Heat of the Night

Chapter 7

Connor traversed the length of the rock-lined hallway to the main cavern with an impatient stride. As he drew closer to the grotto, the air grew more humid due to the large body of water that waited just beyond the craggy edge. There was a mildewy, mossy smell that permeated the air and made him long for his life of just weeks ago. A life above ground with women, beer, and a damn good fight when he needed one.

And a door for an entrance and exit. That would be nice.

He wasn't looking forward to the necessary dip in the icy water of the lake. It was near torture to make the ascent to the surface when one's lungs were seized by the frigid temperature. Unlike everything else in the Twilight, the water in the lake could not be altered by mere thought. No amount of wishing, ordering, or hoping made the liquid any more bearable.

So he simply saluted his men, checked to make certain that his glaive was secured in the scabbard crossing his back, and dove in.

Long moments later, Connor emerged freezing and gasping, crawling up the sandy bank while wracked by violent shivers. He was struck by a feeling of déjà vu so disconcerting that he didn't realize he wasn't alone until he was tackled and knocked backward.

As a smaller, wirier body wrapped around his, his roar of outrage reflected off the surface of the water and released his mounting tension. Connor twisted and grappled with his assailant until the moment they both fell back into the lake in an explosion of water and slapping skin. He grabbed his assailant by the scruff of his robes and dragged him onto the shore.

"Wait!" Sheron cried.

Connor reached over his shoulder and pulled his glaive free of its scabbard. "We've been through this before, old man," he growled.

"We did not conclude our discussion."

"So start talking before I lose what's left of my patience."

The Elder pushed back his soaked cowl. "Remember what I told you about the slipstreams we established in the Temple?"

"Yeah."

"And how the only location in the Twilight that is secure from Nightmares is the cavern you have commandeered?"

"Yes."

"Nightmares infiltrated those streams, Bruce, melding with the Guardian in transit to form one being."

"Fuck me." Connor's grip on his glaive tightened and sweat dotted his brow. "Can they travel by themselves? Are the humans in trouble now? Have we finally screwed them all the way by infecting their world as well as their dreams?"

"Not so far as we know. Unlike the slipstreams in the cavern, these are opened only briefly, just long enough to make the jump. Then they are closed again."

"How did you figure out what was happening?"

"We began by sending a guard through in a rapid cycle-in and out."

Connor began to pace.

"It became apparent over time that some of the guards were not well," Sheron continued. "At first we assumed it was due to the location."

"Being outside the cavern."

"Yes. Then they began to change. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Eliciting fear and sadness in those around them seemed to be very important to them. They grew more violent and cruel. Their eyes began to change color. They stopped eating."

"Oh man…"

"We realized then what had happened. The Nightmares inside them were taking over, urging the Guardian into acts of terror so they could feed off those negative emotions."

Since the Nightmares had discovered the human subconscious through the fissure created by the Elders, they'd been using the power of the human mind as sustenance. Fear, fury, misery-these were easily aroused through dreams and fed Nightmares so well.

Lowering his sword, Connor freed one hand to scrub at his jaw. "How many of those things are there?"

"There were a dozen in the original trial, but only one affected Guardian remained alive and you killed him today."

"Be thankful for small favors, eh?" Connor snorted.

Sheron removed the scabbard belt from his too-lean waist and emptied the water that had collected inside it. Then he sheathed his glaive and moved to a nearby rock, leaving a trail of droplets in his wake.

"What aren't you telling me?" Connor followed with glaive in hand. He didn't trust Sheron as far as he could throw him. Not any more. Sad, considering he had once trusted the man with his life.

"What I came here to tell you." The Elder settled onto a large rock and spread out his sodden robes as much as possible. "The trial was deemed a success before the symptoms of Nightmare possession began to present themselves. We were testing for successful round-trips, not side-effects. An additional contingent of guards and Elders were sent through before we understood the extent of the problem."

Connor's gut tightened into a hard knot. "Well, yank them all back, damn it!"

