Nightmare
He was running. Running away from something he couldn't see, running far into the swallowing dark ahead of him. It slowly began consuming him, this black cloud of smoke that swirled all around. Scattered screams sounded close behind him, and he pressed numb hands against his ears in an effort to block out the noise.
He knew he was dreaming. No, not dreaming-having a nightmare. He knew it wasn't real. But as something pulled him back into the darkness, he felt the reality of a blade piece his heart. A vivid pain blasted all across his body; strangling a broken scream from his slack mouth.
Jake Aldrin lurched forward in his single bed, his lean body tangled into the pristine sheets around him. Cold rivulets of sweat ran down his forehead like a river, and dropped eerily onto his sharp collar bones. The temperature suddenly felt like it had dropped three degrees, and that didn't feel like such a good thing.
Panting, he rose from hell-his bed-and walked drunkenly into his kitchen. The glass around him reflected his presence blurrily, the hasty outline an insolent insult to his stunning physicality. Uncaring, he shrugged his shoulders and opened the fridge to lift a bowl of half eaten noodle soup. While grabbing a spoon from the pantry, he microwaved the late night snack for about thirty seconds, and then switched off the lights.
With his breath, heart beat and blood pressure hopefully under better control, Jake made his way into the living room. Plonking himself down upon the sofa, he pressed the red button for the flat screen to fire up. Some odd program lay running on an entertainment channel, so he flipped to News. That wasn't so brilliant either.
Apparently, there had been a murder and a kidnapping at some local Café in Manhattan. Police were searching, but they had no leads. The owner, a young woman of twenty three, was reported to be in shock, and hadn't been in a position to say anything. They'd sent her packing to a relative after doing their regular, yet obviously fruitless research.
Jake scoffed, and thrust a spoonful of soup into his mouth; grimacing slightly upon the three day old taste. Maybe he should have listened to Sam and hired a housekeeper. He really did need one.
He rubbed a hand over his fatigued face, and leaned his head back. These nightmares were going to be the death of him.
He'd stopped doing that a few months ago, so why the insane dreams? He'd never had them during his unusual job position, so what was the reason for them now? Breathing deeply once again, he closed his terrorized eyes and grabbed the quilt lying next to the sofa. He had no burning desire to return to his bed.
Not until the blasted nightmares stopped anyway.
A few more tears leaked from the edge of her violet eyes, and fell to the granite table she'd laid her head on. She'd hoped for some peace and some quiet. A distraction from the events that had eventuated a few hours ago. But there had been none.
How could there be?
Where people ran from such unexplainable things, it was her job, her duty to solve these crimes. Give answers to people who'd been victims of these-unexplainable events. A robbery. That's what the arrogant, doughnut munching police officer had told her.
But then why was the money still in the register?
No answer. Obviously, something she'd expected. Genevieve knew exactly who had done this. Well, not who, but what. The thing she didn't know, however, was the why. She'd had no tangles with his kind for at least six months, so why had he suddenly decided to pay her a visit? And the Father-
Vivi jerked back in her chair, almost toppling off the shaky wood in the process. Why hadn't she thought of this before? Before the attack…before Barker had come in, the Father had wanted to give her some names.
Was this what was hunting him?
Growling low in her throat, she ran a trembling hand through her auburn locks; tousling the voluminous mass upon the harsh touch. Each strand glinted in the gentle sun light filtering through a cracked window, and flitted from a deep chestnut to a regal Titian. The color had been her mother's gift. So was Genevieve's stellar frame. Granted, her ample bust and hips were an inconvenience to her job position, but they were, however, a great pride to carry.
She sighed and lifted herself off the chair, wincing as she felt-or didn't feel-her butt going numb. Grumbling once again in unintelligible tones of the lack of comfortable seating in the house, she prepared herself a cup of tea. It was an automatic anti-depressant, and the tastiest thing invented by mankind.
With a large mug of Darjeeling in one hand, and the other rubbing her behind to get the circulation going, she bent over to pull some cookies out of the pantry.
"What the fuck?"
Jake had never thought that he'd see this particular welcome, but he had been wrong before, so maybe this was just an addition to his list of unfortunate assumptions.
A woman-an absolutely stunning woman-was bent over in what one could only think was a very serviceable position. Her generous rump lay slightly raised, and a slim hand almost stroked that jean clad derriere in an intended manner. Auburn locks trailed down a slender back, and fell to the nip in her waist.
"What the fuck?"
It definitely wasn't the most elegant thing to say at this point of time, but it was all he could think of considering his brain had gone in retardation upon the sight of her behind. He had no shame in admitting that he was an ass man through and through. And, well, this lady here had the finest cushion Jake had ever seen.
His expletive alarmed her-as expected-and the welcome gift whirled around like a spinning top; the mug in her right hand trembling dangerously.
If he'd thought that the lady's rump was stellar, then her eyes were a sheer blow to his crotch.
Violet.
Jake had never seen lenses that color. Ever.
People often compared blue eyes to the sky or to the sea, green to emeralds, but this…he had no words on how to describe her eyes. All he knew was that they were out worldly. These simply could not belong to a human being.
But she definitely looked one. Well, she looked like a goddess-but she appeared human enough.
Yes, he was wallowing in admiration like a pathetic little puppy, and his usual guard was a little down. But did that mean his instincts were tuned out? Nope. Not at all. He had no place for such risks in his life.
So when the woman's fist came toward his face at the speed of light, he ducked. Then his own much muscular arm reached out and caught her wayward fingers in a flash, restraining those valiantly fighting digits. Then came her expected attempt of kneeing him, and since it was foreseen-it was also blocked.
Her violet eyes flashed angrily, the color deepening to a menacing purple. A previously limp left hand flew right by his face, sparing him a broken nose by a mere inch. The other knee rose as well, ramming directly into his stomach.
Jake groaned, her sudden attack lighting stars in front of his eyes. He staggered a bit, but his grip on her hand remained stable, and he nabbed the furiously punching left one as well. She struggled against him, both her wrists secured by his strong hold. Against himself, a smirk pulled at his lips. Whoever this woman was, she was damn good. But he was better.
As her voluptuous body moved sensually against his, he felt a complicated response arise in return. He groaned inwardly and distanced himself from the fighting siren in front of him. Wrong move, apparently.
She realized almost immediately that her legs were now no longer prisoners, and the pretty thing took advantage of it. Once again, her knee went straight to his groin; this time catching him unaware. Jake doubled over, stars bursting rapidly underneath his eyelids. Unfortunately for Mata Hari, his grip didn't loosen.
She kicked and flailed, but Jake had had enough. With one hand holding both of hers, he reached the other one into the back pocket of his jeans. A small piece of wire was withdrawn and tied around the slender wrists, but not too tight. Whoever the hell she was, he couldn't bring himself to hurt her.
With those wanton hands taken care of, he bent down and secured another length of wire around ankles; successfully stopping that assault as well.
"Now, why don't you tell me your name beautiful?"
