Текст книги "Heat of the Night"
Автор книги: Sylvia Day
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Sylvia Day
Heat of the Night
The second book in the Dream Guardians series, 2007
To my family, who have been so tremendously supportive of my career with nary a complaint about how much I work/write. Releasing nine books in one year takes a lot out of a writer, and they paid the price with such grace and love.
Thank you for embracing my dream and adjusting your lives to suit it. There are no words to express how much that means to me. You give me strength.
I love you.
Acknowledgments
Thanks go out to my critique partner, Annette McCleave (www.AnnetteMcCleave.com), who helped me find the focus of the beginning of this book.
Hugs go out to fabulous authors and dear friends Renee Luke, Sasha White, and Jordan Summers who were there on the other side of the IM window when I needed someone to listen, commiserate, and give me a swift kick in the @ss.
To my sister, Samara Day, who puts up with me and my aversion to talking on the phone.
You are one of the precious lights in my life, Sam. I have loved you with all my heart from the day you were born. As you've grown into a woman I admire and respect, I only love you more. You are a blessing I am grateful for every day.
Beware of the Key that opens the Lock
and reveals the Truth.
Chapter 1
The Twilight
Connor Bruce took out the nearest guard with a perfectly aimed blow dart.
It was a split-second assault, but the tranquilizer took a bit longer to work than that. The guard had time to yank the dart free and withdraw his glaive before his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed to the floor in a puddle of red garments.
"Sorry chap," Connor muttered, as he bent over the fallen body and collected the guard's comm unit and sword. The man would awake with only the vague sensation of having dozed, perhaps in boredom.
Connor straightened and whistled a low warbling birdcall, telling Lieutenant Philip Wager that he'd succeeded in his task. The responding whistle told him the other Temple guards around the perimeter had also been neutralized. Within moments he was surrounded by a dozen of his men. They were dressed for battle in dark gray, form-fitting sleeveless tunics and matching loose pants. Connor wore similar garments, but his were black denoting his rank as Captain of the Elite Warriors.
"You're going to see things inside that will startle you," Connor warned, his blade whistling as he pulled it free of its scabbard on his back. "Focus on the mission. We have to figure out how the Elders brought Captain Cross back to the Twilight from the Dreamers' plane of existence."
"Yes, Captain."
Wager aimed a pulse emitter at the massive red toriigate that signaled the entrance to the Temple complex, temporarily disturbing the vid unit that recorded those who visited. Connor stared at the archway with a roiling mixture of horror, confusion, and anger. The structure was so imposing it forced every Guardian to stare and read the warning engraved in the ancient language-" Beware of the Key that turns the Lock."
For centuries, he and every member of his team had hunted the Dreamer who was prophesied to come to their world through the dream state and destroy them. The Dreamer who would see them as they were and recognize that they were not a figment of a nocturnal imagination, but real beings who lived in the Twilight-the place where the human mind came in slumber.
But Connor had already met the infamous Key and she wasn't a specter of doom and annihilation. She was a slender-but-curvy blonde veterinarian with big dark eyes and a deep well of compassion.
Lies, all of it. All these years wasted. Luckily for the Key-also known innocuously as Lyssa Bates-Captain Aidan Cross, warrior of legend and Connor's best friend, had found her first. Found her, fell in love with her, and eloped with her to the mortal plane.
Now it was Connor's mission to unravel the mysteries of the Elders here in the Twilight, and everything he needed to know was safeguarded in the Temple of the Elders.
Let's go, he mouthed.
With the timing down to pinpoint accuracy, they rushed through the gate. They split into two teams running along either side of the stone-lined center courtyard, weaving in and out among fluted columns of alabaster stone.
The wind blew gently, carrying with it the fragrance of nearby flowers and fields of wild grass. It was the time of day when the Temple was closed to the general public and the Elders were secluded in meditation. The perfect time to break in and steal whatever information and secrets they could get their hands on.
Connor entered the haidenfirst. Holding up three fingers, he then waved to the right while he moved to the left. Three Elites obeyed the silent command and took the east side of the circular room.
The two teams moved within the shadows, highly aware that any misstep would allow the vid units around the perimeter to pick up their incursion. In the center of the vast space waited semicircular rows of benches that faced the columned entryway they had just come through. Rising several stories high, there were so many benches the Guardians had lost count of the number of Elders who ruled from them long ago. This was the heart of their world, the center of law and order. The seat of power.