"We cannot. By the time we comprehended the error, the Guardians had altered so much they were incapable of returning upon their threads. They were no longer the same individuals who departed. We were able to retrieve only the unaffected ones."

"What the hell have you done? How many of those things are out there?"

"Ten of the lot were unable to return. We have sent twenty more through since then. A gamble. Those who are unaffected will hunt those who are and put them down. Cross will expect the Guardians to search for him, but there is no way for him to know about the hybrids."

Before the rebellion, Aidan had been Captain and Connor had been his lieutenant. Together, they had run the Elite with faultless precision. Life had seemed so simple then. Now, everything was complicated.

"Why are you telling me this?" Connor asked suspiciously.

"Cross's death is not something I want."

"But you want the Key dead," Connor argued. "And you'll have to kill Cross to get to the Key, I promise you that."

"We will manage that when the time comes."

"Like hell you will!" Connor launched himself like a missile, flying through the air and slamming into the Elder's chest with his shoulder.

The Elder would make a great hostage. They tumbled, rolling across the sand-

Gasping, Connor jolted awake, which also woke the warm curvy woman lying in his arms.

"Hey." Stacey's voice was husky from sleep. In the faint glow from the muted television, he saw her head turn toward him. They lay on the sofa; him against the back, her against him. "Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?"

He pushed up and climbed over her carefully. "Yeah."

"Want me to make you some hot tea or something?"

"No." Bending, he kissed her forehead. "Go back to sleep. I just remembered something important and I better write it down before I forget it again."

Connor moved over to the breakfast bar, turned on the recessed spotlights above it, and grabbed the notepad he'd seen there earlier. Then he pulled a chair back from the dining table, borrowed the mechanical pencil lying atop Stacey's textbooks, and turned his attention to finding a clean sheet of paper.

As he flipped through pages of lovingly drawn renderings of Aidan, Connor's heartbeat slowed. His breathing deepened and became more regular. The pictures of Aidan before him were not of the same Aidan he'd been fighting alongside for centuries. The Aidan captured by Lyssa in detailed pencil lines appeared younger and happier. His eyes were bright and the lines of strain less apparent.

Connor studied the images for long moments, then he heard movement on the couch. He pivoted to find Stacey curled on her side, her eyelids fluttering as she drifted back to sleep.

He smiled, once again noting how the chill created by his dreams faded just because she was near. It was amazing what the feeling of female comfort could do for a man. He could see how Aidan's relationship with Lyssa had changed his friend in wondrous ways.

Which only made Connor more determined to succeed in his mission.

He was here for a reason. His actions in this plane of existence would keep the people he cared about safe. It also kept the promise he'd made long ago-to protect the Dreamers from the mistakes of the Elders.

Refocused on his task, Connor returned his attention to the blank paper before him and tried to collect his thoughts.

Aidan didn't remember the conversations they'd had in his dreams. There was no reason for Connor to think that his own brain was any different, which meant the two "meetings" with Sheron were products of his imagination.

Still, despite knowing how dreams worked, he had a very hard time believing that the fantastical story Sheron had told him was a product of his mind. He didn't think up shit like that. He considered himself more brawn than brain.

Unless the Elders had a way the Guardians didn't know about… Or perhaps Wager had gleaned more information from the data chip?

Confused and a bit horrified by the many possibilities-not the least of which was the idea that what he'd dreamed might be the truth-Connor began to write.

It was the sound of a door opening and the distant rumbling of a garage opener motor that woke Stacey. Groggy and too comfortable for words, it took her a minute to comprehend where she was. Scrubbing at heavy-lidded eyes with her fists, she shifted a little and found herself wrapped in a heavy cocoon of large, sleepy male.

Her brain geared up slowly, piece-by-piece registering the heavy arm and leg that were slung across her, the soft lips and warm breath that caressed her shoulder, the morning hard-on that poked insistently into her buttocks. They were on the couch in the living room, spooned on their sides, Connor's chin above the top of her head, his big body half draped over hers. She normally needed a thick blanket to stay warm, but his body heat resembled a blast furnace at her back. Despite her silky spaghetti-strap pajama top and matching pants bottoms, she wasn't cold at all.

