Silver-Steel Page 6

  It was hard as hell, and he’d probably freeze his ass off. The carpet wasn’t exactly pristine, though he’d lived harder during his life. He slid lower and rested his head against the back of the chair.

  He didn’t need to sleep; he just needed to relax…going deep…

  Chapter 6

  The sun was bright and stung Dylan’s eyes. He blinked, looked around, and held his breath. He stood at the dead center of town, inside a raised gazebo. The green grass of a park surrounded him. People strolled through the quaint town square, holding hands, laughing merrily.

  Arcada.

  Travis stood next to him, watching the strangers hungrily, his need nearly tangible. He made a little sound of disgust, and Dylan looked to see a large, muscular man walking next to an equally tall man who moved with uncanny grace. He recognized the shaved head and tattoos and instinctively knew the first man: Lukas Blacque. His companion was a vampire and didn’t belong in the sun, but this was a dream, and he was safe. His thick black hair caught rays of light. His pale skin didn’t exactly sparkle but was luminous and beautiful.

  They were breathtaking, made more so by their silent communion, the unspoken expression of friendship and love. Hands brushed and shoulders occasionally bumped as they wandered, lost in their own world. They walked away, and Travis watched them go. The sadness on his face was painful to see. He wasn’t jealous, though perhaps there was a bit of yearning in his eyes.

  Dylan heard laughter and saw a handsome man surrounded by children, a tiny one in his arms, a toddler up on his shoulder. His profile was enough like the skinhead’s to tell Dylan they were father and son. This was Dane Blacque, Travis’s father. The alpha dropped to the grass and let the children overrun him, tickling and hugging him, a writhing pile of happiness Travis had no part of.

  With a sigh Travis left the town square to walk along the streets, looking into windows and doors, invisible to all who went about their day. Dylan heard snatches of conversation, and laughter carried on the air. Finally they came to a jewelry store, and Travis paused to gaze at some of the most exquisite creations Dylan had ever seen.

  They were crafted of noble metals: silver and gold, platinum and steel. Cut gemstones caught the light, and smooth cabochons glowed with fire. Travis gazed, and Dylan looked around, wondering why this place called to the young man. He felt a pull—magic. No ordinary human created these works of art, and Dylan looked again, paying closer attention to the crafting of the jewelry.

  There were Celtic swirls and African symbols. Native American motifs sat next to ancient Etruscan designs. Flowers and leaves hosted tiny birds feeding from pink sapphire blossoms. Each piece was breathtaking. He wondered which design captured Travis’s attention. Dylan was amazed at the vivid reality of the dream, Travis visualizing each piece in precise detail.

  “Hello, Travis.”

  “Hey there, Kell.”

  Dylan froze. The person in the doorway was wrapped in energy, and familiar magic rendered him unable to think, to act. He soaked it up, closing his eyes and shuddering. Homesickness came from nowhere, smothering him in grief.

  He looked, holding absolutely still. There was no telling if this mystical creature was part of Travis’s imagination or if he was truly interacting with the shifter.

  The fae was an elemental, one who controlled some wild aspect of nature. It was young, its sex masked behind a facade of androgyny. Black hair grew back from a pale, youthful face. His body was boyish, yet his voice was soft and low.

  “Hi, Pim!”

  Dylan tore his gaze from the fae, and his eyes widened as another approached. This one was a bit more diminutive than the first. Rusty red hair was pulled back in a tail. Pim was a bit older, with a more pronounced air of femininity. They clasped hands, both smiling at Travis.

  “Did you bring it?” Kell stepped back, inviting Travis into their little store. Dylan hesitated and then followed, unable to resist. The actual space was rather undefined; Travis was focused on the elementals and their business.

  “I did. I still don’t have enough money, though.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s for Christmas, right? I can start working on it, and you leave a deposit.” They continued to talk terms while Dylan stared at the sheet of paper Travis produced. On it he’d sketched a woman’s bracelet—a wide, silver band ornamented with wolves running after one another. Even trees had been etched into the design. It was breathtaking. Even if Travis had only visualized it in his mind, the art was amazing.