Regrouping at the middle hallway that led to the honden, Connor paused, and the others awaited his command.
The hall to the west branched off toward the Elders' living quarters. The hall to the right went to a secluded open-air meditation courtyard.
This center gallery was where it got freaky. After his first-and heretofore only-Temple break-in, he was prepared. His men weren't.
He looked at them with an arched brow, silently admonishing them to heed his earlier command. They nodded grimly, and Connor continued on.
As they walked, a vibration beneath their feet drew everyone's attention to the floor. The stone shimmered and became translucent, creating the impression that the ground had disintegrated and they were about to fall into an endless blanket of stars. He groped for the wall by instinct, his teeth gritted together, then the view of space melted into a swirling kaleidoscope of colors.
"Fuck me," Wager breathed.
Connor had said the exact same thing the first time he'd walked this corridor. Every step created ripples in the colors, suggesting that whatever it was responded to their presence.
"Is that real?" Corporal Trent whispered fiercely. "Or a hologram of some sort?"
Lifting his hand, Connor reminded the men to keep their silence. He had no idea what the damn thing was. He knew only that he couldn't look at it or vertigo would make him sick.
They moved past the private Elder library to reach the control room. There was one Elder there, a lone sentinel lost within a vast space dominated by high walls lined with bound volumes and a large console. As was the custom of the Elders, he'd been left behind when the others retired for the afternoon, which made him the unfortunate recipient of a tranq dart to the neck. Connor dragged his unconscious body aside to give Wager access to the crescent-shaped touchpad control panel.
"I'll loop the vids so you're not recorded," the lieutenant said.
Wager stepped up and began to work, his posture straight and legs slightly parted, firmly entrenched in his assignment. With his long black hair restrained in a queue and stormy gray eyes, he had a renegade appearance to go along with his loose-cannon reputation. Because of his volatile nature, he'd been a second lieutenant for centuries longer than he should have been. Connor had recently promoted him to first lieutenant, for all the good that did him. They were insurgents, having left the sanctioned Elite Warrior regiments to commandeer the rebel faction.
Confident in Wager's ability to manage the database part of their search, Connor stationed two lookouts by the entrance and took two men with him to perform a physical search of the premises. Not long ago, he'd broken into the Temple with only Wager as backup. But the recent coup had forced the Elders to increase the number of guards, which in turn forced Connor to charge the complex with a dozen men. Six outside and six inside.
They moved with rapid strides further down the hallway, keeping their gazes averted from the rapidly swirling kaleidoscopic floor. Light poured in from the skylights above and a clear door at the end of the hall provided a sunlit view of the far edge of the meditation courtyard.
As they reached a doorway, Connor gestured one man inside. "Anything unusual."
The man nodded and stepped into the doorless room with glaive drawn and at the ready. Connor repeated the process with the second soldier until he was continuing on alone. He took the next room he came across.
It was a dark space, not unusual since it was unoccupied, but odd in that the lighting did not illuminate when he entered. It was only the light spilling in from the hallway that enabled him to see.
The center of the room was empty, but tiered metal carts on wheels lined the walls. There was a medicinal smell in the air and as he spotted a heavy bolted metal door in the wall, his hackles rose. There was a thick viewing window built into the upper part of the massive barrier, but whether that was for someone to see in or someone to see out, he didn't know. Either way, that door was a serious deterrent and meant that whatever it guarded was important.
"What the hell have you got in there?" he wondered aloud.
Connor stepped over to the small touchpad in the corner and began a rapid fire series of keystrokes. He needed to get the damn lights to turn on so he could see what the hell he was dealing with. He could use some leverage right now, and holding a valuable item for ransom would work nicely.
One of the many command overrides he inputted caused the panel to beep rapidly and then the room slowly brightened.
"Yes!" He grinned and turned around, surveying the small room with its stone floors and barren white walls.
The sharp hiss of releasing hydraulic pressure had him rocking back on the heels of his boots. Somehow he'd managed to get the door open, too, which made things all the easier.
What happened next would forever be ingrained on Connor's memory. There was a roar that sounded like fury mixed with fear, then the heavy door flew open with such explosive force that it embedded into the adjacent wall.