Blinking, Stacey looked through the dining room into the kitchen and discovered two faces bearing equally shocked expressions staring back at her. "Uh…"

Horrified at the thought of Connor smelling her morning breath, Stacey snapped her mouth shut and attempted to extricate herself from his embrace. He was dressed, too, of course, but that didn't make the situation any less embarrassing. There was no way they'd ever be able to pretend that nothing had happened between them.

Connor's response to her wiggling was a grumbled protest and a large hand cupping her breast. Her nipple, shamelessly happy with the attention, puckered wantonly into his palm, which set off a now predictable reaction in his cock.

"Umm…" he purred, snuggling closer and rocking his hips against hers suggestively.

Aidan and Lyssa's mouths fell open.

Stacey winced and smacked at Connor's hand. "Stop that!" she hissed. "They're home."

She could tell moment the information sunk in. He stiffened against her, then muttered a barely audible curse. Lifting his head, he looked over her shoulder and said, "Cross."

"Bruce," Aidan returned tightly.

Wincing, Stacey rolled out of Connor's now lax embrace and landed unceremoniously on her hands and knees on the floor between the coffee table and the couch. Connor straightened into a seated position.

"You guys are back early," she said with mock cheerfulness as Connor rose and pulled her up with him. "How was your trip?" Breeze on through the storm, she thought. It usually worked, at least temporarily.

"I was stabbed in the leg," Aidan muttered.

"I helped bury some freak of nature." Lyssa shuddered.

It was Stacey's turn to gape. Her eyes dropped to the thick white bandage that peeked out from the bottom of Aidan's nearly knee-length shorts.

"Oh my god," she said, rushing around the coffee table before her lack of a bra penetrated her consciousness. Her face heated, and she wrapped her arms across her chest. A heartbeat later the chenille throw that decorated Lyssa's couch was being draped around her shoulders. She glanced up at Connor gratefully.

He offered her a grim smile. "Go upstairs and change," he said, looking over her head at Aidan.

"I'll go with you," Lyssa said quickly. "I need a shower something fierce."

Stacey looked at her boss and frowned, noting the pale skin and the dark circles under brown eyes. Lyssa hadn't looked so tired since before Aidan came into her life.

"Sure thing, Doc." Stacey waited for her friend to join her before heading toward the staircase. Connor remained where he was, standing tall and proud despite his own state of undress. His gaze never left Aidan's.

Lyssa barely made it to the upstairs landing before whispering, "You slept with him? Already?"

Wincing, Stacey said, "What makes you think that?"

An arched brow was Lyssa's reply.

"Okay, okay." Stacey pulled Lyssa into the master bedroom and shut the door.

"That's so not like you, Stace!"

"I know. It just… happened."

Lyssa plopped down on the edge of the mattress and glanced around the room. "Where's Justin?"

"Not in here," Stacey muttered, running a hand through her rat's nest hairdo. She always looked like crap in the morning. Just how she'd want the hottest guy she had ever seen to see her.

"Obviously," Lyssa said dryly.

Once, the room had been decorated in varying shades of blue in an effort to help Lyssa sleep. Now it was decorated Oriental-style, with a massive standing shoji screen placed before the sliding glass door to the left of the bed and black towels with gold embroidered kanji characters on them in the open bathroom on the right. A bright red satin dragon comforter covered the bed, and the mattress was framed in intricately carved wood and topped with a lacquered multi-paneled painting on the wall.

It was an exotic and unique bedroom, sensual and seductive. Very different from the soft taupe that decorated the rest of the condo, or the Victorian-era theme of the veterinary clinic. Prior to meeting Aidan, Stacey would never have imagined her friend in such surroundings, but it suited the woman Lyssa had become. As Caucasian as she was-and Lyssa was about as Barbie perfect as a girl could get with dark, almond-shaped eyes-the international flavor of the room spoke to an adventurous side Stacey hadn't known about.