  His young troublemaker was an artist. That explained the attention to detail in the hallucination, the colorful flowers and the undulating vines.

  Dylan’s chest ached, though he didn’t know why. The three dreamers walked deeper into the store, but when he followed, something held him back. Dylan frowned and tried again but couldn’t move forward. He struggled, and his alarm grew. He could always move at will through the dreams of others. Now that he’d connected with residents of the town, he was desperate to stay with them, to observe and learn. He was trapped like a gnat in a spiderweb, and the sensation was terrifying.

  “Why?”

  The voice was strange and ethereal. He shivered as power washed over him. Slowly Dylan turned. A woman stood before him, her figure shimmering and indistinct. Her eyes were closed, as though she was deep in sleep. Perhaps she was, because he was no longer walking through Travis’s dream.

  “What are you asking?” His lips were dry; his heart beat much too rapidly. Whoever—whatever this was, the power was greater than anything he’d encountered in years.

  “I send you away, but you keep coming back.”

  “Why do you send me away?”

  She opened her eyes, but they were unfocused, as though she didn’t see him. Her form shifted continually, hair brown, then gray, and then blonde. Color swirled through her beautiful eyes, and Dylan knew this was no woman, but a much larger force taking shape in a form he could understand.

  “Your motives are not pure, dreamer. You puzzle me.”

  “Yet when one of your children was in trouble, you trusted me enough to call me to his side. Then you sent the snow to trap us together.”

  She tilted her head. “Perhaps you are not trapped. Perhaps that too is only a dream.”

  “And perhaps you are not what you seem. You appear human but are far from it.” He didn’t need to say what she really was. Her blind eyes turned in his direction, and Dylan felt the full force of her attention. She crawled into his brain and probed his soul. She sifted through his life, examining his memories one by one. He was helpless before her, and angry tears of humiliation stung his eyes.

  They no longer stood on a sunny street in Arcada. They were deep in a forest; the sun barely filtered through the trees. This was an old place. Older than Dylan, maybe older than the world. Wind whispered through the branches above them, and birds flew from tree to tree. He groaned, feeling the magic he’d been denied for so very long.

  Homewood. Arcada was showing him his home.

  Dylan covered his eyes and felt the wetness of tears slip past his fingers. If he listened hard, the soft voices of women would reach his ears. He’d hear the laughter of his father, and the light, silvery music of Bronwyn’s harp would charm the birds from the trees.

  And he grieved as he hadn’t since those long-ago days when he’d lost everything, when the ties that anchored his soul to this place had been severed by a brutal hand. He’d been harvested like a stalk of grain. After that, life had been dark.

  “Please, don’t show me this.”

  “I thought it would bring you pleasure.”

  Her eyes we closed again, but Dylan knew she saw all. Unwillingly he saw the past spin out in front of him while the entity watched dispassionately.

  “Enough.” He gathered control of the dream, putting an end to the stream of memory. “You’ve looked through my past. I lived it. There is no point in forcing me to reexperience those times.”

  Her lovely, aged, youthful face turned i
n his direction. “It wasn’t all bad.”

  “No, it wasn’t. But my youth has passed. I am no longer that person.”

  She tilted her head again. “No, you are not that young person. If you were, perhaps I’d let you into my town. But your motives and your intentions… You are conflicted. You confuse me.” She looked straight at him, searing him with her power. “Show me yourself. Your power. Not this cheap magic you now practice.”

  She waved her hand, and the dream shimmered. They were now in a clearing. The soil was barren, and the grass was dead and dry. A foul-looking river flowed sluggishly, dead and dying trees bowed over the poison water. Dylan looked up and saw the curve of a train track. Stains from a spill blackened the embankment. Looking at the woman who held Arcada’s soul, he felt his chest grow tight with pain.

  “I’m not that person…not for many years.” He swallowed down the nausea the poisoned river triggered. Now he could smell the rot of dead fish.

