Nine Hours

Chapter 15

I slide my hand under the pillow on the bed. The journal burns in my fingers as I turned it over and over, finally flipping it open to that page. As I reread the entry, the one which makes my gut boil, a sliver of awareness tugs at the edges of my consciousness.

Cassie. It wasn't the first time she'd dreamt about the bastard. Even years later, he taunts her. Especially at night, encroaching on her subconscious state. Now that I've essentially taken care of Mario, I'm determined to find a way to release her pain. And, I will. However, I can't until the series of steps I've put in place are further along. Nonetheless, knowing she's lying in bed across the hall, suffering yet again at her ex's cruel hands and words, breaks my heart. Not for the first time, anger on her behalf bubbles inside.

No. I won't allow it. Settling into the chair, I close my eyes and construct a different dream. Creating a new dream is easy. One which will—hopefully—erase the one replaying and bring her much closer to me. I sensed the flash of recognition when I sat on her bed. It hadn't frightened her. On some level, she is beginning to accept what she doesn't understand. I begin to craft the dream.

First, I imagine Cassie. Her long, flowing dark hair, spun through with gold as if woven by fairies, billows in a light breeze. Standing on a bluff overlooking the turbulent North Sea. Birds swoop through the salty air, crying out. Green, lush summer grass soft beneath her bare feet. Her eyes closed to the sun, dark lashes resting on pure, flawless skin. An opalescent fabric wound over her body, reflecting the surrounding colors of nature, clinging to the curves of her hips, her full breasts, her toned legs.

As if sensing my presence many paces behind her, she turns. A contented smile plays on her full pink lips, dark eyes glittering in the light. A picture of sheer happiness which all but glows with life and love.

Now, I weave the story.

****

A buzzing sound disrupts the spell. It takes a few moments to fully return to the present. The phone. Picking it up, I note the time. I'd been away in my mind for hours.

"Pappa? It is late. What is it?"

"It's Thor. It isn't good. You should come now."

Despair slices through me. The day has finally come.

"I will be there soon, Pappa. Make him comfortable."

"That I am doing, son."

I scrub a hand over my face, the stubble rough against my callused fingers and palm. Exhaling, I move quickly, splashing water on my face, tying my hair back into the bun.

The dream. First, send the dream.

Glancing at the time, I sit in the chair and recite the necessary words which will unspool Cassie's dream.

Then, I leave the house.

****

"Gunnar. You came."

He walks toward me, the heat of desire and love pouring from him. "I will always come for you."

As he nears, I watch with appreciation. Tall, so tall. Every impressive muscle defined and pumped on his bare torso. His long blond hair drifts behind him, his blue eyes piercing mine with love and desire across the short distance. My gaze catches on the antler necklace hanging across his massive chest, nestled into the dusting of curls. Lower, his hips, groin and thighs strain against the tight leather pants as he strides toward me.

Finally, his hand is on my face, tracing a loving path along my neck, stopping to rest against my chest. A gesture that says "you are mine."