he admired.
She faked a smile and it hit him like a punch to the gut. He hated the façade for his benefit. He wanted her all, the real deal. Connor Bruce, best known as "the guy with whom you don't get emotional," wanted Stacey's emotions.
"If Tommy decides he wants to try being a father full-time," she continued tearfully, "Justin will go.
Tommy is as much a kid as Justin; they'd have a blast together."
Her head fell forward, hiding her features in a mass of dark curls. "Tommy would probably sue me for child support, too, which would make his life easier. And even if he didn't, I would still send them money. God only knows how they would eat otherwise. One meal a day on the set? if Tommy's lucky enough to be working for once!"
A soft sob rent the air and Connor did the only thing he could do; he caught her chin in his fingers and lifted her mouth to fit his kiss. It was a gentle offer of comfort, just lips, no tongue.
He took nothing from her and offered consolation the only way he knew how. "You're getting ahead of yourself, sweetheart," he murmured, nuzzling her nose with his.
"I'm sorry." Stacey kissed him back, tiny kisses.
Sweet kisses. "I'm a basket case today.
Hormones or something. I swear I am not normally like this."
"It's okay."
Surprisingly, it was.
Stepping back slightly, Connor bent and caught her up behind the knees and lifted her into his arms. He carried her out of the dining room and back into the living room, where he sank into the down-filled couch with her in his lap. She fit perfectly there, her lush body settling warmly against his bare skin. He tucked her head under his chin and rocked her.
Taking and giving. The connection he'd sought and needed so desperately earlier, reestablished without sex and yet strengthened by their earlier frantic mating. Having gotten the animal lust out of the way, they'd exposed the other feelings, laying them out in the open between them.
Understood and shared.
"Thank you," she whispered wearily, curling tighter against him.
Soon, her shallow, rhythmic breathing told him she was connected to the Twilight. She was at his home, where he longed to be. Dreaming.
He hoped it was of him.
Chapter 7
Connor traversed the length of the rock-lined hallway
to
the
main
cavern
with
impatient stride. As he drew closer to the grotto, the air grew more humid due to the large body of water that waited just beyond the craggy edge.
There was a mildewy, mossy smell that permeated the air and made him long for his life of just weeks ago. A life above ground with women, beer, and a damn good fight when he needed one.
And a door for an entrance and exit. That would be nice.
He wasn't looking forward to the necessary dip in the icy water of the lake. It was near torture to make the ascent to the surface when one's lungs were seized by the frigid temperature.
Unlike everything else in the Twilight, the water in the lake could not be altered by mere thought.
No amount of wishing, ordering, or hoping made the liquid any more bearable.
So he simply saluted his men, checked to make certain that his glaive was secured in the scabbard crossing his back, and dove in.
Long moments later, Connor emerged freezing and gasping, crawling up the sandy bank while wracked by violent shivers. He was struck by a feeling of déjà vu so disconcerting that he didn't realize he wasn't alone until he was tackled and knocked backward.
As a smaller, wirier body wrapped around his, his roar of outrage reflected off the surface of the water and released his mounting tension.
Connor twisted and grappled with his assailant until the moment they both fell back into the lake in an explosion of water and slapping skin.
He grabbed his assailant by the scruff of his robes and dragged him onto the shore.
"Wait!" Sheron cried.
Connor reached over his shoulder and pulled his glaive free of its scabbard. "We've been through this before, old man," he growled.
"We did not conclude our discussion."
"So start talking before I lose what's left of my patience."
The Elder pushed back his soaked cowl.
"Remember what I told you about the slipstreams we established in the Temple?"
"Yeah."
"And how the only location in the Twilight that is secure from Nightmares is the cavern you have commandeered?"
"Yes."
"Nightmares infiltrated those streams, Bruce, melding with the Guardian in transit to form one being."
"Fuck me." Connor's grip on his glaive tightened and sweat dotted his brow. "Can they travel by themselves? Are the humans in trouble now?
Have we finally screwed them all the way by infecting their world as well as their dreams?"
"Not so far as we know. Unlike the slipstreams in the cavern, these are opened only briefly, just long enough to make the jump. Then they are closed again."
"How did you figure out what was happening?"
" We began by sending a guard through in a rapid cycle— in and out."
Connor began to pace.
"It became apparent over time that some of the guards were not well," Sheron continued. "At first we assumed it was due to the location."
"Being outside the cavern."
"Yes. Then they began to change. Physically.
Emotionally.
Mentally.
Eliciting
fear
sadness in those around them seemed to be very important to them. They grew more violent and cruel.
Their eyes began to change color. They stopped eating."
"Oh man…"
"We realized then what had happened. The Nightmares inside them were taking over, urging the Guardian into acts of terror so they could feed off those negative emotions."
Since the Nightmares had discovered the human subconscious through the fissure created by the Elders, they'd been using the power of the human mind as sustenance. Fear, fury, misery—
these were easily aroused through dreams and fed Nightmares so well.
Lowering his sword, Connor freed one hand to scrub at his jaw. "How many of those things are there?"
"There were a dozen in the original trial, but only one affected Guardian remained alive and you killed him today."
"Be thankful for small favors, eh?" Connor snorted.
Sheron removed the scabbard belt from his too-lean waist and emptied the water that had collected inside it. Then he sheathed his glaive and moved to a nearby rock, leaving a trail of droplets in his wake.
"What aren't you telling me?" Connor followed with glaive in hand. He didn't trust Sheron as far as he could throw him. Not any more. Sad, considering he had once trusted the man with his life.
"What I came here to tell you." The Elder settled onto a large rock and spread out his sodden robes as much as possible. "The trial was deemed a success
before
the
symptoms
of
Nightmare possession
to
present
themselves. We were testing for successful roundtrips, not side-effects. An additional contingent of guards and Elders were sent through before we understood the extent of the problem."
Connor's gut tightened into a hard knot. "Well, yank them all back, damn it!"
"We cannot. By the time we comprehended the error, the Guardians had altered so much they were incapable of returning upon their threads. They were no longer the same individuals who departed. We were able to retrieve only the unaffected ones."
