Chapter 15
Alanna
I’m having the best dreams. It starts simply, floating in an ocean of warmth and comfort, truly at home in the universe.
I know, with total certainty and yet no relation to any specific thing, the way you do in dreams, that I am loved and cherished.
Wanted. Here, I’m not too much or not enough. I’m exactly as I should be.
Time unspools and I drift in this paradise for untold eternities. Soon, though, the warmth turns to heat, igniting my blood and pooling in my stomach.
I’m training with Kade, practicing my magic, when he pins me against the wall, his body hard and unyielding, trapping me there.
His hands grip my hair, pull my head back.
“I’m done with your teasing, Librarian,” he growls.
And then his mouth—rough, demanding—crashes down on mine.
He shoves my legs apart with his thigh, pressing it to my center, right where I need it.
It morphs, seamlessly, into a quieter fantasy.
Now I’m studying at my research station, when Kade comes up behind, silent as always.
His presence settles over me, warm and encompassing, but he doesn’t touch.
I feel his breath on my hair, hear that low rumble in his chest, and I am immobilized, waiting to see what will happen next.
After an eternity, his hand descends, falling not on my arm for training, but on the nape of my neck, a possessive, tender weight.
Goosebumps break out across my skin. He leans down, his lips brushing my ear, and murmurs something—a confession, a husky admission that he feels this too, this undeniable pull, this dangerous connection.
And then, finally, he dips his head, kissing me on the neck, with a slow, deliberate tenderness that promises everything and more.
The dreams continue, changing and spinning, a cascade of touches and kisses, of rough hands and soft words.
I’m left unbalanced, panting and begging, until a final scene emerges.
I’m in his arms, his untamed heat consuming me as he rocks inside of me, saying my name like a prayer, “Alanna, aine.” His lips are on my throat, hot and urgent, and a desperate need twists in my soul, craving something I don’t understand.
His cock pushes into me but it’s not enough, not yet.
Then his teeth graze my neck, the sharp tip of canines ghosting across my skin.
A low groan vibrates against my pulse point, primal and hungry. He opens his mouth and—
The world shatters into blinding white. With a breathy cry, I convulse, unable to stop the pleasure from crashing through my body.
The shattering bliss fades, leaving my body heavy and languid, yet acutely alive, every nerve ending tingling.
Struggling against the lingering haze of sleep, the first thing I sense is the faint scent of pine and woodsmoke, enveloping me like a comforting blanket.
As consciousness seeps back in, I register a hot, solid weight pressed against my side.
My cheek, resting on a hard plane of muscle.
And I realize, with horror, what just happened.
Another dream. Like the one I had after first meeting Kade.
And—oh god—I dreamed it while sharing a bed with him.
Which he didn’t even want to do, I realize, as the events of the night come flooding back.
I vaguely recall his disgruntled tone when he agreed to get into the bed to warm me (“All right,” he’d said.
Terse. Reluctant.). Heat rushes to my cheeks, suffused with shame.
Why is my subconscious doing this to me?
Did I moan in my sleep? Did he notice? I don’t understand why I’m so out of control like this, I must be some kind of deviant.
I’ve never had this kind of intense response to any other man before—I feel wanton and needy, my unhinged mind unable to stop imagining the most lurid scenes possible.
And Kade—he doesn’t even want to be near me.
If he only knew, he’d be utterly mortified.
He’d be running in the other direction, and I’d be left completely alone in this new world of magic and monsters.
Even now, the dream clings to me, leaving me hopelessly aroused and almost painfully empty. Maybe if I lay completely still, the sensations will go away.
A tremor runs through the powerful body beside me, tension snapping the muscles tight beneath my cheek.
A sharp, long inhale, followed by a rumbling sound like a warning that starts deep in his chest. The arm wrapped snugly around me tightens, crushing me against him in an inescapable vise that squeezes the breath from my lungs. My eyes fly open in surprise.
Then, as quickly as it came, the pressure releases.
Kade moves, abruptly launching himself off the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a distinct thud.
His body is coiled and tense, his eyes deep pools of black when he looks back at me.
