For the Love of a Goblin Warrior (Shadowlands) (27 page)

Meryn
watched
in
horror, his eyes widening.

“Please, help me.” She elbowed the goblin, trying to get free, but he yanked her onto the windowsill. She was going to fall and die. That would be better than being taken. She dug her nails into his arm, drawing black blood, but he didn’t let go. “Meryn, please.” Her voice was frantic and panicked.

“I can’t.” In his hand was her mother’s cross. As he stared at his hands the skin grayed, his joints thickened. His fine clothes became rags and his hair matted and clumped. Meryn was becoming goblin. He couldn’t help her; he couldn’t help himself.

This
was
her
dream, but it shouldn’t happen like this. She couldn’t will the goblins away. She looked at Meryn; his eyes were goblin yellow and locked on the gold in his hand. “No!”

Then
the
goblin
dragged
her
out
the
window
and
they
fell.

She woke with a gasp before she hit the ground in her dream. Strong arms held her still and for a heartbeat spurred her panic on. She struggled against the embrace, her legs tangling in the bed sheets.

“Shh. It’s only a dream.”

But her heart still raced, pounding hard from a fright she’d imagined. Her mother’s stories were taking over her sleep, and each time they became more terrifying. Now she was involving Meryn.

Her hand covered Meryn’s as she eased closer to his warmth. His hands were normal, not gray. It was just a dream, fueled by Meryn’s tragedy and her mother’s death. She closed her eyes hoping to find sleep again, but imprinted in her mind was the image of Meryn going from man to goblin, knight to monster, as she’d been pulled out of the window by cold greedy hands.

She shivered and tried to fake sleep, hoping the real thing would find her, and failed. She was wide awake and she wasn’t the only one. Behind her, Meryn was awake. His fingers made small circles on her stomach. He didn’t press her about her dream. Maybe she should just go home…to her empty bed. Lying next to someone was a luxury she’d never allowed herself. She never let her guard down in front of anyone—except Meryn. With him, she could share her secrets and he didn’t laugh or recommend counseling. And in exchange, he’d exposed his dark past.

With a sigh she relaxed. It was nice having someone there when she woke up from a nightmare. She was safe in his arms. Daylight kept the room bright and free of shadows, but when darkness came, would she be able to sleep at night knowing Meryn was there?

Nadine rolled over to face him. “Were you asleep?”

He opened his eyes, gray and endless. “No.”

“You stayed in bed with me.”

“You asked me to.”

He probably thought she was a bit of freak. “I don’t usually have nightmares.” Not a total lie, but not exactly the truth either. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t had nightmares. Building the castle as she went to sleep each night had helped. But they still came, usually when she least expected them. Like now. She should be happy, but instead she was scared of her own dreams.

“You can’t help what you dream.”

Maybe not, but when did she get to sleep without fear? “Don’t you want to know what the dream was about?”

“If you want to tell me.”

Nadine’s lips curved. The start of the dream had been fine. “Promise you won’t think I’m crazy?”

He placed his hand over his heart. “On my honor.”

“I was a princess in my castle, and you were there.”

“I’m sorry to have been so terrifying.”

“I wasn’t scared of you…although I don’t know why you were there.” Why had he appeared in her dreams? Was it just because she was spending too much time thinking about him? No other boyfriend had ever invaded her castle.

“What happened?”

“There was nothing beyond the castle walls, just gray. Like I was in the Shadowlands.”

“How did you get there?”

“I don’t know. It never used to be there; there used to be all kinds of other things beyond the castle walls, but it’s all gone.” It was gone. She couldn’t go back anymore. Would she be able to stop herself from returning to her castle when it had been a habit for so long? She sighed and got to the worst part of the dream. “Then goblins broke in and took me while you watched.”

Meryn closed his eyes in a slow blink. “I wouldn’t let that happen. I would fight.”

“You couldn’t move.”

“It was your dream; therefore, you had the power to release me.”

That wasn’t the first time she’d heard those words. The best way to combat a nightmare was to take control, to alter what was happening. But she’d never been able to do that. The fear made it impossible for her to do anything. So she gave into it, and it fed and grew. Now she was dragging other people into her nightmare and forcing them to watch. She didn’t tell him the rest of her dream. He didn’t need to know she’d imagined him turning into a goblin.

“I’ll try that next time.” Hopefully there wouldn’t be a next time. She placed her lips on his, wanting to forget what she’d seen.

His tongue flicked against hers and his hand slid lower. She shifted her leg and hooked it over his thigh. His touch warmed her skin and tightened the desire building in her belly. Her eyelids flickered closed as his fingers slid over her clit, moving as if he knew exactly what she liked. A moan slipped out and she couldn’t stop herself from rocking in rhythm. She needed more, so she drew him to her.

He rolled over her, pressing her into the bed, sealing her mouth with a kiss. His strength and power and desire were hers. She wriggled her hips, wanting to feel him inside her. But he teased, drawing out the inevitable. Heat coiled low in her belly as her fingers kneaded his butt, wanting more, but like this, caught beneath him, she couldn’t rush him, and didn’t want to. She gave into his touch and he took his time stroking and caressing until she came.

“Say my name,” he whispered against her lips.

“Meryn.” Her voice was light and breathy.

He thrust into her and took her over the edge again. This time, she didn’t care how far she fell, as she knew Meryn would be there to catch her. His name formed silently on her lips.

They moved together, pushing harder, taking what they needed. He groaned words she didn’t understand as he came deep within her. Their bodies locked together.

