Dreams of a Dark Warrior

Right?
Press on, Regin.
    “Leave us,” Chase told the guard, never glancing away from her.
    Vincente turned without a word, his face expression-less as usual.
    When they were alone, Regin said, “Vincente doesn’t think it’s weird for me to be coming here?”
    “It’s not his job to think. He’s only supposed to follow my orders.”
    Chase’s voice was naturally raspy, but tonight it was even huskier, making her ears twitch in reaction.
    “So, I was about to lodge a formal complaintabout Fegley,” she said. “But this doesn’t seem to be a customer-service-oriented establishment.” Again, she hopped up on his desk, onto his perfectly stacked papers. His brows drew together, but he didn’t bother ordering her away.
    “Any minute now, I expect that little tool to say, ‘It rubs the lotion on its skin.’ He’s gonna meet a bad end.”
    “You’re psychic now? Or making futile plans?”
    “I’m just old.” She sighed. “You see guys like him over and over, and you get to be a crack at predicting it. And speaking of ridiculously ineffectual workers … Dixon keeps staring at me with those buggy Where’s Waldo? glasses. It’s almost as if she’s fantasizing about playing with my insides. Oh, wait. She
is
.” Regin tilted her head. “I’ll bet she fantasizes about you even more.”
    “Jealous?”
    She rolled her eyes at him. “Of
course
I’m jealous.”
    “I’m surprised you’d admit it.”
    “You were
mine
first. My dibs are ten centuries old.”
    “What Dixon and I do is none of your concern.”
    “Well, if she’s your type, then whatever. I just thought a man like you would crave a real woman. Someone who’s strong enough to handle your power and sensual enough to slake you.” Regin moved to the center of his desk, sitting atop another stack of papers. This time he didn’t seem to notice at all.
    “At least she
is
a woman. And not a Valkyrie.”
    “Baby, I’m
all
woman.” She spread her legs suggestively, so he was sitting between them. “Uncuff me and let me show you what you’ve been missing all your life.”
    ***
    Declan believed she’d do it. He could lay her back on that desk, strip off her clothes, and enter her right now.
    The most beautiful woman he’d ever encountered.
    And for a moment, everything within him was in perfect accord with the idea.
    All day his thoughts had returned to that dream of her and the berserker. He’d grown hard at intervals, wondering how much longer he could go without relieving the pressure that continued to build.
    His concentration had been wrecked, his workload escalating. Running an installation of this size was a job for five men—and he delegated little—but he’d never minded, preferring to stay slammed with work.
    Now it felt like the reins were slipping from his grasp. Professionally, personally.
Sexually?
    “Come on, Chase,” she murmured, “I can
feel
your tension—you’re like a powder keg about to blow.”
    They will separate you from your purpose …
“I’d never lower myself to bed one of your kind.”
    She shrugged, but he thought he caught a flash of hurt in her eyes. “Might not be me. But it’s not Dixon, either.”
    “So certain?”
    “I
know
you, remember?”
    “Prove it, then.”
    “I know you’re in constant turmoil. Your past lives competing with your present.” She lowered her voice. “You once told me that it feels like a beast is inside you,frenzied to get out. From the look on your face, you still feel that way.”
    How the hell could she know that?
    Years ago, when Declan had finally confessed to Webb about that constant sense of urgency clawing at him, Webb had nodded knowingly. “It’s a
calling,
son. That’s what you feel, have always felt.” Declan was to channel that into his vocation—destroying the deathless ones.
    So why did the strain fade whenever he was with Regin?
    “You dreamed about me last night, didn’t you?” she asked. “You always used to in the past, told me you did right up to the point when you remembered all.”
    Immediately on edge, he demanded, “How did you make me experience that dream? Was it dreamcasting?”
    “I don’t have that ability.”
    “Bullshite!” His accent slipped yet again.
    “Chase, even if I could dreamcast, how could I do it … when I’m wearing a torque?”
    He swallowed.
No, no, anything’s possible in the Lore.
Another being could have affected him, or Regin could even have done this to him before he’d captured