His glaive at the ready, Connor was prepared to fight. What he wasn't prepared for was the apparition that lunged at him, a body seemingly Guardian-like in appearance, yet possessed of pure black eyes with no sclera and teeth with wickedly sharp points.
Connor froze, horrified and confused. It was the gravest offense to kill another Guardian and to his knowledge murder hadn't been committed in centuries. That stayed his hand when he would have thrust, which left him open to the violent impact that knocked him to the floor. A feat never before accomplished because he was too damn big.
"Fuck!" he grunted as he crashed to the stone with bone-jarring force.
The thing was on top of him, a not-inconsiderable male filled with unexplained ferocity. It was snarling and grappling like a rabid beast. Connor jerked to the side, rolling to gain the upper hand. With one hand wrapped around his assailant's straining neck and the other fisting and descending in brutal punches, he should have knocked the man out cold. He felt the crack of a cheekbone beneath his knuckles and the shattering of a nose, but the injuries appeared to have no effect, neither did the deprivation of air to breathe.
Deep inside Conner, fear curled with insidious strength. Those black eyes where filled with a roiling madness and thick claws were ripping at the skin of his forearms. How did one defeat an enemy who had no mind?
"Captain!"
Connor didn't look up. He rolled onto his back again and extended his arm full-length, holding his attacker aloft by the throat. A glaive whistled through the air and sliced off the top of the man's skull. Gore splattered everywhere.
"What the fuck was that?" Trent cried, standing just above Connor's head with the killing blade in his hands.
"Hell if I know." Connor tossed the body off to the side. He looked down at himself in disgust, touching the gunk that coated him with a tentative finger. It was thick and black, resembling old blood and reeking like it, too. His gaze moved to the corpse whose face from the eyebrows down was still intact. Brown hair grew overly long around the man's ears and nape. The skin had an unhealthy pallor and the flesh was clinging to bones. The hands and feet were both capped with long, thick, reptilian claws. But it was the inky black, sightless eyes and gaping maw that were so frightening. They turned a gaunt, sickly looking man into a formidable predator.
It wore only loose white pants that were stained and torn. On the back of its hand was a seared brand-"HB-12." A quick look at the cell from which it escaped revealed a thick metal interior liberally gouged.
"Your room is definitely more interesting than mine," Trent said. The levity of his statement was ruined by the crack in his voice.
Connor's chest labored more from his anger than from his exertions. "It's exactly this sort of shit that forced the rebellion!"
Most everyone would say that leading a revolt went against his easygoing nature, and they'd be right. Hell, he still had trouble believing he'd taken this step. But there were too many goddamn questions and all the answers he had were lies. Yeah, he was a man who liked things painfully simple– wine, women, and kicking ass, as he used to say-but he had no qualms about stepping up to the plate and swinging when necessary.
It was his job to protect others, both Dreamers and the gentler Guardians. There were thousands of his people, all were divided into certain specialties. Each Guardian had their strengths. Some were tender and offered comfort to Dreamers who grieved. Others were playful and filled in dreams of sports heroes or baby showers. There were Sensuals and Healers, Nurturers and Challengers. Connor was an Elite. He killed Nightmares and guarded his people. If he had to protect them from the Elders, too, so be it.
"There's no way to pretend that the Temple wasn't breached now," the corporal pointed out.
"Nope," Connor agreed, "no way." And he didn't really care at this point. In fact, he wanted the Elders to know that their secrets weren't safe. He wanted them looking over their shoulders. He wanted them to feel as unsettled and wary as he did. They owed him that much, at least, after asking him to lay his life on the line for a fake cause.
Wager came running into the room with two more Elite directly behind him. "Whoa!" he said, skidding in the splatter before catching his footing. "What the hell is that?"
"Fuck if I know." Connor wrinkled his nose.
"Yeah," Wager agreed. "It stinks. It's also probably what set off that alarm on the console. My guess is reinforcements are on their way now, so we better get out of here."
"Did we get anything useful out of the database?" Connor asked, grabbing a towel off one of the push carts against the wall. He scrubbed at his torn skin and clothes to remove what he could of the blood-like substance clinging to him.
