Chapter Seven
Leo set Betrys on a sleep-bed and waited until he heard Saber leave before he started to explore the room. Rooms, he discovered once he’d prowled the interior.
“You are troubled,” a voice stated.
“Caspar?”
“It is I.”
“I dreamed of this room,” Leo said.
“We sense your needs and adjust the décor to suit each visitor.”
“I dislike people rifling inside my head.” He hated the idea of the room, his dreams of Betrys becoming common knowledge.
For one, the colorful dreams were sick. What sort of man dreamed of the woman who’d ensnared him in a trap that felt like death?
A man should dream of sexy blondes with big boobs, curvy hips and seductive smiles. Not a brown mouse who wore a robe.
A sharp pain in his midriff made Leo grunt and double over. He massaged his belly, yet the pain—a sort of uncomfortable pressure—remained.
“You are in pain.” Caspar’s voice was closer now. “Lie on the floor.”
Exactly what his shaky legs and buckling knees were urging him to do. Leo sucked in a breath and pushed his hand against the tender spot. His touch made the burning ache back off, and he continued rubbing.
“Let me see.” An order, not a suggestion.
Leo felt a mild tingling, then the pain subsided. He drew in a harsh breath and released it.
“Interesting. You will find a tonic in the cool-box. You already have some in your bloodstream, and it’s producing a kind of antibody to kill the infection. Take the tonic and sleep. On the morrow, you will feel better.”
“Thank you.” Leo half crawled to the cool-box and pulled out a small glass vial full of a cloudy liquid.
He removed the stopper and sniffed the contents.
It was the same as the tonic given to him by the one-eyed woman in the market.
Well, it couldn’t hurt. He tipped the vial against his lips and gulped the medicine.
A bitter taste coated his tongue, trickled down his throat and repeated swallowing didn’t rid it from his mouth.
The stuff was nasty, but if it helped him sleep instead of snaring him in the middle of weird-ass dreams, he’d endure.
Leo set the vial on the counter and staggered to the bed. Betrys lay still, small whistles issuing from her throat. Leo sighed, exhaustion pressing on his shoulders like a bag of cattle feed. He stripped off his clothes and dropped onto the bed, asleep before his head made a dent in the pillow.
The dream—that cursed dream in that cursed colorful room—started before he could tear himself away. Betrys blinked at him, her features full of wonder.
“You’re here.”
“It wasn’t my idea.” Leo took pleasure in the way her face dimmed, and he tried to ignore the wash of guilt that followed. Her fault he was feeling this way. Her fault.
“I know,” she said, and he saw she really did understand his reluctance.
“I can’t stop thinking about you. I try to stop myself, tell myself I hate you, but I keep dreaming of us making love.”
“I know, Leo. Do you think I like working for Iseult? I don’t. I hate it, but I have no alternative.”
“You could walk away.”
“No, I can’t.” She turned, presenting him with her back.
A sharp sound, quickly muffled, pulled at him. A sob? Leo slid closer and slipped his arm around her waist. He tugged her against his chest, and she made the sound again. Fuck, she was crying, but her words didn’t make sense. Why couldn’t she walk away from her job?
He asked the question, heard her breath hitch seconds before she twisted in his arms and kissed him.
Leo tried to pull back, but she gripped his shoulders, blunt fingernails digging into his muscles.
Her tongue slid between his lips, and the energy to fight fled.
Her lower body rocked against him, his cock reacting like a purring kitten.
Refusal wasn’t an option, not when he wanted to return her kiss.
Not when he wanted to part her legs and plunge his dick into her tight pussy.
Not when he wanted to possess. Dominate.
Later, they’d talk. Right now he wanted to fuck.
A groan slipped from him as he propelled her to the bed.
Unable to help himself, he pushed her onto her back before he rose over her slender form.
He noted her tears, and they twisted something inside him, pierced some of his irritation.
He’d planned to make her pay for her part in his misery, yet here in his dream—their dream—revenge didn’t seem to matter.
His mind fastened on the sex part of his payback plan—the seduction and the lovemaking, the taking by force.
He wiped away a tear with the brush of his thumb then kissed her, crushing his lips against hers with an inward groan. This woman wasn’t his type yet his cock kept exerting an opinion, leading him astray, making him deviate from the plan he’d formulated.
Big time.
He cupped her face and watched her brown eyes fog with hunger.
The knowledge of her yearning kicked him in the gut.
