Company of Angels 02 - The Demoness of Waking Dreams

pushing out of his embrace. “You don’t need to do that. I’m right here. And I can fight my own battles. I’m strong enough to do that on my own.”
    “Yes, but are you strong enough to walk away from the fight? You could turn your life around if you were willing to let go.”
    “Stop preaching, angelo mio. Don’t you think I’ve heard centuries of it? Do you think I’m going to change now?”
    “Julian reformed himself. With Serena’s help.”
    “Don’t speak their names,” she said, infinitely sad. “Not at a moment like this. Even if that’s true, I don’t think it’s possible for me.”
    “Arielle isn’t the absolute authority on such things,” he said.
    “Shh. Don’t speak of it. Just let me love you.”
    She pored over every inch of him, wanting an explanation for every stroke of tattoo on his body. She wanted to know them all, to memorize the map of ink that covered his skin, a map of his history and his unspoken bravery.
    “I want to remember your body,” she said. “I want your skin to be the last thing I know before I…”
    “Before what? You’re not going anywhere. Not if I can help it,” he said gruffly.
    * * *
     
    Afterward, he found he could not sleep. He lay staring at the ceiling, wondering if the unfinished business of his own life would ever be resolved.
    “What happened when you died?” she asked as they lay in the darkness, insomniacs together.
    “You’ve seen it yourself, in my dreams,” he said. “Don’t pretend you haven’t.”
    “Yes,” she admitted finally, sighing. “I suppose I have.”
    He sat up suddenly on the bed and asked, “Why do we have this strange bond, the ability to enter each others’ dreams?”
    “Evidence of a cruel and ironic God,” she said.
    He suspected there was more to it than that. Suspected that she had the ability to enter his dreams on purpose. That she had explored the sleeping minds of many other dreamers, for purposes that were far from innocent. However, he put that out of his mind. Right now they were here, far away from Arielle. Safe.
    They lay together, the rhythmic flow of their breath perfectly in sync.
    “Did they ever catch your killer?” she asked.
    In the darkness, Brandon nodded. “They arrested two men, the drug dealers I was hunting. But they always swore they didn’t do it. Said they were nowhere near the alleyway when the shooting went down. They ended up in the Baraga Max—that’s a maximum security correctional facility in Michigan. They were put away for life.”
    “Do you think they really did it?”
    He froze, silence thickening in the space between them. “Why do you ask?”
    “You still dream about it every night. It’s obvious there’s unfinished business.”
    Perhaps some part of Brandon remained a part of the human world because of this unfinished business. As he lay in bed, Luciana’s head on his chest, he stared at the bright stars outside and thought of that.
    And wondered how in the world his unfinished business could be finished.
    “I still can’t sleep,” he said after a long while.
    She laughed. “You’re already dreaming. You just don’t know it. Come, I’ll show you.”
    “No,” he gritted out. “I want to wake up. There’s no need to go through this again.”
    “You need to see this. You need to know for certain who killed you, and you need to confront him.”
    It was the same old nightmare.
    The one he’d relived thousands of times. The one he could never avoid.
    Down the dark alley, past the spilled garbage, the toxic ooze of leaking slime, stench of rotting food and other decomposing filth strewn across the pavement. He followed, unsure of where this was leading. Unsure of exactly what Luciana wanted him to see.
    “I’ve got your back,” she said. “I promise you. You’re not alone. I will not let you die here tonight.”
    They walked into the alleyway, angel and demon together. Back-to-back, his big hand clasping hers, pale and fragile yet strong as silk-covered steel. He reached into his shoulder holster, pulled out the gun. Held it at eye level as he moved forward.
    And when the shooter arrived, time seemed to slow as he raised his gun. But Luciana was faster, somehow behind him, blocking him from moving. The man turned to uncover a face Brandon knew well. A face he had loved.
    The face of his best friend.
    His wife’s second husband.
    The father of her children.
    Jude raised his gun, ready to fire. Not into Brandon’s back this time, but