"I downloaded what I could. It would take eons to get all of it, but I tried to focus on files that sounded the most intriguing."
"That will have to suffice. Let's go."
They left with the same caution they'd used upon their arrival, their eyes scanning their surroundings carefully. Still, none of them saw the Elder whose dark gray robes blended so well with the shadows.
He stood silent and unnoticed. Smiling.
Chapter 2
"Where's Lieutenant Wager?" Connor asked, glancing around the main underwater cavern, which served as headquarters for the rebel faction in the Twilight.
Above their heads, hundreds of tiny vid screens flashed various scenes like movies, glimpses into the open minds of thousands of "Mediums"-Dreamers brought here without sleep. They hovered in the Twilight, more awake than not, but lacking full comprehension.
The humans called the process of forcibly inducing subconscious thought "hypnosis." Whatever name one gave to it, the Mediums' destination was this cavern. Here the Elders had watched over them and prevented the Nightmares from hitchhiking on their stream of subconscious to reach the mortal plane. It was the only known way to travel to the world of the Dreamers and it was the route Aidan had taken when he'd left the Twilight to protect the Key.
"In the back, sir," replied the Elite warrior standing guard at the mouth of the pool, the only physical entrance or exit.
With a nod of acknowledgment, Connor turned on his heel and strode the length of the rock-lined hallway. Carved into the very heart of the mountain, it seemed to have no end and was disorienting with its matching arched doorways on either side. Thousands of them. All filled with glass tubes, which held Elders-in-training in stasis of some sort. His men had yet to discern who the occupants were, or why they were being kept in that manner.
Frankly, Connor thought the whole thing was creepy, and he was shaken by the realization that he'd lived centuries never knowing anything about his world or the Elders who ruled it. It made him sick to think of how stubborn he'd been when Aidan asked him to consider everything that was unexplained. He had refused to see the signs that bothered his friend for so long.
Connor's boot steps echoed rhythmically as he traversed the distance to his second-in-command with a rapid, agitated stride. Soon the sounds from the largest room faded into silence. Sadly, using "large" to describe the size was only possible when comparing the room to the others down here.
The space was actually pretty damn small, having been designed for the comfortable occupation of only three Elders-in-training. The main cavern was cramped by a half-moon console and the massive screen of rapidly flickering images. Depending on one's angle, a Guardian could see right through the display into the room beyond, a massive space filled with slipstreams-wide beams of moving light that represented streams of subconscious thought.
Snorting, Connor acknowledged for the millionth time that he still didn't quite grasp the whole concept of the Twilight. Aidan had badgered their teacher at the Elite Academy with endless questions about where they'd come from and where they now were. The simplest explanation Connor had heard was that he should think of the Twilight like an apple. Abbreviated space is the hole bored through the center by a worm, or a "wormhole." Instead of coming out the other side though, the Elders found a way to suspend the Guardians inside. They called that pocket the Twilight. Connor called it confusing.
"Wager!" he roared, as he passed through one of the arched doorways and found the lieutenant engrossed at a console.
The younger man jumped, then glared. "You scared the crap out of me!"
"Sorry."
"No, you're not."
Connor grinned. "No. I'm not. I had my share of scares today. It's your turn."
Shaking his head, Wager pushed to his feet and stretched his tall, wiry frame. "It's good to see you smiling." He crossed his arms and stood with widespread legs. He was a handsome lad, with an appeal the female Guardians described as "bad boy."
Women. They loved trouble.
"There's not a whole hell of a lot to smile about. Some freak of nature attacked me today, my best friend has run off with the Key, and I need to get laid."
Wager threw his head back and laughed. "I bet the ladies are missing you, too. I've heard poems are written about your stamina and on Girls' Night Out they compare notes."
"No way."
"Yes, way. Morgan calls you the golden god with the golden rod.'"
Connor felt his face heat and ran a self-conscious hand through his slightly too-long blond hair. "You're full of shit. She wouldn't say that to you."
Black brows rose. "Morgan?"
A mental image of the dark-eyed slender Player Guardian entered Connor's thoughts. His lips curved ruefully. "Yeah, I suppose she might."
"First Cross takes off, now you're in exile… I bet there's more than a few broken hearts."
"You're a popular guy yourself."
"I have my charms," the lieutenant drawled.
