Time lost meaning. My problems melted away, by his kiss, his touch, his love. We were wrapped in our own little world, where nothing else mattered, but us and the feelings swirling around us.
But somewhere in the back of my mind was a niggling warning not to fully let go. A blend of our energies could seriously hurt Bran. Reduce him to a catatonic state worse than Grampa earlier. If I could hurt a powerful Psi like my grandfather, the things I could do to Bran could be worse.
“Thinking about the Cardinal while making out is a total ego-crusher,” Bran whispered.
I blinked, my mind slow to process what he was saying. “What?”
“I could hear your thoughts.”
I covered my face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He pulled strands of my hair from my forehead and tucked them away. “I needed to chill anyway.” He scooted off the bed and walked to the table by the canvases and came back with two sketch books. With an uneasy look on his face, he gave them to me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, still wishing we were making out.
“I sketch a lot.” Color rushed to his cheeks, dimples flashing. “Since you won’t mind-blend with me, I’m going to bare my soul to you by letting you see my work.”
Wanting to know why he was blushing, I pushed aside my raging hormones and flipped the cover before he curled beside me. A sketch of me baking a cake leaped at me from the page. I never cook. In fact, I hated cooking with a passion.
“That’s you taking lessons from Remy. You insisted on baking me a cake on my birthday.” He chuckled, enjoying a private joke.
“And?” I asked.
“It was pitiful.”
I believed him. “So you had a cake-less birthday?”
“No. You and Kylie had already ordered one from a local bakery, just in case. FYI, I’m a better cook than you.”
I elbowed him, then flipped the page, then the next. His blush made sense. The pages were filled with sketches of me, some going back to when we first met. Since I had never posed for him, he must have sketched them from memory. Seeing myself through his eyes was the most beautiful gift ever, and I’d never felt more loved.
- 10 -
NIGHTMARES
Screams echoed in the dark, yanking me into consciousness. I thrashed against the restraints around my arms. Strands of my curly hair stuck on my sweaty forehead and blocked my vision, adding to the images tumbling through my mind—wings and feathers floating to the ground, daggers flying through the air, swords clanging. A rational part of me told me I was in my room and that the arms wrapped around me were Bran’s, yet the nightmare paralyzed me.
“It’s just a dream,” he whispered over and over, running a hand through my hair, pressing my head against his chest.
I clung to him, my screams becoming whimpers. What was happening to me? It was bad enough I had to deal with headaches while awake. My nights were filled with dreams I couldn’t explain.
“Is it the same nightmare?” Grampa asked from somewhere inside my room, my bedside lamp turning on at the same time. Concern knitted his brow as he stared at us. If he was surprised to find Bran in my room, he didn’t show it.
“I don’t know, but she woke up faster this time.” Bran squeezed my shoulders and asked, “Do you want me to get you a wet cloth?”
“No, I’ll get it.” I got up and staggered to the bathroom, Bran following me as though I’d collapse or something. At least he stayed by the doorway as I splashed water on my face. Then I stared in horror at my reflection in the mirror.
Three straight nights without sleep, four if I didn’t catch some shut-eye during what was left of tonight, had turned me into the girl from The Grudge. Dark shadows clung to my eyes. My hair was wild and untamed. My usually glowing skin looked pasty and grey. I needed uninterrupted REM cycles.
The nightmares had started on Saturday, the night the demons had attacked me. Grampa and Bran had teleported into my bedroom at the same time, both thinking I was being attacked. Though I’d like to think I wouldn’t scream like a demon on its way to Tartarus. We Guardians were tougher than that.
Grampa had left after Bran reassured him he’d stay until I fell asleep. And he had. The night after, he hadn’t left after I woke up screaming again. Just as well. Immediately after I’d fallen asleep, the dreams had started again.
It was terrible fighting what you couldn’t see, being surrounded by a dense fog while lightning speared the air around you. Then there was the carnage, the cacophony of sounds. Shrill, brain-numbing, ear-piercing screams.
By the third night, Bran hadn’t even bothered going home. Grampa never slept. He came and went during the night, so I knew he was aware of our new sleeping arrangement. That he didn’t say anything said just how worried he was.
Voices came from bedroom and I realized Bran had disappeared from the doorway. They were talking in low tones, but I heard them anyway.
“I don’t like it,” Grampa was saying. “Maybe a long break might be better.”
Don’t like what? I angled my head to catch more.
“She has shadows under her eyes and looks so fragile,” Grampa continued.
“You shouldn’t ask her to stop, Cardinal. The only times she doesn’t feel the pain is when she trains,” Bran said.
How dare they discuss me? I opened my mouth to protest and closed it without speaking. Lack of sleep was making me cranky. I splashed more water on my face, then dried off.
“What does Master Haziel say?” Grampa asked, his voice fainter. “He and I haven’t spoken since he started the new regimen.”
“He wants her to control the powers and pushes her hard, but she likes that, which is very unlike her. It’s like she craves it. She and I train between group lessons, too.”
“Interesting,” Grampa mumbled. “I wonder if the adrenaline rush helps her block the pain.”
“Endorphins,” Bran corrected.
Endorphins? When his energy soothed mine, it eased my headaches. Making out worked wonders, too. If they were talking chemicals, I’d vote for dopamine. I derived some pleasure from training with him. He was a better fighter than me, but because of my new powers I’d acquired more stamina and went toe to toe with him. Izzy called it foreplay. Too bad it never led to anything.
Walking back to my bedroom, I waved my hand and turned off the bedside lamp, then slipped under the blanket. Sleep wasn’t going to come easily. I turned my head and buried it in a pillow. It had the woodsy scent Bran favored. I smiled, but that soon changed to a scowl.
Why was I having these nightmares? Were they residual memories from the attack, or something the dagger’s powers induced? Considering how many demons it had killed over the millennia, there was no telling what was stored in the writings that usually covered the dagger’s blade. All I knew was that they were somehow connected to the powers of the dagger.
“You still haven’t found Gavyn, Cardinal?” Bran asked.
Grampa and Bran’s voice grew stronger or maybe hearing Gavyn’s name pulled me out of my funk. If there was a demon I wanted to hurt, it was Nitwit Gavyn.
“I’m afraid not. Without him, tracking down the Summoners is impossible.”
“You should let us give it a try, Cardinal. I know you said you didn’t want us out there, but—”
“I still don’t. As long as the Tribe is on the loose, waiting to catch you young ones unaware, I want all of you inside the valley.”
“What if I went alone? I work faster and I promise to be discreet. Gavyn is also more likely to come out of hiding when he hears I’m looking for him without the Guardians.”