"Tommy came into some money," Stacey said. "He picked up Justin and took him to Big Bear for the weekend."

Lyssa blinked. "Oh, wow!"

"Yeah, that was my reaction, too."

"When was the last time they saw each other?"

"Five years ago." Stacey dropped into the wooden-backed chair by the door. "So how was your mini-vacation?"

Shaking her head, Lyssa said, "Oh no, you're not changing the subject that easily."

"Hey, you had a funeral for a freak of nature!" Stacey protested. "That's way more interesting than my sex life."

"It wasn't a funeral; it was roadkill," Lyssa muttered, toeing off her mud stained white Vans and stretching lengthwise across the end of the bed with her head propped on her hand. "We couldn't leave it there. It was… gross."

The horror in Lyssa's voice roused exasperation in Stacey. Too much was too much.

"I know you love animals and all, Doc, but pulling over to bury roadkill is just nasty."

"Let's get back to the topic of you doing the nasty," Lyssa said with undisguised eagerness.

Stacey laughed. "This is so high school."

"Isn't it? So what happened?"

Blowing out an exasperated breath, Stacey gave up trying to be evasive and began to explain what she didn't quite understand.

"Man," Aidan muttered, scowling. "Your night with Stacey is going to come back and bite me in the ass."

Connor's jaw tightened and his arms crossed his chest. No way in hell was he getting chastised for his private business. "I hate to tell you this, Cross, but my sex life has nothing to do with you."

Cursing under his breath, Aidan cleared a spot amid Stacey's textbooks on the dining table and set a black duffle bag down. "When your sex life includes Lyssa's best friend, it does."

"Oh? How so?"

Aidan shot him an arch glance over his shoulder. "Here's how it will go: You're going to piss Stacey off for one reason or another. She's going to complain to Lyssa. Lyssa will complain to me. I'll say, 'Leave me out of it.' And she's going to say, 'You're sleeping on the couch.'"

"You're leaping to conclusions."

"Conclusions based on historical knowledge," Aidan said, unzipping the bag and withdrawing the contents one by one. "That's why I stopped double-dating with you, remember? One of us would fuck up and we'd both end up paying."

"This is different."

"Yeah, it's worse. I've got Lyssa for the long haul, Lyssa's got Stacey for the long haul, and Stacey has good reason not to trust men. She's got a taste for guys like you."

"What is that supposed to mean, dickhead?" Connor growled.

"Lyssa told me Stacey has a history of hooking up with men who don't stick around." Aidan pulled a metal cup out of the duffle and set it gingerly on the table. Considering the thing looked the worse for wear, Connor understood it was important.

He stepped closer to check it out.

"When I first got here," Aidan continued, still emptying the bag, "Stacey was so wary of Lyssa getting hurt, she lent her a pepper spray pen. Told her to shoot me with it if I turned out to be an alien or something weird."

"Huh?" Connor picked up the cup and examined it. "She knew you were an alien?"

"No." Holding up a data chip, Aidan asked, "Did you bring a reader with you?" At Connor's negative head shake, he cursed and dropped it on the polished wood surface.

"What's up with the alien reference then?" Connor was confused.

"It was a joke. Stacey's got a twisted sense of humor."

"Oh." Connor grinned and put the cup back.

"The point is, she armed Lyssa against me, because she was worried I'd hurt her somehow. She's tough."

"Yeah." She was. Connor knew that. He also knew she was tender and vulnerable. He'd seen a glimpse beneath the shell. "I like that about her."

Aidan tossed the now empty duffel onto one of the dining chairs. "You won't like it so much when she sprays you in the eyeballs with that shit."

Resting one palm flat on the tabletop, Connor leaned over and said, "You're pissing me off, Cross. Why are you so damn sure I'm going to fuck her over?"

"When have you ever been interested in settling down with one woman?" Aidan shot back. "I've known you for centuries. You've never wanted anything more involved than getting laid."

