Free Disenchanted by A.R. Miller Page A

be there—I’m dead, right?—rips across my cheek. I can’t breathe. Believable, considering my chest cavity lay open.
    The ear splintering noise continues as the tingle of long unused limbs crawls along arms and legs. Something cold and wet presses against my lips, little puffs of air tickling then something akin to wet sandpaper rakes across my throbbing cheek leaving a damp trail.
    I force sleep–crusted eyes open and meet golden green ones, the licking stops. A great ball of grey and white fur rumbles in satisfaction and I wrap my arms around him as I sit up. A dream, just a dream. I crush my savior until tiny pinpricks bite into me and he squirms free, the white fur on his head tinged pink. My cheek stings something awful as salty tears mingle with blood. I can’t be mad. He did what he had to, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting like hel. Thank the Gods C.C. needs me to feed him and clean his litter box.
    He sits at the edge of the couch, watching me cry. I can’t help a teary smile as he lays a paw on my leg, his little toes flexing. I stroke his back and he moves onto my lap, reaches up, and pats my unmarked cheek. My throat feels like I swallowed a pincushion as I choke out a thank you and cradle him against me.
    Afraid to go to bed, I’d fallen asleep on the couch. The TV unbearably loud as some health nut rambles about the benefits of the exercise machine they’re hawking. Fumbling for the remote, I flip it off. The Captain sits beside me watching for signs of instability.
    “That was some nightmare, thanks.” I gently touch my cheek.
    His answer tangled up in a yawn, obviously satisfied I’m back to some sort of normality, stretches out closing his eyes. Lucky cat. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep, might as well get a start on the day.
    Coffee brewing, I check out the damage done to my cheek. Not deep, just enough to break the skin, bright blood against white skin. That dream was straight out of the Brothers Grimm. Unlike the modern day interpretations, there was no happy ending. C.C. deserves a special treat today, even if I will have to use a glamour to cover this up at work.
    Wavering shades of grey gather around me, reflected in the mirror. Spinning around I find nothing, obviously leftover remnants of my dream. Turning I lean against the sink and stare at myself.
    “It was just a dream, brought on by everything that’s been happening. The shadow figure is my imaginary friend from childhood, my subconscious fleeing to a safe place.”
    Yeah, right , answers that little voice of reason as I open the cabinet, grabbing gauze and peroxide. The stinging pain as it touches the scratches is a small price to pay. That’s twice he’s brought me out of a nightmare. Maybe the little pig does care.
    Peroxide splashes as my hand jerks. The burning itch of energy tumbles over my skin, signaling an attempted breach of the shields barring the entrance to my living quarters.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
     
    I know I turned the deadbolt. Only two people have a key, Dara and I. Neither of us would have set off the alarms.
    The blood pulses in my ears. What if whoever it is makes it upstairs past the tangle of wards and spells? Instinct says run and hide in the closet. The inherent need to defend my territory, says barge on down and kick some invader ass.
    Whoever is on the other side of that door is possibly strong enough to push through all the safeguards placed on the building. Commonsense says nothing good will come of going down there.
    I practically tiptoe into the living room, like that’s going to make a difference. My not–so–friendly visitor probably already knows I’m home.
    C.C. has his nose pressed against the crack below the door, rear end wiggling with the beginnings of a pounce. He turns toward me, eyes narrowed, letting out a horrendous yowl before charging, pushing me away from the door.
    “Hey.” I take a step back. “Contrary to your beliefs, I’m not