The Dream Crafter Read online

  The Dream Crafter

  Entwined Realms Book 2

  Danielle Monsch

  Romantic Geek Publishing

  THE DREAM CRAFTER (ENTWINED REALMS, BOOK 2)

  Romantic Geek Publishing

  Copyright © 2015 Danielle Monsch

  Print Book ISBN 978-1-938593-12-3

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-938593-19-2

  Kindle Edition

  Publication Date: October 2015

  Content Editor: Grace Bradley

  Line Editor: Sara Lunsford

  Copy Editor: Eilis Flynn

  Cover Design: Nathalia Suellen

  To know when the next Danielle Monsch book is released, please sign up for her MAILING LIST.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Saranna DeWylde, my own personal Guardian Amazon Goddess. I’ve said this in private, but I want everyone to know the truth – your words to me were a real turning point in my heart, and I’m not 100% certain this series would exist without you. Thank you so much for your kindness, your generosity, and your willingness to help those struggling.

  And, as always, Mr. Jim Garner.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Books By Danielle Monsch

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Note from Danielle Monsch

  Entwined Realms Reading Order

  Fairy Tales & Ever Afters Reading Order

  About the Author

  New Releases Sign-Up List

  Find Danielle Monsch on Social Media

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  Books By Danielle Monsch

  Entwined Realms

  Modern-Day Fantasy, where Sword & Sorcery and Romance Meet

  There Are No Dragons…Are There?

  Stone Guardian – From the Shadows He Watches Over Her

  Stone Embrace – In the New Realms, Love Can be the Most Dangerous Battle of All…

  The Cage King – He Will Claim Victory

  The Rooftop – Only the Stars as Witness

  The Dream Crafter – Reality is Optional

  Fairy Tales & Ever Afters

  Slightly Twisted and Very Sassy takes on Fairy Tales

  Loving a Fairy Godmother – Don’t Fairy Godmothers deserve a little lovin’ too?

  Loving an Ugly Beast – Can’t an Ugly Beast get a little lovin’ here?

  Loving a Prince Charming – When you are Prince Charming, everyone wants a little lovin’ from you.

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  Chapter One

  ‡

  Dreams began in black and white. Color crept in slow strokes, a saturation that went from sepia to the muted hues of a Rembrandt, only to brighten in one flash to the full and glorious spectrum.

  Now was black and white. Now was a thick, dark liquid, a multitude of droplets in languid descent down white walls, branching into lurid and twisted design.

  Now was sepia, the hilt of the knife lighter than the dark wood of the dresser it rested on. Now was her brother’s broad chest as he held her to him, the skin the same color here as it would be in the real world, a tanned hue that was warmth to the touch.

  Now color burst forth. Now planes sharpened and images became crisp, and now she looked at the scenery surrounding her.

  As was the way with dreams, disparate elements of her life came together in weird juxtaposition. Sitting atop the low stone wall that guarded the front of her city apartment building, Amana glanced down to see herself clothed in a beautiful blue Hawaiian dress embroidered with white flowers, exactly what she would wear while walking the beach back on the island. Below the hemline her feet were bare, ready to dig toes into sand that was not there. Hair tickled her shoulders and back, and the faint pressure on her forehead told of a circlet of flowers upon her brow.

  A man stood before her, his back to her. Nice wide shoulders, and the sleeveless hoodie he wore showed tan, toned arms with evident muscles, covered with thick lines of black tribal tattoos.

  He was close enough she wouldn’t have to extend her arm fully to touch him, and in sudden want, Amana’s fingers itched to do just that, stroke along the bold lines across his arms that promised an untold story waited under the skin.

  They were in a dream. Here was indulgence without consequence. Here the only limits were the ones she imposed upon herself – and she didn’t want to impose any.

  Her palm molded around his bicep, her thumb grazed where the design was thickest, on the long sweep from where shoulder rounded into the upper arm. With no fabric, nothing blunted the firm flex of muscle beneath her fingertips, the heat of him scorching through layers of dermis and epidermis, fire going straight to bone.

  Within moments of contact the man turned, body tightening in readiness for battle. Amana loosened her grip but stayed in contact with his skin, exploring the geography of his body with his movement.

  Hazel eyes, which held a gamut of color from the rich brown of good earth to a luscious honey locked with hers, and the hard mask of war softened into wary confusion, confusion that underwent a slow morphing into masculine appreciation. He studied her with blatant, lingering looks over her body, her face. “Do I know you?”

