Shadow Kissed 03 - Shadowman

blurred as she turned, her mind sifting the details of the dream from a new vantage point. He held his body fast as the furnishings settled into clarity again. Dreams were always shifting, always fluid. Beyond this little island oasis, the trees of Twilight swayed.
    â€œI can’t find her,” she said. “I look and look and look and I can’t see anything.”
    Layla had been searching her reflection, so he could guess whom she was looking for. He approached and skimmed his knuckles across her cheek. “She’s here. You’re here.”
    â€œI’m lost.”
    Would she even remember their words this deep in a dream? How much comfort could she bring back to consciousness? He didn’t know. He bent to touch her nose in an Eskimo kiss. “You’re found.”
    The color of her anguish shifted to intense, consuming longing. The dream, the room deepened, the hues growing harsh, aging. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
    â€œYou’re not alone. I’m here. Come what may, I’ll never let you go again.” To prove it, he brushed his mouth across hers.
    Fine black lines of anger cracked the room as she became self-aware in the dream setting. It was a difficult skill to master. Kathleen had been proficient at it as a child, and Layla was learning just as fast.
    â€œI need to be able to take care of myself. A ghost attacked me today, and Talia had to save me.” Layla gestured wildly to the mirror, where another version of herself now stood, dressed in the gold gown he’d fashioned for her upon their meeting. The gown ill fit the body it covered. “I’m not your precious princess Kathleen, locked in the castle tower waiting for rescue.”
    On that point, Layla was mistaken. “Kathleen fought the only way she could: she endured. ”
    â€œYeah, well in this life, I don’t sit around.” Her dream voice warped with her intensity.
    It was the quintessential human struggle: to be the master of one’s own fate. Layla didn’t know it, but even now she fought a power far greater than a wisp of a ghost. She fought Moira, who inevitably would win.
    â€œA ghost attacked you?” They were harmless.
    â€œYeah, the west wing freaky child.”
    Softly, in singsong, a chant began to echo in the warehouse. “Dead man, dead man, come alive . . .”
    And Khan grew cold as he understood the threat: the chant was a curse, masquerading as child’s play. Layla’s lifeline was cut, her time on Earth at an end, and therefore, her body was forfeit. The ghost, clinging to life, sought to occupy it. The chant , Dead man, dead man, come alive, was an invitation for her to take over Layla’s flesh. And Layla would be cast out, forced to cross or become a ghost herself.
    As a rule, ghosts were shallow things, rarely capable of intelligence, just strong feeling: sadness, rage, greed.
    This act reeked of design, of a trap. Moira. Again.
    The dream hazed for a moment. “Talia got her. I mean, damn—”
    Good girl. But Talia could not force the ghost to cross. The “west wing freaky child” still walked the halls of Segue.
    â€œIt’s me who can’t do anything,” Layla said.
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    She squinted back into the mirror, but the figure in the glass was still indistinct, a definite problem. This reincarnation business was messing with her head big-time.
    â€œYou have more power than you think,” Khan said. “Those in the mortal world have the most power of all.”
    â€œCompared to you guys, I have none.” And the world grew more frightening and unknowable by the hour.
    The dream flashed white, muddled her senses, before settling again.
    She turned back to Khan, Mr. Dark Lord of the Fae. He wore black, head to toe. Pants that skimmed over his long, muscled physique. A simple shirt that defined the ridges beneath. And a minimalist leather coat. His hair fell past his shoulders, and as she watched, it braided itself, and the sharp line from jaw to cheekbone was revealed.
    What the hell was he?
    No, wait. She didn’t want to know.
    The dream flashed again—Khan was near, then far— all perspective seemed off. Better to feel. That sixth sense overrode everything else.
    Feel everything.
    She knew she should be screaming in fear, but she was stirring with interest and . . . and . . . tingly, torturous want instead. The sensation, right down below her belly button,