The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

had to die.
    Natalia had thought her hungers would disappear after her experience with Ivan. But no, her lustful thoughts continued to plague her. She’d glimpsed a Shareem once, when she’d been running an errand in the middle of the city. His physicality had nearly sent her to her knees. He hadn’t even looked at her, but his tightly muscled body and beautiful face had haunted her dreams for months.
    She turned back reluctantly, wanting another glimpse of the Dream Catcher. He was still watching her, his silver gaze pulling her like a magnet. She lowered her veil enough to meet his eyes again.
    Don’t go.
    She stopped, startled, but no one else had heard him. His voice was warm, velvety and sensual, and she wanted to hear it again. Why shouldn’t I? she stammered silently.
    He didn’t respond. But he couldn’t read her mind, could he? Dream Catchers couldn’t read actual thoughts, just fantasies, dreams.
    Dreams they took and made reality. Whatever you wanted. For a little while. You could touch and hold and taste and smell whatever you wanted. Whatever you desired. For a little while.
    Women spent entire fortunes to find Dream Catchers. Some became so enamoured of their dreams that they could not go back to their normal lives. Like a person who could not survive without an excess of wine, these women became addicted to Dream Catchers.
    That does not need to happen, his voice whispered. You do not live on your dreams.
    No kidding, Natalia thought bitterly.
    He chuckled, the sound rough but warm. These women need their rules and their taboos to keep from remembering they are alive. They want to forget. You, Natalia, know you are alive.
    Yes, unfortunately. Natalia’s dreams, her needs, never went away. Maybe she was as disgusting as Ivan thought she was.
    No, the Dream Catcher said. You are beautiful.
    All high-born women were beautiful. They could afford to be. You flatter me.
    Ivan had flattered her before their marriage. Natalia had resigned herself to the fact that he’d used her. Now she preferred to be left alone, far from men with honeyed tongues.
    She had a sudden flash of licking honey off the Dream Catcher’s tongue. The heat of the vision seared her, and she heard his laugh again.
    Yes.
    Natalia jerked her gaze from him, breathing hard. As soon as she looked away, his voice, his presence vanished from her head, and she was simply standing in her best gown amid a crowd of women who did not like her.
    “What did you see?” Delia demanded eagerly.
    Natalia flushed. “Nothing.”
    “Oh, come now. You saw something.”
    Natalia could feel the Dream Catcher’s smile, though his mouth never moved. It gave her a warm, tickly feeling. She couldn’t help but turn to him again. He stood calmly, but the witch rope held him as securely as chains.
    Let me in, he whispered in her mind. I need this as much as you do.
    How do you know what I need? she thought angrily.
    I know.
    Natalia pressed her hands to her hot face. She felt the weight of stares around her, of envy, curiosity, maliciousness.
    These ladies wanted her to experience her deepest fantasies right there in front of them. They wanted to watch her rolling around on the floor, moaning and perhaps doing something embarrassing while they watched and laughed.
    She risked a quick glance around. Dear gods, they did want that. They would make her a laughing stock.
    Well, Mother, you did try to warn me.
    The trouble was, Delia was right. Natalia wanted the Dream Catcher. She wanted his voice in her head again, wanted to hear his deep-throated laugh, wanted him to say her name and tell her she was beautiful. She wanted the fantasies he could give her, wanted him to fulfil her need for passion. He could do this. She could experience it once and let him go.
    But not in front of all these people. She’d die first. Nor could she stalk away in a huff as she’d begun to, letting Delia win. She could hear Delia’s taunting laugh already. She had to bring the power back into her own hands.
    Natalia resorted to the lowest trick she could think of. She’d only done it once before, the night her mother-in-law had started raving in the middle of the theatre about how disappointing Natalia was. She’d gone on and on at the top of her wine-laden lungs about how Natalia should give her money and property to Ivan absolutely and retire to a meditation centre in the desert.
    Natalia’s ruse had worked then like a charm. It was the only time in two years the woman