Dreamwalker (Stormwalker #5) - Allyson James Page 0,20
a big garbage bin, a slope of rocky soil, and the woods beyond.
Moonlight turned the view stark white with sharp-outlined shadows. The trees were black, lifting evergreen limbs high into the sky. The thick, lush vegetation was vastly different from the dry, flat lands around Many Farms, with its monolithic hills rising into blue, blue sky. Both were beautiful, but in distinct ways.
Janet …
The whisper floated among the trees. Just the wind, I told myself. My imagination.
A coyote came out of the woods. It trotted along as though minding its own business, then it looked up and saw me.
Moonlight touched the animal as he stood poised, every limb firm, his gaze finding mine. His coat was silver in the pale light, his eyes dark and intense. So beautiful.
He started for the motel, moving slowly, sauntering almost. Every paw was deliberately lifted and pressed down, his movements mesmerizing.
He reached the edge of the gravel. Stared at me. Probably wants food, I told myself. He knows humans leave it behind.
The window pane in front of me wavered, then dissolved and was gone. I blinked, wondering what had happened, but I was strangely unworried.
Behind me, Mick began to snore, a soft, comforting sound, telling me I wasn’t alone. Mick would never leave me alone …
The coyote walked right up to the window. A breeze stirred my hair, strands floating about my face. The coyote put his paws on the windowsill, hoisted himself up, and sniffed me.
I didn’t move. It was a magical moment, human woman and wild animal connecting, acknowledging.
Then it licked my face.
Rabies, my grandmother had told me. Some coyotes carry rabies. Or they’re just up to no good. You can never trust a coyote. That god is all-powerful and complete trouble.
“Ew!” I shoved the coyote away. He jumped back up on me, licked again. I shoved him harder.
The coyote growled and launched himself through the window. Paws met my shoulders, shoving me down, the coyote landing on top of me on the carpet.
“Mick!” I tried to yell. My voice was a whisper, stuck in my throat. Mick …
The coyote was licking, licking, nose and tongue all over my face. I twisted and turned, but I couldn’t get away from him.
Janet. The voice returned, edged with a growl. Time to wake up.
No! Let me stay. Mick was here, loving me without restraint, and I loved him, unconditionally, not knowing the pain and heartbreak of the future. I want to stay.
The voice and the coyote started to fade. I smiled, relaxing. I would remain here with Mick, and we’d ride forever.
Fire. It started in my hand then snapped through me, pain kicking aside sweet contentment.
“No,” I moaned. “No, leave me alone.”
“Wakey-wakey, Janet!”
I knew that voice. Belonged to a shit of a dragon called Colby. But I wasn’t supposed to know him. Not yet.
The coyote pinned me down, licking my face, getting it disgustingly wet. His mouth opened, bathing me in roadkill breath and letting me see very large teeth set against his scarlet gums.
“Janet.” A deeper, very familiar voice slapped at me, and along with it came another rip of fire in my hand.
I screamed.
“Janet!” The voice roared. “Come back to me! Please.”
The coyote bit my face. But it was the voice that jolted me from the haze of deep comfort and rocketed me toward pain.
Mick’s voice. The call I’d always answer.
I coughed as air poured, dry and hot, into my lungs. Darkness slammed into me, and I groped my way through it. Electricity crackled in my fingers. A storm …
Thunder cracked, and a flash of light penetrated the darkness.
My eyes flew open, my gasp sending more grating air down my throat.
I levitated up a foot and then slammed back down—into a mattress on a wide bed, in a white room I knew. I was surrounded by people, both human and supernatural, and my hand still held fiery pain.
Chapter Seven
No more cool woods, Montana, motel room, moonlight. It was full day at the Crossroads Hotel, light glaring through dark clouds outside my window. Thunder rumbled through hot, humid air.
Colby, a man with straight black hair and a tatt-covered body, stood at the foot of the bed, peering worriedly at me. Cassandra, pale and rigid, stood next to Colby, her arms folded across her gray raw silk jacket. Next to her was a rangy-looking woman with her black hair in a braid.
The coyote was the only thing that came with me from the dream. He was on the bed next to me, having backed