Night Unbound Page 4

  Lisette separated herself from Tracy in a blink and stood beside the bed. Turning to leave, she glanced back at the writhing duo . . . and felt her mouth fall open.

  “What?” she blurted.

  Tracy’s eyes, closed in ecstasy, opened and met hers. Her lover raised his head and looked toward the door.

  “Holy—” Lisette awoke in her pitch-black bedroom. She heard Tracy curse upstairs. The sound of a door being yanked open followed.

  Shocked beyond belief, Lisette sat up.

  Bare feet thumped down the stairs with quick steps and padded down the hallway.

  A pause ensconced the house in silence. Lisette’s door slowly inched open, flooding the room with light from the hallway as Tracy peeked inside.

  “Damn it!” Upon seeing Lisette’s no doubt wide eyes, Tracy shoved the door the rest of the way open and entered. She wore a different sleep shirt than the one in her dream. Both it and her hair were rumpled, her face full of dread. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were there?”

  “Yes.”

  “You saw . . . ?”

  “Everything.”

  Her Second flushed a bright red as she covered her face with both hands and groaned.

  “I thought you said you were dreaming about a guy at the home-improvement store.”

  “This is so embarrassing,” Tracy wailed, staggering forward a few steps and collapsing into Lisette’s favorite reading chair.

  “You’re sleeping with Sheldon?”

  “No!” Tracy nearly shouted, and dropped her hands. Pure misery hid among the red in her face. “No, I’m not. It’s just . . . dreams.”

  “Erotic dreams. More than one. About Sheldon.” The youngest Second in the area. Possibly in the country. Chris Reordon rarely recruited men or women under the age of twenty-five, claiming he wanted to make sure they were past the party-their-asses-off-now-that-they-were-no-longer-under-their-parents’-roof stage and could be counted on twenty-four hours a day to take care of business.

  Sheldon had been a teenager when he had begun to serve, at Richart’s request. Apparently Sheldon was the descendant of Richart’s first Second. Lisette hadn’t even realized until then that her brother had been keeping track of his friend’s bloodline.

  “Sheldon,” Lisette repeated, trying to wrap her mind around it.

  Sheldon was twenty-one or -two now, she thought. And so green. He was the kid brother everyone picked on and teased. The screwup. The prankster.

  He wasn’t the no-shit, tough-as-nails kind of guy who usually attracted Tracy.

  “Are you . . . interested in him?” Lisette asked hesitantly.

  “No,” Tracy insisted. “No, of course not.” She chewed a thumbnail, brows drawn down in a troubled V. “I mean, that would be crazy, right?”

  Certifiable. “Well . . .” Lisette wasn’t sure what to say. “He is handsome. If he looks as good without clothes in real life as he did in your dream, I can see the physical appeal.”

  “He does,” Tracy admitted grudgingly. “I accidentally saw him naked once when I was at Richart’s.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  Tracy rolled her eyes. “He was changing with his damned door open, and I walked past. The boy goes commando under those tight black pants and has no shame.”

  “The boy is built,” Lisette pointed out, oddly surprised by the knowledge. It was going to be strange to see him in person again after seeing him naked and aroused in Tracy’s dream.

  And feeling his hands on her.

  She suppressed a shudder.

  “But he’s just that,” Tracy responded. “He’s a boy. He’s so . . .”

  “Young?”

  “Yes. He’s like a puppy. All exuberance and energy and mischief.”

  “All qualities that might not be so bad in a lover.”

  Tracy laughed. “And inexperience?”

  “With a body like that, I’m pretty sure that’s not something you’d have to worry about.”

  “Maybe not with sex, but with everything else.”

  “I don’t know,” Lisette murmured. “Now that I think about it, he’s come a long way in the past couple of years. He kicked ass when he backed up Richart and Étienne at Krysta’s house that time. And apparently did so again when we stormed the mercenaries’ compound.”

  “I know. I was with him at the compound.” Tracy shook her head, her lips tilting up in a faint smile. “He was fierce. And freaking funny. I never would have thought I could laugh while so many people were trying to kill me, but damned if he didn’t say the most outrageous things.”

  Hmm. Tracy said it with what sounded like affection. “I don’t think he’s made any other big blunders since he landed Marcus and Ami in trouble shortly after Ami became Marcus’s Second. Maybe he isn’t so inexperienced.”

  “But he’s still young.”

  “So are you.”

  Tracy rolled her eyes. “Compared to you, who isn’t?”

  Lisette laughed. It was true. All mortals seemed young to her. Even octogenarians. “So there’s a minuscule age gap.”

  “I’m nine years older than he is.” Tracy frowned. “Wait. Are you trying to talk me into starting something with him?”

  “Many more dreams like the one I saw,” Lisette offered dryly, “and you’ll talk yourself into it.”

  Tracy sat quietly for a moment. (Was she actually considering it?) Then she shook her head. “No. No way. It’s Sheldon, for crap’s sake.” Rising, she headed for the doorway. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

  “Of course not. You know me better than that.”

  She smiled. “You rock.”

  “So do you.”

  Tracy returned to her bedroom, climbed back into bed, and soon found sleep again.