"Sometimes when I'm waiting for Cross to connect to the Twilight, I look over the rise at the Dreamers' slipstreams and seriously think about hopping into one. If only for a half hour or so."
Wager's merriment faded into the intensity that made him a damn good warrior. "How is Captain Cross's stream? Is it coming in clearer yet?"
"No." Connor scratched the back of his neck. "It's still murky. I'm guessing that has something to do with the fact that his slipstream connects to that barren plain instead of in the Valley."
For most Dreamers, their subconscious connected to the Twilight in the Valley of Dreams. They touched the lives of Guardians through wide golden beams that rose from the valley floor and pierced the misty sky until they could no longer be seen. The varying streams of subconscious thoughts spread as far as the eye could see.
"Actually, I think that's a manifestation of the problem, not the cause." At Connor's raised brow, Wager explained. "Because we are physiologically different from humans, I suspect our brain waves function on another wavelength entirely. That's what causes Cross's slipstream to connect to the Twilight in a different place and to come across with a degraded intensity."
When Aidan entered the dream state, he came to them in a blue stream. While the other slipstreams where clear enough to look through-almost like looking through a thin waterfall-Aidan came across snowy, like a television station with bad reception.
"Okay." Connor heaved out his breath. "That puts a new spin on things."
"Sure does."
"Corporal Trent said you had some news for me?"
"Yes." Wager rolled his shoulders back as if to relieve strain.
Connor's hackles rose. "Lemme guess. It's not good."
"Using information gleaned from the data chips I loaded in the Temple, I found a reference to 'HB-9.'"
"That thing in the Temple was branded with 'HB-12.'"
"I saw that." The lieutenant's lips pursed grimly. "Unfortunately, the file containing the information on the HB Project was incomplete, because the download was aborted too soon."
"Shit." Connor scowled. " HB Project? What does that mean?"
"It means that thing was part of a greater program, but I can't tell how extensive it was."
"Fuck." Connor felt like hitting something. "If there are more of those freaks, we've got problems."
"That's putting it mildly."
"I have to warn Cross."
"Yes." Wager nodded sagely. "And because he doesn't remember what you tell him in dreams, you'll have to do it in person."
" What?" Connor gaped. "Are you nuts?"
"You've seen one of those things," the lieutenant pointed out, "and fought with it. That gives you an advantage. Trent's the only other Elite who saw it in action and you know he's not ready for a mission such as this."
Connor growled and began to pace the length of the stone-walled room.
"Think about it, captain. Do you trust anyone else to relay the gravity of this situation to Cross? I don't."
"I trust you."
Wager stilled, then cleared his throat. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate that, you know I do. But you need me here going through the entries we downloaded from the database, and you and Captain Cross have a unique dynamic. For centuries you have kept the Elite in tight fighting form with high morale and a low casualty rate. And you're friends. I think in a new world, possibly fighting a new enemy you're going to need that support to succeed."
"It's a bad idea to send the highest ranking officer away from the troops. I don't like it. Not one bit." Connor glanced at the Elder-in-training who slept oblivious in the nearby glass tube. His head hung low, his chin to his chest, his body held upright by no discernable device. This one was dark-haired and very young. Not much past his teens Connor would guess.
"I don't like it either, but here are the facts: I'm the best person to search the database and you are the best person to work with Cross. By reversing that, we would be crippling both missions before they start. We can't afford to do that."
"Damn it, I know that." Connor scrubbed both hands through his hair. "I'm not even really arguing the point. It's just the principle of the thing that gets to me."
"I understand that you're not arguing. I know I'm only saying aloud the thoughts you have in your head. Frankly, I wish I could be the one to go." Wager smiled, his gray eyes lit with wry amusement. "I've got a Dreamer of my own I'd like to track down."
"No way."
Wager shrugged. "But you're the one who should go. I'm more than capable of running things around here."
"I know." Connor heaved out his breath. "You should have been promoted a long time ago."
"I don't know about that," the lieutenant said easily. "My emotions get in the way more than they should. I'm growing out of it, but it's taken me a few centuries."
Connor turned toward the open archway. "I'll go speak to the men. You find me a Medium in Southern California."
"Captain?" Wager called after him.
"Yes?"
"About coming back…"
Jaw tensing, Connor raised both brows in silent query.
