Demon's Journey

~ SASHA ~

Before the thirty minutes had passed she was already nodding off.

Zev had gotten quieter and more tense the further they'd driven, until eventually he was just holding her hand and not talking at all.

All the adrenalin and fear of the night wore off suddenly in the lull of passing headlights and reflectors, until Sasha found herself working hard to keep her eyes open… then drifting… conscious of Zev moving his hand to her thigh. Aware at some point that she'd slumped sideways and was resting her temple against something warm and hard. But then… nothing.

In the dream she was in a castle in a snowy mountain range that smelled like Zev—wet earth and sunny skies. She wore a gorgeous ballgown that pressed her breasts higher, but left her arms bare. And she was alone.

She frowned.

In front of her was a thin table that stood at waist height. At the center of it a clear, glass, teardrop shaped vase stood with a single red rose standing at attention from its depths. A stiff white card was leaned against it with her name written on it. She picked it up and turned it over, but it only read, "Sorry." Nothing else. No name. No explanation.

She frowned harder and picked up the rose, but she hadn't noticed the thorns on the stem and it pricked her.

She startled and dropped it, accidentally knocking over the vase—sighing with relief when there was no water inside to spill.

Then the most perfect warmth curled around her back and thick, strong arms reached past her and a caramel voice whispered in her ear, "Do you mind?"

She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Sure," she said, smiling back as he reached for the vase and set it safely on its base again, returning the rose to it. But he didn't remove his arms immediately. For a moment he just stood there, embracing her with his body.

Then she let her hands—even the bleeding one—rest on the insides of his elbows, then slide down his forearms, the crisp hair tickling her palms until she reached the back of his thick hands and slide her fingers between his. He curled his fingers to grip hers, then pulled both their hands up to her stomach—his arms around hers.

He dropped his chin to her shoulder and kissed her neck at that spot, just under her ear, that always gave her goosebumps.

Her breath sped up.

"Are you sure you're ready?" he asked her softly, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated against her back.

"I'm so sure, Zev," she said, inhaling deeply, uncertain if the delicious scent was him or the castle, or the mountains outside.

He turned her in his arms then, until her chest pressed against his ribs. She slid her arms around his trim waist and he cupped her face with both hands, searching her eyes, his own shining with both love and fear.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered. "I'm not. This is you and me. We're perfect," she said, praying she could reassure him.

He didn't respond, but his eyes dropped to her lips. Then he leaned down, covering her, putting himself between her and the world, until his lips, soft and full, brushed hers. She sucked in a breath and pressed herself into his chest as he curled over her, opened his mouth, and their tongues began to dance—so lightly, darting and falling away—that her skin tingled, all her blood rushing forward to flush and warm, seeking his touch.

He sighed her name and one of his hands slid down her hair to the hollow of her back, pulling her against him, the other fisted in her hair. His breath thundered against her cheek.

Sasha trembled. She'd waited for this for so long. Yearned for it. Never quite felt right after he'd been gone—and never quite wanted this with anyone else.

The kiss deepened, and so did her breathing. Her heart pounding so hard she was afraid he'd feel it in his ribs.

Then he started walking her forward, pulling her with him as he backed towards the huge bed she hadn't noticed when she was standing there, staring at the rose.

Her breath came even faster. Goosebumps prickled her skin as his fingers curled into her back, fisting her jacket—wait. Jacket? She was in a ballgown.

"Sasha…"

She deepened the kiss, tilting her head, a tiny whimper breaking in her throat.

Zev groaned and it vibrated against her breasts, making her nipples stand up hard. She clung to his shoulders, one hand buried in his hair, pulling him towards her.

"Sasha… please…"

"Yes," she whispered back, pulling back far enough to meet his eyes so he'd see that she was sure. That she was serious. That she needed him.

But when she opened her eyes, the room was black. She couldn't see the warm light from the lamp in the corner anymore, or the fluffy cover on the bed. She couldn't even see Zev.

She could only feel him.

The first tendril of fear began to twist in her chest.

"Zev?"

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here. I've got you."

"Zev, I can't see you."

"It's okay, baby. I've got you. I'm here. Just relax."

Then suddenly his warmth was gone and she was hit with the shock of cold. She sat bolt upright, gasping and blinking, the hand she threw to her chest making whirring noises against the canvas of her snow jacket where her gloved fingers rubbed it.

Wait… jacket?

"Thank God you're okay, Sasha," he said, his voice tense and breathless. "Thank God."

She blinked again and the first thing that came into focus was Zev's eyes. He was crouched in front of her, his shoulders wide and rigid, his eyes fixed on hers bright in the warm light of… of…

She blinked again and looked around, and her mouth dropped open.

"Zev," she whispered. "Where the hell are we?"