She stole another kiss, not wanting to lose the moment—not wanting to wreck it like she had last time.

He gazed down at her, his eyes dark with unreadable emotion. Something stirred in her heart. Did he love her? Oh God. Was he going to say it? It was one thing to know it, another to acknowledge what was growing between them and name it. She held her breath, not sure what to do.

Meryn eased out of her and lay beside her. The words, while unspoken, lingered around them. She couldn’t say them. She never had, not since her mother’s death. And she knew Meryn hadn’t said them since his wife’s death. Yet they were there and it was only a matter of time until one of them spoke first and forced the other one to action.

Before the moment could become really awkward, she slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom.

Meryn was still lying in the bed when she came out, tempting her to slide back in, but she needed a moment to catch her breath. She didn’t mind fast lust, but love…could that develop this fast?

“Would you like a drink?”

“I’m fine.” He paused. “The glasses are in the kitchen above the sink. There’s milk and orange juice in the fridge.”

She walked out of the bedroom. Beneath her feet the carpet was soft and thick. No doubt real wool, not the synthetic, hard, nylon rental carpet she had. The living space was big and airy. It could easily feel like home if it were given a few personal touches. At the moment, it was furnished with simple but costly items. Leather sofa—real leather. Big screen TV with all the bits beneath and all the wires carefully hidden. No doubt the cabinet was real wood and not veneer.

He may not be working, but he hadn’t been joking when he’d said his family had money. She opened a few cupboards in the kitchen just to see what was in them. Nothing out of the ordinary except it was all very neat. Stuck to the fridge was a calendar with scenery of Wales, beautiful but harsh and straight out of another time.

Nadine opened up the fridge. Fruit, some veg and steaks, no beer. With a shrug she closed the door and got a drink of water. As she sipped, she scanned the rest of the apartment. And she realized what was missing.

There were no pictures of his wife and children. She frowned. In fact, there were no photos at all. She poured the rest of the water down the sink. Why did he not have any pictures? Was it still too painful? There’d been no pictures in the news article either. She walked back toward the bedroom, but her gaze was caught by a pile of papers on the dining table under a gold bracelet shaped like a Celtic torque. She’d walked past them before and taken no notice. Now she looked.

The writing wasn’t English. The lettering was wrong. She nudged the paper and saw a second sheet with more of the same lettering. It looked a bit like English lettering—only different. She tilted her head, but the words made no sense. Was it code? Then she realized what she was seeing. Latin. Her blood ran cold even as her skin burned. Something wasn’t right. She glanced toward the bedroom, but Meryn hadn’t come out. He trusted her…now she wasn’t so sure the trust went both ways.

He’d come into the hospital speaking Latin. What kind of soldier spoke Latin? Hell, what kind of soldier read Latin?

A glint of gold under the paper caught her eye. She lifted the corner already knowing what it was, the shape too familiar.

Her mother’s crucifix.

Her stomach contorted as if she was going to be sick. Blood rushed from her head, making the room spin. Her hand went to her throat where the necklace had hung. She hadn’t lost it. It hadn’t fallen off. Meryn had stolen it. She couldn’t breathe.

Why would he do that?

She snatched up the cross, taking back what was hers. Her bag was by the front door. Without thinking, she ran over to it and started pulling out the clothes inside, the ones she’d worn to work. She didn’t care about her running clothes. She had to get out of here.

“Don’t go.”

She spun at the sound of his voice. Meryn stood naked in the bedroom doorway. He must have realized she was taking too long.

“You stole my cross. You…” She couldn’t speak. Anger clotted up her words in her throat. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. Were you ever going to give it back or was it some kind of sick trophy?” She gasped as fear fisted her heart. She didn’t know this man at all. “Where are the pictures of your wife and children?” Everything he’d told her was some kind of lie to get close to her. “Why do you have letters written in Latin? What the hell is going on? How many women do you suck in with your sob story?”

Oh God, oh God. She’d had unprotected sex. Shit. Meryn hadn’t moved, but she’d seen him fight. “Are you some kind of serial killer? Are you going to kill me?”

“I would never hurt you.”

“Too bloody late.”

“I took the cross because it was gold and I had no choice. I never expected to see you again. Then I didn’t know how to give it back.”

The gold in her palm pressed into her flesh. Gold. He’s taken gold like a goblin. She glanced at him again. Her dream was still fresh in her memory, snagging on her thoughts and tangling them until they made no sense.

“What do you mean you had no choice?”

He jaw tensed. “I needed it. I thought it would block out the pain the way it had before.”

His words didn’t make sense. None of this was making sense. She shook her head. Her blood was sharp, like razors in her veins, cutting and shredding her heart.

“Before when?” But in her mind she was seeing him as she had the first night, covered in gray dust. It hadn’t been concrete; it had been something much, much worse. Shadowlands dust. Except the Shadowlands only existed in her mother’s story—it wasn’t a real place.

She looked at the naked man in the doorway. In her dream, she’d watched him turn goblin. He’d been with her in her castle surrounded by the Shadowlands. He was going to kidnap her and take her back to the Shadowlands.

Meryn was a goblin.

No, goblins weren’t real.

“Who are you?”

“Meryn Knight.”

Was it his name? It was someone’s name, but there’d been no photos.

“And the letters? Why are they in Latin?” She flung her hand out and pointed to the papers.

“My cousin wrote the letters in Latin because Decangli was never a written language.”

“Nobody speaks Latin.” She didn’t even know what Decangli was.

“I speak it.”

“What the hell kind of Special Forces are you? What did you do in the army?”