"Neither did you," Connor retorted.

"Obviously, I've changed."

"And I suppose-according to you-I never will?"

"What are you talking about?" Aidan snapped. "Why are we arguing about this? Just leave her alone. That shouldn't be difficult for you. It's not as if you're hard up."

"Thanks for the glowing endorsement." Snorting, Connor reached for the cloth bundle. "Not that it's any of your damn business, but I wanted to spend more time getting to know Stacey. She blew me off. Don't worry about my feelings, though. I don't have any."

If he hadn't been in a bad mood, Connor might have found amusement in Aidan's disbelieving glance. But he felt shitty and so it wasn't funny. It sucked. The whole thing sucked. "Forget it, Cross," he grumbled. "I can't change what's already been done and it was over before it started."

"Good." Aidan watched him unwrap the linen and reveal a grimy, dirt-covered blob.

"What is this?"

"Hell if I know. We'll clean it and see." Pulling out one of the chairs, Aidan sank into it with a weary sigh and began to remove the medical tape that held a large bandage to his thigh.

Connor set the blob on the table before following suit and withdrawing a chair for himself. "What happened to your leg?"

"Some whacked-out chick happened to it." The cotton fell away from damaged skin, exposing a puckered pink scar beneath a row of perfect stitches. Aidan's eyes lifted and met Connor's. "She was one of us, I think. She had Elite boots on and," Aidan waved his hand over the pile on the table, "all of this was hers."

"Whacked out, eh?" Connor groaned and ran his hands through his hair, lacing his fingers together at his nape. "As in creepy eyes and a serious need for dental work?"

Aidan stilled. "That's why you're here."

"Yep."

"She had razor-sharp teeth and pitch black eyes. No sclera at all. How the hell is that possible?"

"According to the dreams I've been having, she's what happens when the Elders screw up."

"Dreams?"

"I know." Connor heaved out his breath. "I don't know if my imagination is smarter than I gave myself credit for or if someone in the Twilight is communicating with me. In any case, I've had two almost-identical dreams. In each one Sheron finds me by the lake and tells me that the Elders tried to replicate the Medium slipstreams from the cavern inside the Temple and Nightmares infiltrated the streams, merging with the Guardians who made the journey, which created those 'whacked-out' things. He called them hybrids."

Growling, Aidan rubbed at the back of his neck. "We need to know if that's true or not."

"No shit." Raising his brows, Connor asked, "You did kill her, right?"

"Right."

"Good. That's one down."

"Fuck." Aidan's hand fisted, wadding up the bandage. "How many are there?"

"Sheron said they sent ten Guardians through the first time and twenty the second time. There's no telling how many of them were infected. Remembering the games he used to play during training at the academy, I'm guessing they sent more than that and he's keeping the real number to himself."

"I agree." Standing, Aidan moved to the kitchen and tossed the waste in the trash. "I need coffee," he muttered. "Lyssa and I haven't slept in two days. I spotted the redhead yesterday afternoon and we've been running nonstop ever since."

"Red hair?" Red wasn't a natural color in their species. Pure white… various shades of blond and brown… hair so black it looked liquid, yes. Any shade of red, impossible.

"Yeah. It's what first caught my eye. Neon red. You couldn't miss it. It threw me off, because no Elite would deliberately draw attention to themselves." Aidan snagged a bag of coffee beans from the freezer and tossed it on the counter. "Now, I'm guessing the Nightmare's need to feed is what drove her to do it. Similar to waving a cape before a bull to bring it close enough to kill."

"If we want to put stock in my dreams."

Aidan grimaced. "It might be crazy, but what else have we got to work with?"

Connor watched his friend move around the small galley kitchen with quiet efficiency, pulling mugs from the dishwasher and filling the coffeemaker with water.

"You look happy," he noted. Aidan had a loose-limbed grace and easy smile that hadn't been seen in ages. In fact, that inner contentment had been absent for so long, Connor had forgotten Aidan ever had it.

