Authors: Lynn Hagen
But he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do as Cheveyo sat across the fire from him and chanted in some language Mason didn’t understand. Ian was lying on some blankets right next to Mason and was staring up at him with fear in his cobalt-blue eyes. Everyone else was close by, but kept their distance, guarding the three men.
The smoke curled toward the rafters, the wood crackling and snapping, heating the chilled air surrounding him in the open building. Ian was wrapped in blankets, but the man was still shivering slightly. Mason knew it was not only from the cold, but what was to come. He had placed his trust in Mason, and Mason wasn’t going to fail him.
Ian was his mate now—a fact he was going to tell Ian just as soon as they ridded themselves of Newman. He didn’t want the vampire to have added fuel if Ian accidently let it slip that he had a mate now. It pained Mason to not let Ian know, but he knew the knowledge just might get Ian killed.
When Ian’s eyes began to slowly lower, Mason reached over and grabbed the man’s hand and enveloped it in his. He prayed that whatever Cheveyo planned on doing would save Ian.
The smoke swirled, twirled, and began to dance in front of Mason’s eyes. The crackling sound began to blend in with the chanting, the noises of the abandoned plant fading, taking away the whistling sound of the wind and the creaks and groans of the rusted metal.
The voice—humming and then rising with infliction, lowering as the man sang in such a beautiful melody—was lulling.
Mason shook his head rapidly back and forth, trying to focus and clear his mind, but he would have bet his life that he had heard other voices chanting along with Cheveyo.
That wasn’t possible.
He tried harder to focus, but soon found his body swaying slightly as his eyelids began to drop. Mason could still hear the chanting, but when he opened his eyes, he was standing in some room he had never seen before and Ian was in the center, his hands above his head, chained to a hook. The room was right out of a BDSM club with whips of varying sizes hanging on the walls, a St. Andrew’s cross in the corner, and a bench made for subduing someone sitting just inches from Ian’s hanging body.
The room was faded around the edges, the images dull. Mason had excellent sight, but here, in the room he was standing in, the colors were distorted and murky.
There was a man standing next to Ian, tall, slender, with black hair touching his shoulders, but his back was to Mason.
Mason focused on the man and the stranger came in a little more clearly. He held a metal flogger in his hand that was down at his side, the talons gently waving back and forth as the stranger studied Ian’s backside. Mason’s chest tightened when he realized that it was the steel whip that had been hurting Ian.
The man turned with slow movement, and his eyes flared with a bright fire. “What are you doing here, old man?” The voice was a little distorted, but Mason caught the words.
Cheveyo stood there, his black hair surrounding him like a cloak as he took in the room and then shook his head. “I should have known that it was you, Newman, who was torturing this poor boy.”
As soon as Cheveyo spoke, the entire room snapped into focus, the images around Mason crystal clear now.
Mason began to walk over to Ian, but a leather-worn hand grabbed his arm with surprising strength and stopped him. “You cannot go to him. He must come to you.”
Newman’s eyes flickered to Mason, as if seeing him for the first time. His brows tilted down as an evil smile formed on his lips. Mason could tell the man thought he had another victim to play with.
“And who is this?” Newman asked with interest.
Cheveyo’s hand released Mason. “I have brought the boy help.”
Newman tilted his head back and gave a full laugh as a hand waved toward Mason. “You brought me a changeling to play with and then kill.”
Mason’s jaguar yowled at the threat, but Mason remained where he was. “You could try.”
Ian opened his eyes as he lifted his head when Mason spoke. Tears ran in rivulets down his pale cheeks. His cobalt-blue eyes looked so disheartened, so dejected that Mason had to mentally focus on standing where he was instead of going to his mate. “I never wanted you to see me like this.” He whispered the words in an agonized tone.
Mason locked eyes with the man, pushing all of his emotions into the stare he was giving his mate. “I look at you no less for this. You’re still Ian to me…my friend, my best friend, my partner.”
Ian’s tears seemed to come faster as Newman walked around Mason’s mate. He studied Mason for a long moment. “What would you give me for Ian?” he asked curiously.
“Nothing,” Cheveyo immediately answered. “We did not come here to barter with evil. It is you who must give us something.”