  Lisette lay back and stared up at the ceiling.

  Why couldn’t that have been her dream and featured Zach?

  And why oh why could she not banish him from her thoughts?

  Jealousy seared Zach. He had attempted to lose himself in fantasies of Lisette again and instead had stumbled into one of her own. One of her making love with Sheldon, a young, strapping Second.

  How could she want that . . . boy?

  For days, weeks, he didn’t know how long, he dwelled on the image of her in bed with that man-child, writhing beneath him, a sensual smile tilting her full lips. Fury rose, irrational in the extreme, yet a very effective distraction.

  He gritted his teeth as the whip opened new welts across his chest.

  How long had it been since he had stumbled into Lisette’s dreams for the first time?

  And how long did the Others intend to continue this shit?

  Desperate for solace, for relief, for escape, he ignored the pain of the lash (Wasn’t that fucker’s arm tired yet?) and focused once more on Lisette. Deep breaths in, despite his cracked and broken ribs. Deep breaths out, ignoring the pull of cuts and the ache of bruises.

  Lisette.

  The cavern around him fell away, replaced by Stygian forest. The light of a full moon filtered down through tree branches and dappled his bare chest and leather pants. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, carrying with it the scent he craved.

  Zach strode forward, following it to a slender figure who stood, silhouetted, before a break in the trees. Beyond lay David’s sprawling one-story home.

  She didn’t hear his silent approach.

  Zach stopped a breath away from her back. Tendrils of hair escaped her long braid and floated on the wind, tickling his chest. She smelled so good.

  “Waiting for someone?” he murmured.

  Gasping, Lisette spun around and tilted her head back to look up at him. Her pretty brown eyes lit with pleasure as her heartbeat picked up. “Zach,” she breathed.

  The sound of his name on her lips should not affect him so strongly.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her gaze dropping to his chest.

  Backing away, he leaned against a tree. “What are you doing here? Are you waiting f
or someone?” He crossed his arms. “Sheldon, perhaps?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why would I be waiting for Sheldon? He’s Richart’s Second, not mine.”

  “Don’t you want him to be yours? In every sense of the word?” he drawled, trying to keep the jealousy he felt from his voice.

  She stared up at him for a long moment.

  He knew the instant she realized he had seen them together.

  Color exploded in her face. “You saw that?” she asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “The dream?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “That wasn’t my dream, Zach.”

  “You were the woman I saw writhing on the bed with Sheldon.”

  “Well, you should have stuck around,” she countered. “If you had, you would have seen me separate myself from the woman on the bed and leave the room.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “I’m telepathic.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, do you remember me mentioning—the night Roland, Sarah, and I, ah, questioned you—that I have no control over the ability when I fall asleep? That I’m often sucked into other people’s dreams?”

  Relief flooded him. “Tracy was dreaming about Sheldon.”

  “Yes. And I was sucked in.” She grimaced. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to look Sheldon in the eye again.”

  He smiled, pleased that the young Second didn’t interest Lisette. “I’m sure you’ll manage.” He nodded to the house. “So what are you doing out here?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Habit perhaps. I’ve watched over Ami for so long, it’s hard to stop. Or maybe . . .”

  He arched a brow. “Maybe?”

  “Maybe I was looking for you.”

  Heat swept through his body. “Me?” He straightened away from the tree.

  “I was worried about you.” She gave him a long, thorough once-over. “The last time I saw you, you were wounded. And, I have to tell you, you still aren’t looking so good. Are you okay?”

  He glanced down and swore when he saw the slashes that marred his form. “Don’t worry about that.”

  “Zach—”

  “I’m all right,” he interrupted before she could protest further.

  After a moment, she nodded, face pensive. How she tempted him. The sight of her in black pants that hugged full hips and long, slender legs. Full breasts stretching the cotton of her long-sleeved shirt. Moonlight flirting with her pale skin and plump, pink lips. Weapons adorning her like jewelry, an ever-present reminder that she was a warrior and could kick ass.

  All beckoned him, daring him to do something reckless.

  He moved a step closer.

  She didn’t back away.

  He took another step.

  She held her ground.

  Barely a breath separated them.

  “I want to try something,” he proposed.

  Her heartbeat increased. “Okay.”

  Lowering his head, Zach pressed his lips to hers. His pulse jumped at the warm contact, racing to match hers.

  Her breath caught.

  Tilting his head, he increased the pressure, deepened the contact, and drew his tongue across those soft lips. She tasted incredible. Made him want to devour her. And yet . . .

  Frowning, he broke the sweet contact. “You didn’t pull away.”

  Her eyes now bore a faint amber glow. “What?”

  “You didn’t pull away.”

  “Why would I pull away?” she asked, voice husky.

  Because I’m me, he almost said.

  Disappointment seared him. The pain of his injuries increased.

  Just to be sure . . .

  “I’m going to try something else now.”

  Her lips quirked up as she arched a brow. “Okay.”

  Raising a hand, he cupped her breast.

  The amber glow in her eyes flashed brighter.

  Lisette’s heart slammed against her ribs.