"I discovered something else. When we physically ride a human's stream of subconscious thought, we leave a traceable thread behind. It can then be used to 'yank' the Guardian back."
"That's how the Elders brought Aidan back?"
"Apparently. If necessary, we can pull you back the same way. But… the Medium is damaged in the process."
"Damaged?"
"It's fatal to humans." The lieutenant crossed his arms and settled more firmly on his heels, a stance Connor had come to recognize as preparation for a difficult task. "Strokes, dilated cardiomyopathy… 'sudden deaths' are the result."
"Shit." Connor reached out to the threshold of the archway and leaned his weight into it. "That's why it's not a viable means of hopping between the two planes."
"I suspect that's the reason we haven't migrated over there," Wager agreed, "if only in small numbers. We would have to leave guards behind to prevent the Nightmares from using the slipstreams. No battalion would want that assignment indefinitely and we'd have to leave at least that many behind to stem the flow of Nightmares from the Gateway and guard the Valley."
"But we couldn't relieve them because traveling back and forth would kill thousands of Mediums."
"Right."
Every Guardian understood their responsibility. Their homeworld had been invaded by Nightmares, a race of shadowy evanescent parasites. The Elders had created a fissure within abbreviated space. It had served as a portal to this conduit plane between the human dimension and the one the Guardians had been forced to leave behind. The Nightmares had quickly followed, forcing their way past a formidable barrier-the Gateway-and hundreds of Elite Warriors. "We screwed up by letting the Nightmares in. We can't compound the problem by killing them ourselves or taking over their world."
Nodding grimly, Connor's gaze moved around the room, his brain attempting to wrap around his departure. He may never see this place again. A few minutes ago, that would have been lovely. Now he felt adrift. He smelled the mustiness of damp air and felt the coarse rock beneath his palm, but the sensations didn't ground him. He felt completely unanchored. "I understand. We need the humans alive."
"Yes, for our sense of obligation but also for our own survival. We would top off their food chain, disrupting the order of predation. Over time, they could become extinct and killing of an entire link would have potentially annihilatory effects on Earth. That in turn could ripple outward across their galaxy and beyond. We could see a-"
"Whoa!" Connor grumbled, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture. "Brain overload. I get the idea."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. We'll get through this. The Elite always do." Straightening, Connor inhaled deeply and fixed his mind on his task. "Find me a Medium in Southern California. I'll get ready and explain the mission to the others."
"Yes, sir." Wager saluted.
Connor returned the gesture, then spun about and left.
Connor stared at the streams of golden light and inhaled deeply into his lungs. He reminded himself that Aidan made this very same journey just weeks ago. If he could do it, so could Connor.
But Cross wasn't happy here, whispered a voice in his mind. Connor was. He'd always been content.
"Are you ready, Captain?"
He glanced through the glass monitor at the console where Wager worked and nodded grimly.
"The stream directly to your right will take you to a Medium in Anaheim, California, which is about an hour from Temecula where Captain Cross is living with Lyssa Bates."
"Got it."
"These slipstreams work differently from those of Dreamers." Wager leaned back in his chair, his features tight with strain. Long strands of his black hair escaped from his queue, his exterior so at odds with his almost bookish nature. He looked more like a Hell's Angel biker than he did a computer geek. "They are in motion. You will leap into their subconscious and find yourself riding it into their plane of existence. Your appearance there will cause a temporal disturbance, which will affect a hitch in time."
"A hitch?" Connor frowned.
"Yeah, a major slowing down. A second to them will be like a minute to you. I'm not sure how that will feel. Not good, I'm guessing. But if you hurry, it will allow you to leave without being detected. Otherwise, for the humans, one second you won't be there and the next second you will. That'll be hard to explain, so I wouldn't push my luck if I were you."
"No problem. I'll get out of the way quick."
"I'll be able to track you through your dreams, just as you've been meeting Captain Cross in dreams."
Connor gave him a thumbs-up. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. His throat was too tight to speak.
Despite his many centuries of living, for the most part he felt not much older than he'd been when he graduated from the Elite Academy with Aidan. Sure, he could no longer fuck all night and tear up Nightmares the next day without feeling like rubber. But that was more of a dig to his male pride, than it was a sign of his age.