"I am," Aidan said.

"Do you ever get homesick?"

"All the time."

The ready reply startled Connor. "You don't show it. You look centuries younger." The silver strands that once lined Aidan's temples were far less numerous. They were now barely noticeable unless one was actively searching for them.

"You've been in my head. You know why."

Yes, Connor knew why. Having melded with Aidan's subconscious, he had experienced Aidan's existence in live action and living color. He had felt the way Aidan did when Lyssa was near, felt the emotions she aroused with a single touch or a loving glance, felt the depth of Aidan's hunger when Lyssa made love to him with wild, fervent abandon. Their connection was hauntingly intimate. The few times Connor had met with Aidan in the dream state, it felt like trespassing to share those memories.

"I'm sure you hate it here," Aidan said, looking at him over the breakfast bar, "but I'm glad you came. There's less to be homesick about with you around. Plus, I realize now that I need help and there's no one I trust more than you."

Connor looked away, unsure of how to reply. Aidan was like a brother to him, but he didn't know how to say it. "You know I'm always looking for an opportunity to throw down and kick some ass," he hedged gruffly. "Wager's the go-to-guy when it comes to figuring out the technical aspects of what's going on. I'm the muscle. Always have been. Really don't think I have it in me to be anything more than that."

"I think you underestimate yourself." Aidan smiled with an ease Connor hadn't seen since their academy days. Dressed in knee-length khaki shorts and a bright blue T-shirt, he looked very human. "You're the biggest guy I know and the bravest, but you're also intuitive and…"

"Shut up. You're embarrassing me." Aidan's praise warmed Connor in a way very few things could. He admired his best friend and commanding officer, always had. Aidan was born to lead, a solid anchor to grasp in any situation.

"I know. Your face is red."

"Asshole."

Aidan laughed.

Connor quickly changed the subject. "We broke into the Temple and downloaded what we could before I was attacked by one of those Nightmare aberrations."

"Did you get anything useful?" Aidan asked, alert.

"Wager's still digging, but he found out that the Elders-in-training in the tubes are batteries of some sort."

"Batteries? Like a power source?"

"Exactly. The interior of the tubes are filled with energy. That's keeping the guys alive without food and water. The whole time we were thinking something was providing power to the tubes, but it's the reverse. The tubes are providing power for something else. We haven't figured out what yet."

Aidan frowned. "I suppose it's possible. We exist because of cellular energy. The tubes must tap into that."

"That's what Wager said. There are thousands of those tubes, so either they give off very little power-in which case, why use them?-or whatever they're hooked up to requires tremendous amounts of energy."

Aidan stood there, frozen. "How could they have kept all of this hidden for so long?"

"We let them." Connor pushed up from the chair and stretched. "Guardians like me who were too busy wandering aimlessly through life to give a shit. I feel like an idiot. A blind, stubborn idiot."

"You trusted those who swore to protect us. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Whatever," Connor scoffed. "I'm a moron. You've got to feel vindicated, though. You were right."

"It's not vindication I feel," Aidan said wearily, holding up an empty mug in silent query. "Pissed off and sick to my stomach is more like it."

Connor shook his head in response to the offer of coffee. "So where do we go from here? Where the hell do we begin?"

"With what we've got." Aidan filled two mugs, preparing one with cream and sweetener before drinking the one he kept black. He left a clean cup by the coffeepot for Stacey and the sight of that lone vessel did something odd to Conner. The urge to know how she liked her coffee took him by surprise. Such a minor detail, barely personal, and yet it mattered to him. He frowned.

"I thought I spotted Elder Rachel at an auction once," Aidan continued, leaning back into the counter edge and holding his green Rainforest Cafe mega mug with both hands. "I can't be sure since it's been ages since she left the Elite and joined the Elders, but the resemblance was uncanny and I can't think of anyone more likely to want to come here."

An image of a raven haired Guardian came to Connor's mind. "I saw that memory when I visited with you in the dream state. We talked about her being an excellent warrior. I think I served with her at the Gateway once. She's a bad-ass chick if I ever saw one. Loves combat."

