And Sheron had been unworthy of such esteem and affection.
"Others have been sent to the mortal plane after Cross," Sheron said grimly, both hands clasped tightly around the hilt of his sword. "Powerful Elders. He will require assistance."
"We're not as out of the loop as you might think," Connor scoffed, circling his adversary with slow, steady steps. "And while you're in a sharing mood, why don't you explain what that thing was in the Temple?"
Sheron stilled, his sword lowered. "I warned them. I told them the system was untried and unsecured. It was too risky, but they were determined."
"What are you talking about?" Connor's gaze narrowed on the Elder, his wariness increasing. He'd seen this ruse before, the one where a combatant pretended to lose interest in the fight only to strike with the element of surprise.
Sheron paused mid-step. "The cavern was our primary means of controlling the flow between the mortal plane and the Twilight, but we knew that such heavy reliance on one location left us too vulnerable. We altered a room in the Temple of the Elders in an effort to attract Medium slipstreams. It worked, to a lesser extent. But the Temple is not secure from Nightmares."
"It isn't?" That struck a deep cord of unease in Connor. He had always looked at the shining white edifice of the Temple and felt peace. It was untainted by their enemy and filled with the history of his people in the Hall of Knowledge. While he'd never personally made use of the information there, it had calmed him to think of it.
"No." Sheron pushed back the sodden shank of pure white hair that fell over his brow. "The Nightmares have grown more desperate. The older ones have learned to stalk their prey, rather than simply attack in a frenzy. Every shadow you see is suspect and only the cavern is safe, though we are not certain why. Something to do with the water, I suspect."
"Maybe it's too damn cold," Connor suggested, shivering in the gentle breeze. With a wave of his hand, he heated the air around him, forming an insulating pocket. Outside of that immediate space, the velocity of the breeze picked up exponentially and the sky darkened with roiling clouds.
"We do not know, Bruce. I tried to dissuade the others, but they felt the risk was worth the gain."
"And what exactly is the risk?"
Sheron's lips pursed. "That Nightmares will…"
Thunder cracked and blackness descended in an all-consuming blanket. The Elder screamed and the clouds began to take shape, reconstituting into the familiar form of Nightmares.
Thousands of them…
Connor awoke in terror.
He jackknifed upward in the bed, startled by his surroundings, his brain taking a moment too long to register where he was. His heart raced, his skin was coated in sweat.
The mortal plane. He was in hell.
His chest heaved with labored breaths as he swung his legs off the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands.
Nightmares, the bastards.
As if the smells of this world weren't bad enough, now he had Nightmares to deal with.
Disgusted, Connor pushed heavily to his feet and stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He opened the door to the guest room he'd selected after seeing that the other two bedrooms were occupied. One was the master suite, the other smelled like the hottie who had opened the front door to him.
His mouth curved grimly. At least there was something- someone-he liked about this place.
Stacey was round, ripe, curvy perfection with those full hips, shapely ass, and big tits. She was the kind of woman a man could hang on to and ride hard.
His dick swelled at the thought and he moaned softly, his blood beginning to simmer from the combination of too long abstaining, too shitty a day, and too fine a woman. He wanted to wrap his fist into that riot of tight black corkscrew curls and possess that lush red mouth of hers. Even with teary green eyes and red nose, her heart-shaped face had been alluring in the basest sense. He wanted to see it flushed, glistening with sweat, and etched with the tormented need for orgasm. If he hadn't felt as if he was dying, he would have cheered her up right.
Of course, better late than never. He needed cheering up, too. He felt torn-angry and disillusioned and lost. It was the last that affected him most. He prized a firm foundation. Aidan was the adventurer. Connor liked his life well-defined and without surprises. He didn't like this sensation of free-falling and knew just how to find a spot of peace in a frenetic world.
That spot was inside Stacey.
And she was downstairs waiting for him. Although she didn't know it yet.
Connor went into the guest bathroom and took a cold shower. It felt like heaven to wash up after the day he'd had so far and when he stepped out into the hallway a few minutes later, he felt better contained. Less restless and more in control.
He thought about getting dressed before heading downstairs in search of food, then decided against it. He didn't feel like putting his uniform back on until it was cleaned and as far as he was concerned, the towel wrapped around his hips made him decent. His lack of attire might just rile Stacey, too, which could be the impetus needed to get her into his bed. Passion of any kind could be turned to passion of the sexual kind, with the right persuasion. And Stacey already wanted him-those long, tight nipples proved it-even if she didn't wantto want him.
He'd fulfilled enough human fantasies to know that sometimes women denied their desires for reasons that had nothing to do with the sex itself. Whether a man had a good job, liked kids, was faithful, a decent cook, knew how to fix cars, or wore a suit to work-the reasons for saying "no" to sex were way more numerous than the reasons for saying "yes."
Guardians didn't have such unrelated concerns. Sex was comfort and desire and a necessary slaking of needs. It promoted health and elevated moods. It was as necessary as breathing, and although some Guardians partnered permanently, most kept their options open.
He needed comfort now and forgetfulness, and if he gave Stacey more reasons to say "yes" than he did to say "no," he could have her. And he wanted her. Badly.
As Connor stepped off the last stair onto the marble tile of the foyer, he shot a quick glance at the decorative window above the sliding glass patio door. The reddish tint to the sunlight told him it was late afternoon, and a glance at the cable box above the television affirmed that it was a little past six o'clock.
"I'm not trying to guilt-trip you!" Stacey protested hotly.
Who the hell was visiting?