a low string of creative curses, dropping his hand. “I got here first,” he growled, the sound reverberating in his chest.
“Ah, but the point is I got here.” I turned toward him and gasped. The newest voice belonged to a prime male specimen. He wore a black suit, with a black silk shirt and cool European-style black shoes. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, topping out somewhere around 6’3” and built like the statue David. His hair was black, a true black that I knew would have hints of blue in the sunlight. Pushed back from his face it hung past his jaw to his jacket collar and it was almost hard to see where the hair ended and his jacket began. His face was absolutely gorgeous, with sculpted cheekbones, dark brows and lashes that I would have considered literally killing him to get. His eyes were a bright light green, like new grass, and they were intense, focused on me and Mystery Guy #1.
“Did you think that a mere dream walk would keep me out, Bahlin?” asked the dark-haired man. “I am more powerful than that and, like you, I have a strongly vested interest in Madeleine’s future.”
“Maddy.”
“Pardon?” tall, dark and yummy asked, turning his attention back to me.
“I go by Maddy. But if this is my dream, you should know that.” I fisted my hands at my sides, the irritation returning as I recognized the sheer number of idiosyncrasies in my dream. It was like I didn’t know myself very well at all, and it struck me that this whole dream sequence was, somehow, very wrong. “You know, I’ve never dreamed of two men arguing over me. That’s ridiculous. Men, plain men, don’t argue over me. You two Greek gods definitely wouldn’t. Argue, that is.”
“Greek gods?” Bahlin chuckled.
“But we’re not Greek gods,” said the other man. “We’re—”
“No,” roared Bahlin. “You will not reveal our true natures to her in a dream. Besides,” he said, his voice cooling, “it’s just a figure of speech. Right, Maddy?” With less than a thought he was standing at my side again, his chest nearly touching my right shoulder. I turned toward him slowly, like a flower turns toward the sun, because it must, when the other man approached me. He walked quickly but with the grace of a dancer. His approach stopped my turn to Bahlin, as I’m sure he intended.
“Then I shall introduce myself formally, at the very least.” He moved lightly for such a large man. He bowed a very courtly bow in front of me and said, “I am Tarrek, First Prince of Faerie.” He picked up my limp hand and kissed it, and the contact was electric, sending little jolts along my nervous system.
“Really? A faerie prince? That’s odd. I can’t figure out why I’d dream about the Tuatha de Dannan. I’m not into that supernatural, paranormal crap that seems to have taken over literature—okay, the world. Though I really do absolutely love Laurell K. Hamilton, and I did like Twilight, but…”
“Do you always talk this much?” asked Tarrek, curiosity evident in his voice, while still holding my hand.
“Hey! My dream, my altered reality.” I took my hand back more forcefully than absolutely necessary. Something stuck in my head—my altered reality.
Bahlin chuckled from somewhere behind me and said, “At least you had a better response than being told to look pretty.” He stalked around me with lethal, predatory grace and I was suddenly facing him too. He stood inches away from Tarrek and the tension between the two men nearly crackled, as if proximity made their dislike of each other even worse.
“Then I, too, shall formally introduce myself,” he said. “I am Bahlin Drago, but you may simply call me Bahlin.” He took my hand and bowed over it, but his bow was different, less deferential. “And the pleasure is all mine.” He turned my hand over in his so that my palm was facing up and he kissed it, lips slightly parted, slow and sensuous. A cool breeze blew through the room, ruffling the men’s hair slightly. The wind carried the scent of Bahlin, and I was momentarily speechless.
“A pleasure for me, as well,” I said, trying to recover some type of control over my behavior, but the harder I struggled to master myself, the less in control I felt. I began to shiver, disturbed even in sleep. I felt almost as if my thoughts were somehow being steered to influence me, though to