  Amana’s eyes went half lidded at the sensual shock. Rough in the right places, his voice scraped over nerve endings now exposed, brought to the surface in every sweep of his gaze over her.

  He was cowboy-meets-rockstar, total masculinity in prettier-than-normal packaging. Near black hair with deep red streaks fell in
long layers around his face. A hawkish nose sat above lips fuller than her own, and the planes of his face were strong without edging into brutal.

  “Are you going to let go?” His rough voice turned dry and amused, the one corner of that mouth turned up, showing a dimple that her first inspection had missed, and the look in his eyes said she could keep holding on, as long as he got a chance to do the same.

  His eyes held more though. Complete appreciation, yes, but after the first sweep, his gaze caught and held hers. His eyes showed the genuine pleasure of a man enjoying a pretty woman, not the calculated look of a buyer deciding on the choicest cut of meat. That change from her everyday reality brought flitting butterflies in a swarming path from throat to stomach, the heady giddiness infusing her mood and putting a smile on her face which she couldn’t hold back.

  Best thing about dreams – no apologies were ever necessary, not that this man seemed to want any.

  Amana rose from the wall, angling her body so that she almost skimmed against him as her feet hit pavement. At her full height her mouth was only inches from his. “Do you want me to?” By the audible intake of breath, she would venture to guess that he didn’t.

  “If we were going by what I want, you wouldn’t have stopped at just my arm.” The playfulness remained in his voice, a good-natured note that mixed nicely with the banked heat of his gaze.

  “Well then, I say we go for a walk.”

  The landscape rippled, turning from city concrete to island lushness, the salt-tang of the ocean in the air, along with a crisp wind that battled the sun to see which would win the temperature war.

  Amana curled her arm around his, hugging against him as she led the willing man down a stretch of beach. She reveled in the familiarity, this sandy heaven she hadn’t seen in reality for almost a decade, and even in dreams was a place she happened on only in rarest circumstance.

  “Care to tell me your name? Most pretty women who kidnap me give me that courtesy.” His voice was easy, no bite to back the words. He was relaxed next to her, the state one she doubted he visited often in reality. A warrior tenseness existed in him, a wary edge she’d seen too often to attribute to any but those who fought to survive.

  How and who he fought she didn’t know, but here it didn’t matter. Here she was safe, and could enjoy a stroll on a sandy beach with a beautiful man. “Do pretty women kidnap you often?”

  “Not as often as I would like.” Without disturbing her arms wrapped around his bicep, he moved his hands into his pockets and continued at the same leisurely pace. “I’d be happy if it stayed to just you, assuming I can convince you to do it again.”

  “Perhaps. It depends on how entertaining you are.” The sand was the perfect temperature, that edge of hot that kept feet toasty without tipping into burning. They were close enough to the waves that the wind picked up the sprays of water and tiny droplets misted over skin.

  He tilted his head to look down at her, a half-smile reminding her of that dimple’s existence. “I’m very entertaining. Life of the party they call me. Ask any of my friends.”

  “I’ll demand three references at the end of our walk.”

  “Three? I don’t know. Your expectations might be too high for me.”

  Amana covered her mouth to keep back the small, startled laugh. Gods, it had been too long since she’d done something this normal, this mundane. The last time she gave a real laugh… Was there a last time? Not even in dreams was she this relaxed.

  Dreams might not be real to most people, but this was her home, her comfort zone. And even here, it had been too long since she’d had this airy calm residing in her chest. She kicked at the sand, eyeing the tiny clumps as they fell before her.

  The man watched her antics with a low hum of amusement running through him, a half-smile appearing here and there as she did silly things, not caring what this man’s opinion was, but not caring because she was sure he was enjoying himself as well. After several minutes of silence, of watching, he said, “I’ve never been to a beach before.”

  “You’re kidding.” No, she hadn’t been back for a long time, but to never have been to a beach?

  Amana turned her face back to him after that statement, and his smile was a gentle mocking of the shock written on her face, of the too-wide eyes she couldn’t force back to normal size. “I had a unique childhood.”

  “And adulthood?”

  “Still unique.” The words and voice were still light, still teasing, but the undertone of warning carried through. The message was clear. Even in a dream, he would speak no more about himself.

  She heeded it, only saying, “I’m glad your first time is with me, then.” Then inspiration struck, and she knelt down in front of him, balancing on the balls of her feet so her knees wouldn’t hit the sand.

  “Umm…”

  The flabbergasted look was adorable, not that she would ever speak that word to him. This time, she didn’t bother to cover either her smile or her laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. If this is your first beach trip, I insist you feel the sand between your toes.”