All Guardians who wished to join the ranks of the Elite were required to spend a month at the Gateway as an initiation to the most extreme rigors of their job. The vast majority of fledglings failed to last the miniscule length of time required. Only a month, a drop in the endless well of time in their lives, but at the Gateway, it felt like an eternity.

Because the Gateway was hell, the place some Dreamers saw when they were on the verge of death and believed was ruled by a red-skinned man with a forked tail and horned head. It was a place all Guardians wished they could ignore and forget, but that was impossible. It was the entryway to the Twilight, an opening the Elders had created in order to give them a place to hide from the Nightmares. But their refuge had been discovered and they were now under constant siege.

The vast door to the Outer Realm bulged with the effort to keep the Nightmares out. Slivers of red light around the jamb revealed how the portal strained at the hinges and lock. From those tiny cracks, black shadows poured in like water and infected the Twilight around the Gateway until lava-spewing pustules formed from the ground. There, thousands of Elite Warriors fought an endless battle, their glaives flashing as they cut down Nightmares in countless numbers. It was onerous task and one no sane Guardian wished to experience any longer than they were forced to.

Except for Rachel.

She had lasted the month and then argued that she could handle a month more.

"Yes. Kick-ass," Aidan agreed. "Plus, she's got a hefty advantage. She knows what the fuck is going on. I don't. She's got one mission. My focus is divided. I've got to keep Lyssa safe, take care of acquisitions for McDougal, and hunt down the artifacts. And now that we've got those… things… to deal with, there's no way for you and I to do it alone. Two against a widespread group of freaks? I might as well give up, grab Lyssa, and go hide out on a deserted island until everything blows up. Snatch a little peace while I can."

"Shit." Connor blew out his breath. "You're right. We need reinforcements, but hell if I know who'll want to come here. The men under my command are committed to the cause, but…"

"But this is asking a lot."

"Yeah. It is. For most of us, the Twilight is the only home we've ever known. There aren't many around who remember the Old World. Asking them to leave everything behind for this," he waved his arm in a sweeping gesture, "is a tall order."

"It sucks, but what choice do we have?" Aidan rubbed one hand across the morning whiskers that shadowed his jaw. "The redhead had the taza I was searching for, so they're tracking the artifacts. I need to concentrate on keeping McDougal happy, because he's paying the bills. We need someone to hunt the artifacts while I'm working and a group to hunt the hybrids. The thing that attacked me was insane. One of them is going to get caught or killed and then the Dreamers will know they're not alone in the Universe."

"And anyone close to you is in danger, too, and needs protection. The Elders will use whatever they can for leverage. You think I'd kick Stacey to the curb because of boredom. Fact is, I'd stay away from her because hanging with me could get her killed."

Narrowing his gaze, Aidan studied him carefully.

"Here's the thing, though," Connor continued, too impatient to try explaining feelings he didn't understand. "The roundtrip isn't without its consequences. The Medium is destroyed on the return."

Aidan stilled. "Destroyed?"

"Killed. Murdered. Game over."

"Fuck."

"Pretty much. So it's not as if we can promise a temporary assignment."

There was a long pause, then, "Thank you."

The two words were spoken with such feeling that Connor was taken aback. "For what?"

"For giving up your home for me. Shit…"

Aidan's eyes reddened and Connor panicked. "Hey! Don't get excited, man. It's okay."

"No. It's not. It's awesome. I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," Conner said hastily.

Lyssa entered from the living room and Connor almost kissed her with relief. "Umm… Coffee," she crooned. She sported a damp ponytail, clean clothes, and smelled like apples. Dressed in a dark pink velour jogging suit, she looked revived and beautiful. She found the cup Aidan had prepared for her and lifted to her tiptoes to kiss him full on the mouth. "Thank you, baby," she whispered.

Connor, grateful for the opportunity, slipped away to change and get ready for the monumental task ahead.