Free 2. Darkness in the Blood Master copy MS 5 by Vicki Keire

probably going to stick around for a while. The universe had screwed things up with Abigail. Instead of being the cat that someone brought home, she was the cat who brought creatures home.  “What is my brother’s cat doing in my dream?”
    He cracked a contented eye. “Actually, this is my dream. I’ve just pulled you into it. And even in the Dreamtime, cats do what they damn well please.”
    I smiled a little, at that. “Why should they be any different in dreams, right?”
    He smiled back, laughter bubbling up for the first time. But it softened into something else. Something that reminded me I stood in my living room in my pajamas with a boy who was not my boyfriend.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked, jumping up. I remembered Mrs. Alice’s Foretelling. Three is never balanced. When he touched my elbow, I jumped.
    “I need to get back to bed,” I said.
    “Of course.” He turned back to the record player. “Just wait for a moment, if you don’t mind.”
    “Why?” I watched as he selected another record and slipped it carefully from its sleeve. The Strangest Colored Lights . A favorite. Of course he’d have to have good taste in music. Way to go, Caspia.
    “I’m a Dreamwalker. It’s one of my gifts. I’d prefer to put you back to sleep myself, rather than have you go back in your bedroom.” He changed vinyl carefully, breathing deeply as if smelling something delicious when the music began to play.
    I’ll bet you would, I thought. “Why?” I asked out loud.
    “Most people don’t react well to the sight of their own motionless bodies. It’s rather like looking at your corpse.”
    “Oh.” I couldn’t think of an objection to that. I didn’t want to see my almost-corpse, or Ethan’s either, for that matter.
    The ink of his tattoos shimmered in the faint blue light that enveloped the rest of him. “You haven’t run into a friend of mine, by any chance?” he asked casually. He might as well have been asking for the salt and pepper, his tone was so deadpan. “A bald man carrying a sword wrapped in a leather jacket?”
    “Um, no.” I tried to suppress the laughter and failed. “Nope, definitely not. Even in Whitfield, word of something like that would get around.”
    “You’re serious.” He raised a single black eyebrow in my direction before turning his back to look at records again.
    That’s when I saw it: a long, deep gouge across his back, like a single huge claw had taken a swipe at him.
    “Oh my God,” I swore softly. I found myself right against him, my hands on either side of the gouge. It didn’t seem to be bleeding, but still… “What would… uh. Wow. Let me put something…”
    He tensed under my hands. “When a Hellhound takes a swipe at you, the wound pretty much cauterizes itself.” He spun under my hands, his dark eyes bright with sharp silver shards. “Besides, this is just a dream. Remember?”
    He had a symbol inked over his heart, something familiar, if I just tried a little harder to place it… It was the last thing I saw before my alarm woke me to one of the worst headaches of my life.

Chapter Eight:
    Unwelcome Substitutions

    They say one of the first signs of serious addiction is lying about your habit and hiding the evidence.
    Unfortunately for me, Logan decided to take my coffee away the morning of one of the worst hangovers of my life. He gave me an innocent, puppy-eyed look when I accused him of trying to teach me a lesson. “But Caspia,” he said smugly, handing me a mug of healthy green tea. “Your body needs anti-oxidants and rehydration. Coffee does the opposite.”
    Even if my head didn’t feel like it had been colonized by evil elves with pick axes and a brass band, I needed my early morning caffeine fix more than ever. I had a brutal schedule this semester, including back-to-back studio classes and three lecture series. As luck would have it, the most boring class of all was also my earliest. I needed coffee. How else was I supposed to get