  “I admit to preferring the gutter.” Still, he lifted his leg and let her pull off his boot, on his face the look of resigned patience she saw on men shopping trips with their women.

  Amana made quick work of the boot, and his now-bare foot revealed more tattoos, the same thick black lines that draped his arms covering the top of his foot before circling his ankle and, from the little bit of lower leg revealed beneath his pants, looked to go up the back of his leg. Not that she let the tattoos or the rather nice looking feet derail her, and finished with both shoes in short time. “Now, isn’t that better?”

  He flexed his toes into the sand, an unexpected happiness on his face, similar to a child’s first taste of chocolate. “This isn’t bad.”

  “Quite gracious of you to admit,” she said, twining her fingers with his and pulling him along until they were close enough the tide rolled over their feet. He jumped, enjoyment evidenced by the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth as he sank his toes into the wet, squishy ground.

  Watching the sun streaking over his face and the long lines of exposed ink, a curious and unexpected floatiness rushed through her body. She hadn’t felt anything like this since she was on the cusp of puberty, when her body began telling her she liked boys while her brain had no clue what was happening. It was innocent, and sweet, this sensation sinking through her, all for a man she didn’t know except to know he kept secrets. Yet there it was, sweeping the ocean breeze through musty corners of her mind and bringing in all that was clean and tangy and full of life.

  His gaze returned to her from overlooking the ocean, and the smile faded from his mouth, though not from around his eyes. With tentative grace, he reached out to stroke her face, his thumb brushing from cheekbone to temple, to push a strand of hair behind her ear, the touch conveying shocking intimacy even though he kept it respectful, light, not moving anywhere she would complain about.

  “Such beautiful skin,” he said in a voice so low it was almost drowned out by the waves, but the breath that carried the words covered her and drove his admiration deep.

  “I like your hair.”

  The smile returned to his lips. “Thank you. I do it myself.”

  “Maybe next time I can help?” If only there could be a next time. In this way, in this one way, the dreams always failed her, because no matter what she wished, the next time never happened.

  “Yes.” His head lowered, a controlled descent during which his gaze darted from her mouth to her eyes and back again, the crease between his brows suggesting he was asking a question of himself. “Please do.”

  Amana woke up, the lightness in her chest disappearing as her eyes met the bare white walls of the room.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  Merc opened his eyes, flat on his back, the cracked, spotted ceiling ready to rain down plaster above him, sounds of cars zooming past on the outside roads filtering in through the thin wal
ls.

  He was in the dingy hotel room he took for a few hours rest before moving on. Not a beach, sandy and warm with a beautiful woman on his arm, the salt taste still on his tongue.

  He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, wanting to grind the dream into his brain before he lost it. It had been so real, but no, nothing magic had been going on. His ink was quiet, undisturbed. The black lines were stark on his tan skin with no changes in color or shape, and no prickling sensations around them to alert him to any undesired persons after him. No dream walkers. No wizards or mages.

  Only a beautiful woman and only the nicest hours he had experienced in a very long time, and both were no more.

  The tightness in his chest was from sleeping on a shitty bed that hit every muscle wrong. If any other reason caused it, it would make him a damned stupid fool.

  Merc sat up, the sheet falling from his chest to pool in his lap. He stretched his arms up high, the muscles giving a sleepy burn at the movement, but before he could work out all the kinks the phone rang, the number unlisted. Not a surprise – most of his phone calls were from unlisted numbers. “Yeah?”

  “Still safe?”

  Merc’s fingers tightened with the instinctive desire to throttle the owner of the smug voice. Hadrien was courting death, and if he kept stepping out of line, Merc was going to deliver. “I told you not to contact me unless necessary.”

  “Me knowing my property is safe is very necessary.” The singsong, childish cast of Hadrien’s words had Merc gritting his teeth. “And of course, I care about your welfare as well.”

  The tattoos pulsed beneath his skin, the black lines covering his arms and back reacting to the anger rising from Merc’s gut, crashing through his body, demanding release, movement, destruction. “Hadrien, I will get the Spellbook back to you, but there is no magic in place to protect you after that moment. I suggest you don’t fuck with me in the meantime.”

  A pause, and then the singsong was gone, and only curt words designed to cover a tremor of fear came through the speaker. “I’ll call the day before delivery to give you the final time and location.” The call disconnected, and Merc was left with the thwarted desire to deal pain and no one to release it on.