The air changed again. Like something was pushing at Malachi. But whatever it was had no affect on Malachi. He felt like he was simply walking through ankle-deep water. Chilled, but nothing else.

Malachi c.o.c.ked a brow and smiled. "Was that supposed to do something?"

A look crossed the man's face, a look of sheer, utter disbelief. His jaw dropped and for a moment, he just gaped at Malachi.

Malachi lazily scratched at his chest as he murmured, "Well, I guess it was. Am I supposed to cringe in terror? I am no beaten, broken woman."

"Perhaps not woman, but beaten and broken, that you will be soon enough," the man rasped and he lunged for Malachi.

Logically, Malachi realized the man was moving with a speed that was uncanny. But his eyes followed the man with ease and he dodged to the side and came up behind his opponent, locking an arm around the man's thick neck and squeezing. It had little effect-his struggles did not slow from lack of air and that was indeed rather odd.

However, the man could not break away either. It was clear he had no clue about fighting. He could not even manage to break Malachi's grip. Malachi reached for the knife he had seen at the man's waist and he jerked it free.

Then he shoved the man away and braced himself as the man spun around and lunged for Malachi. He hooked a foot in between his opponent's ankles and tripped him. As the man went down, Malachi pounced on him, using his knees to pin the man's arms down.

Pressing the knife to the man's throat, Malachi whispered, "Beaten, am I?"

"You cannot kill me-I am no mortal man," he rasped.

"No?" Malachi asked curiously. He jerked the knife a little, watching as blood welled and began to flow. "You bleed. A man bleeds, he can die."

Eyes half wild with fear and fury, the man spat, "That puny knife cannot kill me. Already it heals."

Much to Malachi's displeasure, he could see the truth of those words. Even though it was full dark, he was able to see that the tiny flesh wound was already knitting together, until all that remained was a bead of blood that still gleamed wet.

"And if I use this knife to hack your head from your shoulders?" Malachi asked casually.

The man's dark eyes flashed. Indeed, they actually glowed and the air grew ripe with the stink of fear.

"So you cannot heal that wound, eh? What else?" he mused, pushing back a little and tossing the knife up and down.

"Wood through his heart."

Alys' voice was quiet and Malachi narrowed his eyes as he looked up to find her standing just a few feet away, one slim hand resting against a tree trunk.

"b.i.t.c.h!" the man howled, struggling with renewed strength.

Malachi reached down and slammed the man's head into the ground with all his strength.

"Wood will kill him," she said softly, and then she swayed.

"You will be silent," the man rasped.

But Alys laughed. "Jacob, I do believe you are too terrified to control me," she said. Her eyes glinted hard and bright and she smiled, a feral looking grin that seemed out of place on her gentle face.

"What else will kill him?" Malachi asked, caressing the wooden hilt of the knife and smiling coldly down at Jacob.

"Fire. Sunlight. Weapons of silver. Or you could hack his head from his body. Perhaps that would be a little messy." She pursed her lips, considering.

Without even glancing at the sky Malachi said, "Sunrise is too far away. And I would guess it is just as deadly to us. I do not fancy having to wash his stinking blood away, so we will leave his head where it is."

"Let me go!" Jacob demanded and that pushing came once more, harder, more forceful.

"No." With that simple reply, Malachi reversed the knife in his grip, closing his hand around the blade with little care that it would slice his flesh. Lifting his hand high, he brought the worn, rounded hilt of the knife down. Bone cracked. Under the force of the blow, flesh broke and Malachi buried the knife's hilt inside Jacob's chest.

He waited until he saw the light of life fade from Jacob's eyes before he dared to look away. "Is he dead?"

But Alys could not answer. She was too busy sobbing.

Chapter Four

The dream...

In his sleep, while the sun burned overhead, Malachi groaned. She was there. The dream woman. Many seasons had pa.s.sed since she had last come to him, but this day, she had come.

When he had collapsed down onto the piled furs next to Alys, she had already been sleeping.

The sun's rising came hard on her and she could not remain awake as the sun began to brighten the eastern sky. Malachi could stay awake far longer and had been out hunting, stockpiling more furs for the coming winter.

After so many seasons in this land, he knew how harsh and brutal the winters were. Malachi would be prepared. While the cold would not kill him or Alys, it was b.l.o.o.d.y uncomfortable.

"Why do you come to me now?" he asked as his dream woman approached him from behind. He did not need to turn and see her to know it was her. He recognized the scent of her flesh, warm and sweet, as she moved closer.

She trailed her fingers up his spine, resting a pale, slim hand on his shoulder.

I feel a change.

With a snort, Malachi muttered, "That figures." In all the years since Alys had Changed him, his dream woman had never truly deserted him, but she stayed away for long, long periods at a time.

Malachi would almost have believed she was jealous of Alys.

There was little question to him, though. If she came to him, he would leave Alys. He would find her a protector and he would leave, spend his life with this woman who had haunted him for years and years.

It was empty knowledge, though-he knew she would never come.

And he could not see him walking away from Alys, this sweet woman who needed him, just so he could be alone when he dreamed of her.

Alys was real-she was flesh and blood. She needed him.

His dream lover was just that...a lover only in his dreams. He could not leave Alys for that.

Truly, he rarely needed to even think on it. While he was with Alys, the dream woman rarely came.

He had even learned to a.s.sociate her appearances as a bad omen. When she appeared, something dark was coming.

But Malachi did not want to dwell on it-it had been far too long and he needed her. Turning, he pulled her against him. Her mouth opened under his and Malachi thrust his tongue into the honeyed depths, gorging on the sweet taste.