Newman slid the metal tentacles through his fingers as a deliberate smile crossed his face. “You’ll never get me to agree.”
Mason was a little lost at what was going on, but he kept his eyes locked on Ian. He was hard-pressed not to kill Newman when the vampire reached a hand toward Ian and ran it down Ian’s back. “I think I’ll keep my toy.”
“He’s not your toy!” Mason bellowed. His hands clenched in frustration and anger when he saw Ian flinch then shudder. He wanted to go to Ian, protect him, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to wait, and the waiting just might kill him.
“No?” Newman asked as he struck Ian with the quickness of a cobra, sinking his fangs into Ian’s neck. Mason roared as he moved, but Cheveyo held him back.
“He is trying to get you to come to him. Do not.”
Newman released Ian, glaring at Cheveyo. “You are not allowed to instruct him.”
Cheveyo shrugged. “I’m just telling him to stand still.”
Mason wished like hell the old man had told him what to do before he had pulled Mason into Ian’s fucked-up dream. He was clueless as hell.
“Let your jaguar guide you,” a voice whispered in his mind.
Newman sneered at them. “Why are you coming to this dream in your earth form? Why the guise?”
Mason looked at Cheveyo. “Something you forgot to tell me?”
Before the man could speak, Newman waved his hand and Cheveyo shimmered, the weathered skin fading as a strong, young warrior stood next to him. He wore brown leggings with moccasins on his feet, a breastplate made of hair-pipes and a headdress made of feathers.
“Now you look like the dream warrior of old.” Newman laughed as he walked behind Ian and then slid his arms over Ian’s shoulders, resting his head against Ian’s. “Does this changeling know you are dead? Does he know it is only your spirit sitting in front of that fire?” Newman looked at Mason. “Of course not. He has no clue you lived over four hundred years ago, but are tied to earth because of your betrayal.”
Mason’s heart was beating furiously, but he refused to look away from Ian. His mate’s head had fallen back, making Newman move, but his arms still remained on Ian’s shoulders. Mason wanted to kill the man for touching his mate.
“I see you are still trying to help others in hopes that it will free your spirit.” Newman clucked his tongue. “Has it worked yet?”
Mason could see Newman was mocking Cheveyo, or whoever in the hell the man was, but the guy just stood next to him, unwavering, his face a stony mask.
Mason reluctantly closed his eyes when he felt Cheveyo pushing into his mind. Hell, too many impossibilities were happening for him not to believe the man couldn’t get in.
He showed Mason his jaguar this time. The image was crisp, sharp, and curled around Ian in protectiveness. Mason saw the image. He just wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“Mason.”
Mason snapped his eyes open when he heard Ian murmuring his name.
“No,” Newman growled as he lifted the whip and let it crack against Ian’s back. “You’re mine, not his. You call to me, not that filthy animal!”
Mason snapped his jaws at Newman, his canines gnashing together, and then the room changed. He was no longer standing in a room built for a hardcore BDSM scene. He was standing in a dense forest that was shrouded in mist and Ian was up ahead of him running.
Cheveyo was still at Mason’s side. “Can I run to him?” Mason’s body was coiling tight, an overwhelming urge to make him run after his mate, but he had to make sure he didn’t fuck this up.
“Only your mate,” Cheveyo warned. “If you spot Newman, do not go to him.”
Mason was gone before the man finished speaking, bursting into his changeling form as he went after Ian. His mate wasn’t very fast, but was still too far ahead of him. Mason leaned forward as he ran, his paws crushing the earth below him as he tried to gain speed to catch his mate.
Newman appeared in front of him and Mason skidded to a halt, yowling furiously at the vampire, and then a thunderous rumble vibrated Mason’s chest.
He was pissed.
“What would you give me for the human?” Newman asked as he stood in Mason’s way.
Mason instinctively shook his head, telling Newman without words that there was going to be no bargain. He wanted to rip the man’s throat out, but backed away instead. It went against everything in him to move away from the vampire. He was the predator, not the prey.
But he didn’t know the rules in this dream realm.
“Then watch him suffer.” Newman vanished right before Mason’s eyes. He took off once more, but Ian was nowhere in sight. Mason stilled and scented the air, but all he could smell was blood.