  Zach molded his large, warm hand to her breast as he watched her warily. His eyes shone with a faint golden light. His fingers squeezed gently before he drew his thumb across the taut peak that strained against the cotton of her shirt.

  Lust whipped through her, weakening her knees and making her fingers curl with the need to touch him, to stroke him, to explore every muscled inch of him.

  Swearing, he withdrew his hand and took a step back.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, embarrassed by how breathless she sounded.

  “You didn’t hit me.”

  She stared up at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You didn’t hit me,” he said, and actually sounded angry.

  “I don’t . . .”

  Turning, he paced away several steps. “I thought this was a dream. I thought I had made it into another of your dreams. But I touched your breast and you didn’t hit me, so this must just be another fantasy of mine.”

  Lisette bit her lip when she saw his back. He bore no wings. An oddity. She had never seen him without them.

  No, tonight his back boasted only bloody stripes that had clearly been carved by a whip.

  “You fantasize about me?” she murmured.

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’ve done little else since I met you.”

  Just thinking about it turned her insides to mush and upped her desire another notch. “Zach, this isn’t a fantasy. This is a dream. It’s my dream.”

  He faced her, his expression uncertain. “It is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you . . . ?”

  “Hit you?” she asked, amused by his confusion despite her concern for him.

  He nodded.

  “Because I wanted you to touch me.” Emboldened by his uncertainty, she closed the distance between them. “And I fantasize about you, too.” Raising a hand, she caressed his strong jaw.

  He closed his eyes. Turning into her touch, he covered her hand with one of his own and held it to his cheek.

  Minutes passed.

  “Zach?” she asked at last.

  His lashes lifted. “I’m going to try something else now,” he whispered.

  Her body went liquid as she wondered what he would touch next. “Okay.”

  He brought her palm to his lips for a kiss . . . then vanished.

  Lisette turned in a circle. “Zach?”

  Nothing.

  “Zach!” she shouted.

  It didn’t matter if the immortals in David’s house heard her. This was a dream. Whatever they—

  Crash!

  Lisette jerked awake at the sound of . . .

  What the hell was that? It had sounded like a wrecking ball hitting the roof.

  Sitting up, she reached over and flicked on the lamp beside the bed.

  A loud rumbling above drew her eyes to the ceiling.

  Tossing back the covers, she grabbed her shoto swords and hit the floor running. Out of the room and up the stairs she flew as whatever or whoever the hell was up there either rolled, leaped, or fell off the roof.

  No daylight shone through the curtains in the living room as she sped toward the front door. Good. Still night.

  No heartbeat echoed hers, so Tracy must have elected to stay at David’s.

  Lisette didn’t even take the time to look out a front window. She just shut off the alarm, threw open the front door, and barreled outside, intent on taking out whoever the hell had dared to disturb her rest and trespass on her property.

  Silence met her. Utter stillness.

  Adrenaline racing through her veins, she spun in a circle on the front lawn—sharp eyes taking in every untrampled blade of grass, every undisturbed leaf—and found no interloper.

  Yet someone was there. She could feel it. She just couldn’t see him. A friend of the fifth vampire perhaps? A minion of a new king?

  Tilting her head back, she drew in a deep breath, seeking her prey’s scent.

  Fresh blood.

  Fury filling her�
��damned vampires tainting her sanctuary with their presence!—she raced around to the back of the house and jerked to a halt.

  Shock seized her.

  A long, muscled male, garbed only in black leather pants, sprawled facedown on the ground where he had tumbled from the roof. Once beautiful wings lay crumpled atop him, broken and twisted and bloodied.

  “Zach!”

  In a flash, she knelt by his side. He looked far worse than he had in either of the dreams. And these weren’t the kinds of wounds one would sustain in battle. He had been tortured. She could almost see the bones in his wrists where they had been cut by whatever restraints had been used to incapacitate him. His flesh had been laid open by whip and blade in too many places to count.

  Dropping her shoto swords, she gently covered the bloodied hand closest to her with one of her own, then brushed his tangled raven locks back from his face with the other. “Zach?”

  No response.

  “Zach, can you hear me? It’s Lisette.”

  One of his eyelids twitched, then opened. The other was so swollen his lashes barely lifted.

  Lisette lowered her head to the ground beside his so he could see her.

  Brown eyes, so dark they appeared black, met hers and struggled to focus.

  His hand moved under hers, turning so he could curl his fingers around hers.

  “This had better not be another fucking fantasy,” he muttered.

  She smiled, despite her worry. “It isn’t.”

  His eyes closed. His grip on her fingers slackened.

  Sitting back on her heels, Lisette glanced around.

  Only typical night sounds met her sensitive ears. And Zach’s scent, including the blood that coated him, was the only one out of place.

  Tilting her head back, she looked up. He couldn’t have flown here with his wings as messed up as they were. He must have teleported to the roof and collapsed.

  She studied his large, battered form once more. Though he was six foot ten and boasted over two hundred pounds of muscle, lifting him wouldn’t be a problem. (Preternatural strength came in handy at times like this.) The problem lay with his wings, what to do with them while she carried him inside.

  They were huge. And so damaged. She would have to secure them with something to keep them from dangling and dragging on the ground.