Page 8 of Commanding Flame and Shield
August??With one last steady breath of smoky city air, I called for him, and set my hands into the cool steel column of the building, feeling as though they might melt below my fingers as I leaned into their vibration. Alec increased his hold on my nerves, numbing them, upping his shield for me. Increasing my focus.
I closed my eyes. And we began.
FOUR
CRAWLERS
AUGUST
The faucet flicked on automatically, a flood of warm water wrapping around my hands. I surveyed the scrapes, unable to suppress the acid in my throat. Fearing that my lunch would make a reappearance, I willed myself to keep it down.
Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.
I shook my head and splashed the warm water on my face. Blotting it with a white hand towel, I looked up into the mirror. For the briefest flash, my green eyes were surrounded by her face instead—the pale woman from the dream. But her surreal features faded away, and I realized her eyes were not that different from my own. Just.More. More intense, more depth, more amber around her irises where there was only hazel in mine.
Something stirred in my chest with the effort of recalling her face. A tickle ran down my arms, like a finger lightly traced down my spine. My mind drifted to the way the weapons draped across her torso. Her body too lean, and too defined to be real. The ruby and emerald encrusted daggers in the leather sheaths upon her hips.
A vivid dream. A vivid dream about a warrior from another world. One too many Spartan movies in my teenage years.
I tossed the soft towel into the laundry bin, and unrolled my sleeves, straightening my cuff links before turning towards the door. A quick survey in the full-length mirror on the wall told me that James was right. Exhaustion had worn dark circles under my eyes, skin looking flat. It wouldn’t take a brother to spot that I was not at my best. Maybe the stomach flu had at last taken a vengeance. And hallucinations. I re-buttoned my suit jacket, and for a split second she was there in my reflection again.
Jesus. I needed to sleep.
As I went to reach for the handle, her voice rang in my mind, clear as day, but less frantic than it had been in the dream.
August?
I startled, shaking my head, flying out of the bathroom, and rubbing my temples.
And then it was like she was everywhere. That overwhelming energy of the strangers filling my loft in the dream, waseverywhere. The building seemed to buzz with electricity, like I was standing in a lightning storm, and her voice was singing my name out above the din. A siren on the corporate sea.
Panic rose in my chest. Vice tightening. Nobody moved. Everyone stayed attentive to what they were doing…working, conversing, laughing, cleaning up spilled coffee. The volatile buzz in the building seemed to grow louder, my tie so tight against suddenly sensitive skin that I pulled it loose furiously. Sweat was dripping down my back again, war drum pounding incessantly in my ears.
This is what a heart attack feels like.
You’re not dying, August. Your heart is fine.Her voice filled my ears. I sputtered, and two of the women from the office looked at me, concerned. I put a hand to my chest and waved them away, trying to reassure them.Better than fine, from the sound of it, you fit son of a bitch.
She sounded…happy? Happy? Was that right? Relieved, perhaps. Her words didn’t match her playful tone, and I realized I was evaluating the voice like a person. I had to stop. Had to stop this madness. Exhausted. Just exhausted.
The buzzing grew, a million angry bees humming in the walls, vibrating my feet, fingers tingling as though they’d been asleep, and the blood was returning. Painful needles pricking along the skin. I fought the shout building in my chest, and made a b-line for my office, too fast to not draw attention to myself. Panic attack in full swing, the nausea swelled again.
Step. Step. Step.
August. Listen to me. You’re going to be okay.The bell of a voice rang in my head, as clear as if she spoke in front of me. No one else turned. No one else noticed.
August. If you can hear me, say my name—I’m Alvara.
Alvara?The thought danced in my mind for a moment, familiar despite its alien intrusion into my consciousness. Like I’d said it a thousand times, it danced in my memory like a lucid dream. Familiar, as my tongue silently formed the word.
Yes. Now. Listen to me. You are okay. You’re not mad—we are real. We are here. How are your hands?
The hollow place in my chest where my heart once belonged dropped into my stomach, and I closed the door to my office.This isn’t real. Not real. Can’t be real.The scrapes on my palms seemed to throb in response.
I would find a doctor. Medicine. Something.
August. Don’tleaveme, don’t do that to me. I just found you.
Found me?!I echoed, slamming my back into the door and sliding down onto the floor.This isn’t real. You’re not real. You’re a dream. I’m tired. Too tired.
