Chapter Eleven
Dreams.
Trapped in this world, he’d made it his own. Asherik no longer pined for his natural plane, instead he reveled in the power under his grasp on this world. Here he could feed to his heart’s content. Slowly, savoring the kill, or fast, heart pumping, blood spurting.
Some nights he wanted more. Some nights he escaped to the release of his own dreams. Dreams where the constant, gnawing desire to rend and tear faded and he could glimpse something more. Something always just out of reach. It teased him, lured him away from his purpose. For how long… he didn’t know.
But always he awoke.
And always the need returned.
And so Ash woke from his own dreams to plunder another’s. It was child’s play to find her. The reaper hadn’t bothered to instruct her in the simplest of protections. She must mean less to him than he’d thought. Floating over her like a gossamer veil caught on the breeze, his power bathed over her skin in the lightest caress, almost feeling the heat of her skin, the supple curves of youth.
Soon enough he’d taste such delights in the flesh, but for the moment he was content to ride the current of air above her, letting her draw him inside with each breath, only to puff out again. All at once he slid into her mind, taking note of the surroundings with interest.
She sat in the shade, laying out an elaborate picnic, on a red gingham tablecloth. Dressed in shorts and a skimpy top, he admired her smooth, tanned flesh while she brought out all manner of tasty delights from the voluminous basket. Flexing his will, he changed her clothing to a white sundress, her shoulders bare, hair smoothed away from her brow by a matching strip of white; the epitome of innocent beauty. That pleased him.
Instead of taking form, he watched while she adjusted everything just so, not so much as taking a bite while she waited. Whom did she wait for? Unable to keep from participating any longer, he took a man’s shape, tall, dark and handsome in his exquisite attire.
The girl smiled politely as he approached, placing a green apple in his hand when he stretched it out to her, but declining the invitation in his eyes. Puzzled, Ash took another form. Younger, closer to her age, with less formal attire. Again, she smiled when he approached, offering a piece of fruit, but nothing more. Kneeling before her, he caught her gaze, bending her to his will. But instead of the passion clouded swoon of acceptance he expected, her brows twitched together in annoyance.
“Sorry, buddy, I’m not interested.”
Ash let the construct go, too shocked to reply. The girl gave no sign that she was disturbed by the sudden disappearance, the nature of dreams suppressing suspicions of unreality. Instead she turned her gaze to the horizon, waiting in her white dress, surrounded by her bounty.
Desperate to exert his control, Ash dissolved their surroundings. The peaceful setting shimmered away, replaced by the more romantic setting of a silken bower, a roaring fire crackling in the background. Before the image could completely solidify, they were back in the park and she began unpacking the picnic basket again.
She fought him. She’d actually fought him.
In all the dreams he’d entered, no one had ever so much as questioned his manipulations. They all came to him, whether willing or screaming, but none ever challenged his construct. Content to watch for a while, he waited to see who she brought into the dream, but no one ever came. Instead her shoulders slowly bowed, the eager light of anticipation dimming as the feast around her wilted in the heat of the day.
It confused him. Why, with such power at her disposal, did she choose a reality where she was disappointed? Gathering his will, he spoke at her ear without revealing himself.
“Show me,” he whispered. “Show me what you yearn for. Show me what you want.”
A man approached, dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans. Muscular arms – a punishing strength there – but there was no menace in his stance. The closer he got, the more details were revealed. Short hair, neither blonde, nor brown, but somewhere in between. Tattoos visible on his arms and neck, and a scar that creased his brow. The tattoos surprised him. A tenderness in his blue eyes and the hint of a smile to his lips that stretched into a slightly crooked smile. He was glad to see her.
Not a beautiful man as he’d come to understand by usual definition, but powerful, compelling to behold. Of all the men she could desire, she’d chosen this form. Why?
“Why do you choose someone so flawed?” he asked, a voice on the wind.
“Sometimes the beauty is in the flaws,” she spoke aloud, taking the offered hand. The dream man pulled her up, and they strolled away from the picnic, out of the shadows and into the sunlight.
“Now, we’re getting somewhere.” Asherik withdrew to consider what he’d learned. It was time to choose a new body. One with flaws.