She wore strange clothes, with fastenings and closures that confounded him. He had long since given up trying to deal with them and simply tore them away.

Malachi-there is something I need to tell you...

"Later," he whispered as he tore away the weird trousers she wore. The tough blue cloth clung to her legs like a second skin, cupping her boyishly slim hips in a way that drove him mad. Shoving her thighs apart, he sprawled between her legs and lowered his mouth to the heated mound of her s.e.x.

He licked his tongue up her slit, opening the wet folds. Her hands fisted in his hair and he could not stop himself from looking up the slender length of her body, trying to see her face. All he could see was a pale circle that seemed out of focus and the longer he stared at her, the less he could see.

Just once, he thought feverishly as he plunged his tongue inside her p.u.s.s.y. Just once I would like to see you.

Her hands fisted in his hair and she sighed. Her voice was low and rough as she murmured, "And I, you."

Startled, Malachi pulled away, staring down at her. The sweet tang of her filled his mouth and his c.o.c.k throbbed between his thighs, aching and heavy, as hot as molten metal. "You cannot see me," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

She sighed, a rough, shaky sound. "Never. I would give all I have to see your eyes, just once."

With a rough groan, Malachi settled atop her body, using his knees to hold her thighs wide as he pushed inside her. So it was not all one-sided. She was not trying to drive him near insane. He tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her hungrily. With his eyes closed, he could almost capture an image of her, or what he thought she looked like.

"What have either of us done to be cursed like this?" he muttered. Malachi slid a hand down the outside of one sleek thigh, catching her leg behind her knee and drawing it up over his hip.

With his weight pressing her down into the furs, he drove her hard, riding her until she cried out into his mouth. Her s.e.x gloved him so snug and smooth, tightening around him as she climaxed. Those little convulsing caresses had him spilling his seed inside her, his c.o.c.k jerking.

But he did not slow down, did not pull away. Malachi lowered his head to rake his teeth along her neck. His fangs sc.r.a.ped across the fragile shield of her skin and he licked at the blood that welled there. She shivered under him, cupping a hand over the back of his head and pulling him closer. He struck then, seeking out the pulsing vein in her neck and sinking his fangs deep.

Her blood was wild. Magickal. Sweet. So d.a.m.ned potent, he suspected if he ever truly fed from her, outside of dreams, it might just leave him drunk.

As her climax rolled through her, her body went limp and lax under his. Malachi sank down atop her, resting his head between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he pondered that last thought. "Perhaps it is just as well that we never meet. If we ever did, I have a feeling I would cease to think around you."

Trailing a finger down her throat, he added, "Or I would be so addicted to you that nothing and n.o.body else would matter. Ever."

Her arms looped around his shoulders and he could feel her fingers tangling in his hair. "Why do you think we will never meet?"

Malachi resisted the urge to look up at her face. He would see nothing. "We have not met in the years you have been coming to me."

"You have a lot of years left before you," she drawled.

"And how can you know that?"

But before she could answer, something tore Malachi out of his sleep. The sun had already set.

Alys was gone. He frowned absently as he slid a hand down the spot where she always slept.

There was something she had not told him. His dream lady. She had told him there was something they needed to talk about. He sat up on the piled furs and looped his arms around his legs, staring into the darkness before him.

Against his belly, his c.o.c.k still throbbed, full and aching from the dream.

Why do you think we will never meet?

The sound of her voice whispered through his mind and Malachi glanced down at his rigid flesh. "You may be wise to wish we never do, witch," he muttered. "For if we do, it is possible you will not be able to walk for a week."

Possibly longer. It would take years to satisfy this burning need.

Rising to his feet, Malachi padded towards the small stream that ran through the back of the cave. The stream was part of the reason they had chosen this particular cave when they came to this land. Mountainous, green, it possessed deep valleys and endless stretches of forest. A beautiful land.

But before he reached the water, he heard a sound. A scream.

His fangs dropped and he whirled, heading down the twisted pathway that would lead to the entrance of the cave. Malachi paused only long enough to grab the bracae he had shucked before heading to bed. It had been his experience that helping a frightened woman sometimes only scared her more if he was naked as the day he was born.

d.a.m.ned warring people.

The tribes that inhabited these lands were a d.a.m.ned nuisance at times. They were arrogant, proud, constantly seeking new lands. They even traveled south to war with the people Malachi had been enslaved by. That should have made him smile, because they did much damage.

However, they also brought back slaves. Whenever they conquered a people, survivors were made into slaves.

And that infuriated him to no end.

It had been a woman screaming earlier, one who had been taken as a slave and she had tried to escape. But even though it had not taken him long to reach them, by the time he had got there, it was too late. The woman had thrown herself in the bitter cold water of the river. The men chasing her had tried to get her out, but the current pulled her away.

Malachi had found her body. It had taken nearly half the night. She had been a pretty thing, but there had been bruises on her flesh that made him see red. Rape and slavery or death.

What a choice to make.

He would be paying those men a visit, come nightfall, but the girl's pale face would still haunt him.

There was still some distance to go when he smelled the smoke. He also felt it-pain. Burning and hot, like flames licking at his flesh.

But the screams he heard were not his own.

It was Alys.

Nothing left to even say good-bye to. Malachi released the holy man, watching as the old gray-haired b.a.s.t.a.r.d fell back on the pile of straw he slept on. It was the local priest-he did not belong to the man who had been called Messiah back where Malachi had been held slave.

This one, like these people, worshipped trees, the mountains, nearly anything and everything found in the world.