She had about as much resistance as he. None.
Sighing, he caressed her lips with his, explored the recesses of her mouth.
Her tongue tangled with his, and slow shivers of desire slipped down his spine.
He deepened the kiss, devouring her softness until lack of oxygen drove him to lift his head.
She ran her fingers over his face and kissed his chin, his cheek, his neck. When a kiss landed on the fleshy part between his shoulder and neck, he growled. Her mouth on that spot lit a charge in him. Her touch arrowed straight to his dick and he went so hard he thought he might self-implode.
Her lips eased from his neck, and the sensation lessened, allowing him to think again. He’d heard Saber and Felix talk about the mating site and how crazy it made them if their mates touched that spot.
Nah, this was a dream.
She couldn’t be his mate.
“Leo, what’s wrong?”
“You’re not my mate.”
She laughed, the sound jagged and brittle as if she’d forced herself to react. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Too much talking is bad.” She winked and reached for him, her hard and passionate kiss taking him by surprise.
Their noses bumped, but she corrected the angle and gentled the pressure, seducing the seducer and drawing him into her snare.
His mind shied from the thought, and for an instant, he stopped responding.
“Stop.” She scowled, shaking him by the shoulders. “We’re the ones in this bed, on this dreamscape. No one else. This is just for us.”
“Why are we here? Do you know?”
“My people dream. It’s a peculiarity of the Petros race. My race.”
“But what is the purpose of the dreams?”
Betrys’s scowl deepened. “They’re meant to forecast the future.”
Leo snorted his disbelief. “Maybe we dream together, but I can’t see us ever getting together in real life. There’s too much history between us. Too much betrayal.”
Betrys sprang off the bed. “I want to wake up. Wake up, Betrys. Wake up now.”
“You don’t want to talk about how you tricked me into signing the contract with Iseult?”
“I told you. I had no choice.”
“You keep saying that, but you don’t go into detail. Give me a reason, Betrys. Tell me why you lured me into Iseult’s web.”
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!
Betrys kept thinking the words, willed herself to leave the dreamscape, to avoid Leo’s questions—the questions he didn’t ask when they were awake.
Wake up.
Her consciousness expanded outward, and instead of finding herself in her small room at Spiderus Mansion, she rested in a luxurious room ablaze with color.
Beside her, Leo thrashed in the throes of his dream or nightmare.
She shot off the sleep-bed and stumbled to the door.
She wrenched it open and plunged outside into the darkness, each of her breaths coming in hoarse gulps.
It was quieter here, the black intense and somehow smothering.
A shiver rippled in a series of bumps across her skin, and she realized she was naked.
Yet instead of retreating, she wrapped her arms around herself and found a comfortable spot to lean against the wall while she tried to work out where she was and if she was still on the dreamscape.
Difficult to tell. This was all so confusing.
The cold started to bring more discomfort and drove her inside. Her gaze shot to Leo. Yes, he was still present.
She pinched her own arm and winced. Next, she attempted to summon clothes. That didn’t work either. On surveying the room, a comfy chair with a jewel-green robe tossed over the back snagged her attention.
A similar green to Leo’s eyes.
This time, the soar of emotions, the sudden breathlessness, held a different tone and meaning.
No, she couldn’t think about Leo in that manner.
This dream walking had to cease. Iseult had sent her here to find another man of Leo’s ilk.
Yet every second she thought of signing up another man, nausea swirled through her stomach. If Iseult ever learned Leo was alive…
Goddess, her mind was a boggy mire.
It came down to two awful alternatives—signing up another man and sentencing him to a death warrant, or her son. She’d kept choosing the same path all along—continuing to save her son—but now she second-guessed her decision.
Either way, the path was intolerable because she suspected she’d never rid herself of Iseult, and Ricci would never be safe.
She donned the robe and tied the sash around her waist, grateful for the warmth. A knot formed in her throat because she knew what she had to do, even if the decision rubbed her raw.
Save her son.
She pictured Ricci’s face, her longing to see him almost overwhelming.
“Betrys?”
“What, Leo?” She snorted inwardly. That was her question—how did she get here and why?
“Come back to bed.”
“Why?”
“You wanted a capture experience. Sex is part of the package.”
She jumped up and whirled to face him. He lounged on the big sleep-bed, the covers pooled at his groin.
“Captured?” The word whooshed up her throat and emerged with a squeak.
His brows arched. “Isn’t that why you came to Middlemarch Resort?”