"Viv, it's 3 am." Zee stood in the shadows on the far side
of the room, dark hair tangled on bare shoulders, faded
jeans riding low on his narrow hips.
"I couldn't sleep."
He crossed the room toward her, light footed as a cat, and
tired as she was she smiled at the combination of softness
and lethality that was Zee. The hair, those clear agate
eyes, bespoke the artist, while the hard muscle of his arms
and chest, and above all the still healing scars that marred
his face, brought to mind the warrior.
"You can't go on like this." Zee moved behind her, hands
warm on the tightness of her shoulders, and she relaxed back
against the solid strength of him, letting his hands knead
away some of the tension and fear.
"It's the dream thing, isn't it?" he asked her. "Sit, this
will be more effective."
Vivian sank into a chair as he directed. Dreams lay at the
heart of her, and although she feared her own she craved
them with an intensity that frightened her. Something
whispered that she must dream, or she would die.
"Did you dream?" she murmured. "Tell me."
His strong fingers hesitated, then moved to her neck,
working the clenched knots at the base of her skull.
"Pizza," he said.
She snorted, disbelieving. Her dreams, for ever and always,
had been big dreams – dragons and shadows and the twisting
mazes of the Between.
"The rest of us mortals," he said, moving his hands back
onto her shoulders so his thumbs could isolate the muscle
just below her shoulder blades, "often dream about silly
things. Like pizza. Now, did you want to hear my dream or
not?"
"I'm sorry. Tell."
"We ordered pizza. About three days later it showed up in
the US Mail Van. The driver tried to fit it into the mailbox
but it wouldn't bend, and then Poe flew out to get it, only
he ate it on the way back."
"You made that up." But she was laughing, caught out of
herself and leaning back into him, her head comfortable
against his chest. His hands slowed; she heard the catch in
his breath and felt her own heart start to race. Head tilted
back, she caught the expression on his face, the question in
his eyes.
The kiss hung there between them, ready for the taking.
She pulled away, leaning forward on her elbows and rolling
her shoulders experimentally. "That feels better."
"What did you find?" His voice was a little too casual and
she knew she had hurt him, again, and hated herself for it.
There was nothing to be said, so she leaned aside so he
could see the scroll, argument and conclusion in a list of
names and dates of death.
A long moment of silence. When she dared to look at him
again his jaw was clenched, all the softness of sleep wiped
away.
"You want to know what I really dreamed?" he said. "I
dreamed that a dragon came after you and I killed it. None
of those people on that list had me standing guard. Do you
understand?"
She did. This was the face of the warrior, scarred and
lethal. He would die to protect her, and maybe she was
underestimating him. Maybe he loved her enough to encompass
all that she was – including sorceress and dragon. Her body
and soul yearned for him, to slip into his embrace and be –
safe.
There was no safety, though, not now. Not being what she
was.
As if to emphasize these thoughts the scanner let out a
burst of static and then the voices came on. A woman's
voice, first. Dispatch:
"Control 287, do you read?"
"This is 287."
"I've got a report of fireballs at Finger Beach. Two
injured.A Need ambulance, fire & all patrol units."
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