their tour of the long-vanished underground society in England. This she’d discerned as a darkening of her perceptions, like a lens with a filter over it, and a chill that penetrated to the core of her disembodied essence.
A strangely appealing possibility resonated in the wounded regions of Dream’s battered psyche. She recognized deep depression when she encountered it, and the concept of a depressed demon or spirit was intriguing.
Well.
More than intriguing.
She sighed.
She also found it romantic. Romantic, that is, in the manner of gothic dramas and Shakespearean tragedies. She had always had a weakness for the doomed figures in plays and fiction. They spoke to her in ways the characters in modern trifles could not. The writers of old seemed more keenly attuned to true suffering, and they’d evoked that quality in timeless, compelling ways. Her favorite had always been Hamlet, with its incomparably dark climax of blood, poison, and treachery.
She had to remind herself that King was not Hamlet. It was tempting to fall prey to such an analogy. A leap like that would make reconciling her knowledge of King’s brutal deeds with her desire for him too easy. But King possessed none of the prince’s haunted nobility. Oh, he was handsome and suave, and his home dazzled you with its beauty, but the pretty picture was rife with imperfections.
He was a killer.
More than that, he was a sadist who killed for pleasure.
And he did it on a grand scale.
So, then, how would it feel to wake up to this sweeping vista of pastoral beauty every morning?
But she knew the answer to that question, didn’t she?
It would be akin to waking up one morning to find you’d suddenly become the devil’s concubine. A favored whore allowed to wallow in all of the world’s most sensual pleasures while all around you time’s doomed souls cried out in the eternal torment of molten hellfire.
Unacceptable.
No part of her could fathom being a willing part of an existence like that. It went against her pacifist instincts, which were deeply ingrained. She’d even felt a twinge of regret at the sight of Dan’s vandalized Beetle. She’d long ago stopped caring much about her own well-being, but she would not give tacit approval to acts of subjugation and brutality by consenting to be King’s mistress. Her self-esteem had taken a lot of hits in recent years, some quite crippling, but most of her more admirable traits had remained intact.
Her benevolence, for instance.
And her compassion.
Her basic goodness.
She would die before allowing King to destroy whatever good was left in her.
Hell, if things had gone as she’d originally planned, she wouldn’t be alive right now. Her brains would be splattered all over the walls of some hotel room. Dream shifted in the wicker chair, recrossed her legs, and shuddered. The image lingered in her mind, alluring, Technicolor vivid. She saw herself with the Glock jammed like a big black cock in her wide-open mouth, the back of her head a ragged, bloody mess. The vision filled her not with horror but a sense of long-sought peace finally attained. The ruined body she imagined was an empty vessel, no longer home to the tortured soul that had inhabited it for nearly thirty years.
It astonished her that something so grisly could be so beautiful.
But, to her, it was.
She was still deep in contemplation of the image when she heard footsteps behind her. King stepped out onto the balcony. He flashed her a small, knowing smile. A lover’s smile. She couldn’t help returning it. And seeing those dark, soulful eyes did something to her, triggered a spreading warmth that made her tingle in all the sensitive places he’d so deftly pleasured the night before.
Right here.
Right now.
Amazing. She could know all the things she knew about him, even the dimly sensed plans for her friends, unspeakably vile things, and still she desired him.
He went to the railing, grasped it the way Dream had moments earlier, arched his head to the sky, and inhaled deeply of the clean mountain air. Dream’s gaze, saturated with bald erotic need, studied the impressive figure his body cut against the gorgeous scenery. He wore khaki trousers with the cuffs rolled up over bare ankles and feet and a white button-up shirt open over his muscled torso. His sleep-tousled hair stirred in the gentle breeze, and he ran a hand through it, brushing it back from his brow.
Dream’s hand went to the sash around her robe.
The need was almost more than she could bear.
He turned around and leaned against the railing. He didn’t so much as glance at the hand slowly tugging at the sash. Well, a man-or thing-like King would never be anything less than impeccably smooth and unflappable.
He smiled again. “Did you sleep well?”
Dream willed her hand away from the sash. She picked up the cup of coffee instead, brought it to her mouth, and took a casual sip. “With the exception of one troubling dream, yes.” She smiled. “That bed is amazing. I’ve never felt so comfortable.”
He frowned. “Tell me about the dream.”
She set the coffee cup down and folded her hands primly in her lap. “Well, I’m not sure if it really was a dream. I think I might have been … traveling … again.”
King nodded. “It’s possible.” He unfolded his arms and gripped the railing behind him. “It’s also rare. Humans usually aren’t capable of spontaneous sleep forays so soon after their first experience. In fact, only a small percentage of your race is capable of what you did last night at all. The ones who manage it possess a common trait, an unusual sensitivity to the nuances of the world around them, the little holes in the subtly interwoven planes of the physical world and the spiritual realms. You are one of those people. I sensed that upon first setting eyes on you.”
A flicker of something like sheepishness briefly creased his handsome features. “Actually, I’m being disingenuous. I sensed your presence before you even arrived. I am capable of many things, but that degree of acute psychic awareness isn’t something that happens often. I knew well before you arrived I would be encountering a woman of rare gifts.”
Dream arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
King shrugged. “It is. You are that rarity of rarities, Dream, a human with an untapped well of amazing powers. You are capable of so much, and you never knew it. You need only to get in touch with those abilities, to develop and hone them. If you can do that, there is no limit to what you can do.”
She tried not to smirk. “And you’re the teacher I’ve always needed, right?”
His eyes glittered with confidence. “Yes, Dream. I am.”
She felt something like defiance come to life within her. The feeling was welcome. Invigorating. A reminder of her essential humanity. “Well, Ed, allow me to introduce you to a radical concept-maybe I prefer to leave those powers untapped. Maybe, and here’s the real kicker, maybe I prefer being a normal chick.”
His expression darkened. “You have never been normal, Dream. That’s a ridiculous statement.” He smiled, but there was no humor in it. “I can sense the truth of your soul, and the truth is you have always felt apart from others of your race. You have many friends, close ones, but there’s a missing connection, a vital component they lack. You’ve never known what it is, but I’ll supply the answer. It’s that sensitivity, Dream, that ability you have to see beneath the surface of things. To see truth. Learn what I have to teach you, and you can know bigger truths. The eternal ones. The secrets of the gods, Dream. Surrendering your humanity is worth that, I think.”
Dream snickered. “Yeah, I’m real good at divining hidden truths, Ed. Hell, I’m so good at it I didn’t know my boyfriend likes men.” She tapped a temple with a forefinger. “My powers of insight are astounding, are they not?”
King didn’t say anything.
His gaze settled on some vague middle distance.
He’s mad at me, Dream thought.