Ian’s blood. It was all around him, suffocating his lungs as he heard Ian cry out for him.
Mason was getting really fucking tired of these games. All he wanted to do was kill one rank-ass vampire and take his mate from this godforsaken place. Instead, he was avoiding the vampire and listening to a dead guy guide him.
There was something seriously wrong with that picture.
Mason dropped his head and took off toward the scream. His muscles flexed and his fur ruffled as he headed in his mate’s direction. His chest constricted to a painful tightness when he saw Breed Hunters surrounding Ian, their guns aimed at his mate’s head.
They weren’t real.
None of this was real.
Mason stopped.
He glanced around, and then he let his mind go, allowing his jaguar to take over. Cheveyo said to allow his changeling form to guide him, and that was what Mason was going to do.
He charged after the Breed Hunters, his jaguar scenting the air, telling Mason they weren’t really there, that they held no scent.
And then they were gone.
Mason moved closer to Ian’s prone body and covered it with his furry one as he glanced around and wondered what was going to happen next. Ian shivered under him, his fingers gripping Mason’s black fur, pulling him closer as he whimpered.
“You are not supposed to do that!” Newman shouted with fierce anger. “This is my world. You do not control the elements. I do!”
“It is Ian’s dream,” Mason corrected him with knowledge he shouldn’t have as he shifted back to his human form. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he knew that it was Ian who held the power here, not Newman.
The only plausible reason Mason could think of for him being able to control this realm was because he was Ian’s mate.
Newman shouted in rage and then rushed him. Mason shifted back to his jaguar form and leapt. The vampire had come to him, so he was free to kill the bastard.
But Newman wasn’t so easily defeated. The vampire fought with honed skills, testing Mason’s strength as they locked in battle. He tried to tell himself that Newman wasn’t real, but hell if the man didn’t feel like it when his talons sunk into Mason’s side.
“You will die here and be trapped in the dream realm for all eternity.” It wasn’t a warning, but a promise.
Mason roared as Newman sunk the talons in deeper. It felt like they were scraping vital organs.
He wasn’t going to die here. Ian wasn’t going to die here.
But Newman was.
Mason doubled his efforts, fighting to get Newman’s dark claws out of him and fighting to kill the man. It was taking every ounce of concentration he had. The man was a very formidable opponent.
But he made the mistake of being overconfident. When Newman pulled his talons free, he threw his head back and laughed.
And Mason went for his throat.
He took the vampire down and killed him, pulling skin from bone, muscle from tissue. Mason didn’t stop with just tearing his throat out. He wasn’t sure if that was enough to kill someone in the realm of dreams, so he removed the heart as well every other fucking organ the man owned.
“He is dead.”
Mason shifted back into his human form and reached down for Ian, pulling his mate into his arms. “Get me the fuck out of here.”
Cheveyo stood there, power and strength shining all around him like a shimmering halo.
The guide moved closer, and Mason could see the sorrow in the man’s eyes. He wanted to ask about the betrayal Newman mentioned, but Mason was anxious to get Ian out of there. “His fits are from the venom in the vampire’s saliva. No one is aware that it is just as poisonous as it is pleasurable. The venom is trying to eat away his brain cells. Keep him clean and his seizures should fade away.”
Mason glanced down at Ian in his arms. His mate’s eyes were closed, but he could see Ian’s chest rising and falling. When he looked up, he was standing back in the plant.
“That was the creepiest shit I have ever seen!” Benito shouted as Mason glanced around. “One minute the three of you were sitting there, and then the old man disappeared, and you grabbed Ian and stood as if someone was about to attack both of you.” Benito waved his hands around wildly. “And then blood just appeared on your body!”
“Where’d he go?” Mason asked as he looked to where Cheveyo’s body should have been sitting. He knew the blood Benito was talking about was from killing Newman. But he agreed with Benito. This was some weird-ass shit.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Benito asked. He tossed his hands up in the air and spread his fingers. “He just went
poof
.”
“So the man torturing Ian is dead?” Rick asked.
“Fuck yeah.” Mason turned and began to walk away. “No one messes with my friend and gets away with it.”