He lifts his hand to his nose, pinching the bridge, looking like he’s wrestling with a fierce, internal force. He looks unwell.
“Need to—” His voice cuts off, sounding ragged and strained. “Secure the perimeter,” he finishes. Then he’s across the warehouse and out the door, without even grabbing his boots.
Kade’s hasty exit leaves a resounding silence in his wake, which weighs on me like recrimination.
Alone in the bed, the evidence of my wrongdoing is inescapable, a horrible throbbing ache between my legs that insists on more.
I squirm uncomfortably, pressing my thighs together in a futile attempt to satisfy it, but that only serves to intensify the gnawing need.
The dream orgasm feels like it was only a primer, something to whet, not sate, my appetite.
Like a book with its final pages ripped out—profoundly unsatisfying and craving resolution.
But this isn’t a story I can simply close and put back on the shelf.
This is my body, betraying me, reacting to a man who clearly wants nothing to do with such wildness.
But is that even true? That he wants nothing to do with me?
He’s infuriating, brusque, maybe even a little forbidding sometimes, but through all of that, there’s a deep current of protectiveness that I can’t deny.
He smiles at me like he can’t help himself, the corner of his lips tipping up reluctantly while mirth sparkles in his gold-rimmed eyes.
And then there’s the most significant piece of evidence (which I’ll file away mentally as “Exhibit A”): the way he acted when Seb flirted with me.
That was not the reaction of a man who doesn’t care, who wants to be away from me.
Even now, thinking of that moment, of the possessive way he hauled me against his chest, like he was staking a claim, sends a shiver down my spine—not of fear, but something else.
Something that is not doing anything to quell the throbbing in my center.
Kade is hot and cold, but I am going to figure him out. There’s an Exhibit B somewhere, just out of reach. Some detail I should have noticed but can’t quite remember. Oh! I should start writing things down, making notes. This is a problem for a list.
I need to get out of this bed, anyway. I can’t wallow in my desire and mortification all day.
So, I emerge from the furs and hurry to my research station, grabbing one of my notebooks where I’d scribbled some random ideas in the front pages.
I flip to the back section and start a little list, to get my thoughts in order.
It feels good to get them out of my head.
This problem, like any other, simply needs to be understood, categorized, and solved.
***
In the afternoon, we’re back to training, thanks to my insistence.
I need practice, I need control, I need mastery.
What happened yesterday cannot be allowed to happen again.
Kade wanted me to take the day to sleep, but oddly, I feel totally restored.
Practically brimming with magic, in fact. So, we drill.
“Concentrate,” Kade’s voice rumbles from where he stands, further away from me than usual, arms crossed. “You’re trying to force it, not guide it. It’s not a hammer, it’s . . . a scalpel.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr. ‘I’ve Known About the Existence of Magic My Whole Life,’” I grumble as I hold out my hand, trying to coax a small, iridescent spark to float steadily above my palm and nudge a specific wrench.
Instead, a squadron of sparks erupt from me, zipping erratically toward the workshop area, and then, with a frantic series of clinks and clangs, every—single—item rearranges into perfectly sorted piles.
Okay, not at all what I intended but also . . . kind of awesome? I turn to Kade with a grin that’s a mix of self-deprecating apology and maniacal pride.
Kade sighs, running a hand over his face.
“My workshop was organized by immediate need, Librarian.” He strolls into the workshop to assess the damage, looking beleaguered the entire time.
“Not by what makes sense to a filing cabinet. Your system is . . . aggressively unhelpful.” He points to a tiny, perfectly aligned stack of nails.
“What’s the point of that? And now I have to think about where the hammer is. ”
He glares at me without menace and looks so disgruntled that I can’t help but burst into laughter.
“It’s elegant! It’s logical!” I say between giggles.
“It’s efficient for someone who cares about proper categorization and re-findability.
” I take a step closer, my laughter still bubbling.
“You, an absolute heathen, simply don’t appreciate the importance of a well-organized inventory.
It’s a thing of beauty. A calling. An essential survival skill, really, clearly underappreciated by certain people in the . . . monster-fighting community.”