  And then he was on his knees, hands buried in the toxic soil. His head fell forward, but no tears fell. Humans had ravaged their lands for incalculable centuries. There was nothing here he could redeem. Still, he saw a tiny beetle trundle through the dry leaves. A little bird perched on a brittle twig. In the water, a pollywog writhed and wiggled in the shallows.

  Given time, Earth always healed her wounds. He buried his hands deeper in the soil, coaxing life back to the land. It started with the tiniest bacterium, followed by spores and pollen. Long-buried seeds hatched. Grasses grew, as did flowers and thistles, bushes and trees. In his mind he visualized the future health of the dead grove, imagining it healthy and lush.

  When he opened his eyes, a pale sweep of green covered the bare dirt. A bird sang in the distance, and the breeze rattled brittle grass. When he looked down, he saw a fragile shoot struggling to rise. Someday it would be a tree. But now it was just a sickly seedling.

  At his failure, Dylan slumped forward in despair. Even in his dreams his only purpose was destruction rather than creation. His time as a guardian had been so very brief. He barely remembered the life he’d lived before Ulric. He looked up at the entity and became dizzy. The dry soil under his knees became cool and damp, and once again he smelled the rich, fragrant air of his birthplace.

  Dylan began to float, leaving the idyllic wood behind. Though memory of the place was painful, he still hung on. The harder he struggled to stay, the more he lost control of the dream. Anger spiked through him—this was his realm! For an endless moment he looked down on the roof of the house he’d been born in. He glimpsed the shining faces of those he’d long ago loved. A youth darted into a clearing, his autumn-colored hair streaming behind him. Shading his eyes, he looked up and locked gazes with Dylan. The young man’s face went pale, and Dylan gasped, stunned into letting the dream go.

  He awakened in the chair in the cold room, stiff and sore. Tears streamed down his face, but he didn’t cry.

  Dylan got to his feet, walked into the bathroom, and was sick.

  TRAVIS SAT UP, staring at the room in confusion. He wasn’t home and briefly was unable to make sense of the gray-white walls and the lingering smell of cigarettes that touched the air. It was dark, cold, and he was not alone. He caught a familiar, comforting scent and looked for the man.

  Dylan.

  He was on the hard, grubby floor, wrapped in a thin blanket. Travis looked out through a gap in the curtains. It was still dark, though light reflected off the snow. He shivered, dropped his feet to the side of the bed, and was pleased he was able to stand. He braced the backs of his bare thighs against the mattress and sidestepped Dylan’s sleeping form to walk gingerly to the bathroom. He pissed and then washed up in frigid water.

  Hell, had the pilot lights gone out? He found the thermostat in the darkness and turned it up, but nothing happened. He was cold—too cold. The man on the floor shivered in his sleep. Travis stared at him, then found his folded clothing and dug out his T-shirt and briefs. Unsteadily he got dressed and crawled back into bed. He lay on his side, looking down at Dylan. The man’s face was partially hidden behind strands of pale hair. Tentatively Travis reached down and pushed the hair back, revealing ears that were gracefully pointed.

  He grinned. So Dylan wasn’t quite human after all. He’d been using glamour to hide his differences. He was certainly fae, but not the same as Pim and Kell. Those two hid behind facades that were nothing like their real appearances. No, they’d never shown themselves to Travis, but the sense of magic was strong around them. He’d once paused during a late-night run and witnessed the two as they slipped free of their humble shells to dance and play in their private world of fire and ice.

  Dylan was different. He had enough power to hide his appearance. In fact, until Travis had caught the white-haired man staring at him in the bar, Travis would have sworn that corner table had sat empty. When his guard was down, he was a beautiful creature, and his slumbering magic whispered of frightening power.

  It drew Travis and terrified him at the same time. His instincts told him to flee, yet he didn’t want to. His wolf studied Dylan curiously and without fear.

