Page 43 of Beauty

My palms are cold, not hot. And I can feel them flexingalmost as though they aren’t my own. My hands clench of their own volition. Andyet there’s something about it that feels almost soothing, like a hand reachingout to embrace my own.

I ignore it. I’m alone. No one has hugged me or touched mein years. Gillian pats my hand or my back. Ove hugs me, but it’s for thebrownie’s comfort. It’s been thirteen years since I’ve really feltcompassionate hands on my body.

Except in my dreams. But I’m not dreaming now.

I get to my knees in front of the door, trying to peer outthe keyhole. I can fashion a lockpick. I was taught by the best thieves. Isimply need two pieces of flexible but strong material. There’s a pin thatholds the neat apron I’m wearing to the tunic. It will do. I pull it out.Flexible and easy to work with. I can scrape the pins of the lock with it. NowI need something more solid to hold the lock in place.

Sweet heat invades my veins.

Bronwyn.

My name rumbles along my skin. A dark, sensual masculinetone echoes in my brain. It says my name over and over. It isn’t an unpleasantthing meant to draw my attention, more like a monk whispering a prayer over andover.

Except the low feeling in my womb doesn’t remind me of anyreligion.

I struggle to breathe. My pussy is warm. Except it isn’t apussy.

I sigh and close my eyes. What the hell is happening? Acock. I can feel a cock as though I have one myself. It’s a wonderful thing tohave a cock. A cock is the center of the whole world.

I feel my head roll back, my focus scattering. I can’tconcentrate on the door. How can I think about anything but the warm feeling inthe center of my body? Stumbling back, I hold my hands out, trying to find thatcot. My feet feel dumb, my whole body being taken over by sensation.

What in all the planes is happening to me?

Calm down, love. Let it happen.

The words flow over me. I know that voice. It’s the voice ofmy Dark Ones. They often speak as one, their tone flowing in and out. I know itwell. Tears prick my eyes. I’m still asleep. I’m dreaming. The whole incidentwith Ove was naught but a terrible nightmare. It’s still the night before thefestival, and I have time.

I fall back on the mattress, worrying because this bed isn’tmine. It’s hard and unyielding, made of wool. My sheets are of a soft cotton.We brought them when we left the last province, Gillian and I. Those sheetswere easy to slip into our packs. A reminder of the home we enjoyed for a fewyears.

So many “homes.”

I gasp. A hand circles my dream cock. Strong fingers tightenaround masculine flesh. No wonder men become obsessed with such a thing. I feellit from the inside out. That hand lays a light touch along my cock. My cock?What sort of dream is this?

The kind that keeps you out of trouble.

That voice echoes through my head like a shout from thewrong end of a long tunnel. I try to call back but am robbed of breath as thatdream hand grasps my cock and begins to squeeze with light pressure.

I fall back on the cot, not giving a damn about the scratchywool on my back. It could be pine needles for all I care. This feeling isglorious.

Yes, love, give in. Let us help. Let us find you.

My ears only catch a part of what the dream voice says, butthe sensation rules my core. I feel my cock and balls, both so, so sensitive.The balls are tight against my body. They always are when I’m around. They drawup at the very thought of being close to me. Our thoughts are mingling in thestrangest way. They think I’m beautiful. So fucking gorgeous. They don’t needto truly see me. They know what I am because our souls meshed. We’ve mingled indreams since childhood. A lovely tangling of our bodies is a simple next step.

I feel the moon on my face, the light a gentle slash acrossmy eyes. Do they feel the same moon on their faces?

I groan, the sound masculine and deep to my ears. I don’thear my own voice. I hear his.

Shim, love. My name is Shim.

I fall back against the cot. Shim. Is that his name? My DarkOne? This connection feels different. There’s always been a gauzy, dreamyquality to the connection before, but this feels so real. His voice wavers abit, but there’s a solidness to it that didn’t exist before.

Bronwyn. My name is Bronwyn.

A low chuckle rolls over me. I can feel its warmth like he’sbeside me and his breath can heat my skin. Yes, love. You’re…always known.

I want to hear him, everything he says, but there’s amaddening disconnect. And then I feel a surge of arousal. It takes my breathaway. What is he doing?

I need to get up. I need to get away, but he calls to me.Perhaps I’m still dreaming. Yes. I am dreaming, and this is precious time. I’mnot about to waste it with plotting and planning that won’t come to fruition. Itake a long breath and mentally reach for Shim. Shim. I love his name. For solong I dreamed of him and his twin, but they didn’t have names. Shim. It makeshim seem real.