  In the darkness Dylan’s hair glowed white. Not the metallic, glittery color that Kell’s hair reverted to when he changed, but a soft flow that was more like snow than ice. Silver piercings arched up along his exposed ear, and thick, black eyelashes rested on his cheek. Travis longed to see him uncovered and bare, to see if his body was as lyrical and lovely as his face.

  Travis stroked him, starting at the shoulder and working down his arm, feeling firm muscle and the warmth of his body. Under his touch, Dylan shivered from the cold. Travis felt a bit guilty; after all, this was Dylan’s room, and the bed was big enough for them both. If he became too uncomfortable, Travis could change shape. He doubted the fae on the floor could match that trick.

  “Dylan.” He shook the sleeping man lightly, but Dylan slept on. For a moment Travis thought about earlier, when he’d dreamed that Dylan had climbed into the bed with him and comforted him. He remembered the feel of the man’s solid body behind his, the heated erection pressing against his ass. And as he remembered, his cock swelled within the confines of his briefs. His physical attraction to the other man hadn’t been his imagination, and it bothered him. He’d let men service him before, but that had been little more than sexual convenience. He never took names, never wished to see them again. It was rude and sleazy behavior, but if they offered, he accepted.

  He’d liked the feel of Dylan’s body against his. He easily imagined the sensation of being pressed under the other man’s weight, helpless and immobile. The sound of Dylan’s musical voice centered him, commanding him to…

  Obedience?

  “Shit.” Travis pulled the blankets up around his shoulders and flopped down against the pillow. Obedience? Really? Was he a golden retriever fetching a stick for his master? He huddled in the bed and slowly warmed under the stack of blankets weighing him down. He played with the slick bedspread, running the edges between his fingers. The only time Travis Feris showed submission was when it was forced from him.

  But that wasn’t really true. Dane Blacque might be his father, but he was also Travis’s alpha. And after tasting the sharp edge of Lukas’s dominance, neither he nor his wolf had issues with giving his throat to his brother. His feelings toward them were complex and full of resentment, but they were safe, and they’d earned his respect.

  Dylan was a completely different animal. Or not an animal, as the case may be. Travis found him intriguing and disturbingly attractive. He didn’t know the man beyond that. True, Dylan had played the Good Samaritan, but for all Travis knew, the man was just trying to get into his pants.

  Then why was he lying on the floor, wrapped only in a thin blanket?

  “Dylan.” He rolled to his side and watched the vision sleeping on the grubby carpet. “Dylan, get up here, and get into the bed.” The fae blinked in confusion, then looked up at him. His ears now appeared rounded and human. His hair was the color of
milk. “Come on. I’m freezing. Need you.” Now that he was up on his elbow, the frigid air chilled his bare arms, his teeth chattered, and his skin grew rough with goose bumps. Dylan gazed at him, his expression giving nothing away. He sat up and peeled away the blanket. Underneath he was fully dressed, and as he stripped, Travis pretended not to watch.

  Pale, unblemished skin covered a lithe, lean body. As Dylan moved, muscles flexed smoothly over his frame. He pushed off his boots and then his tight black jeans. Travis shivered as his body reacted. Another wolf would have scented his arousal, but Dylan didn’t appear to notice the heady fragrance rising from Travis’s body. He turned to the bed, slid under the covers, then pushed Travis closer to the wall.

  “I’m not quite right yet, D. You touch me, and I might bite you.” Dylan paused. After a heartbeat, he drew closer and threw an arm over Travis’s waist. It felt good. It felt safe. Travis sighed, feeling his eyes grow heavy. “I said no touching.” He couldn’t go down without an argument.

  “Quiet. Sleep.” The weight of command throbbed in Dylan’s voice. The arm around his waist went tighter.

  Travis smiled and obeyed.

  Chapter 7

  Arcada had ravaged his mind, read his soul, and booted him out on his ass.

  In the darkness of the deepest part of the night, Dylan lay awake, curled around the shivering man in his arms. True to what the shifters had told him, Travis alternated between fever and chills, lucidity and hallucination. Dylan could once again enter the young man’s dreams, but after his earlier experience, he needed to regroup.