Dreamwalker, p.1
DreamWalker, page 1
DreamWalker
A Touch of Magick (Book 2)
Savannah Kade
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Published by Griffyn Ink
www.griffynink.com
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Copyright © 2016 Griffyn Ink
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
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For ordering information or special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Griffyn Ink at Mail@GriffynInk.com.
Contents
Join Savannah
Also by Savannah Kade
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Afterword
Preview of LoveSpelled (Touch of Magick - Book 3)
About the Author
Never miss a sale or a free book! Keep up with Savannah HERE.
Novels by Savannah Kade:
The WILDER Books:
Our Song
Heartstrings
Love Notes
Music & Lyrics
The Wilder Complete Book Set
That Night in Nashville
Georgia Grace
The TOUCH OF MAGICK Series:
WishCraft
DreamWalker
LoveSpelled
SoulFire
ShadowKiss
The Touch of Magick Series: Complete Set
The AGAINST ALL ODDS Series:
Steal My Heart
Call Me Yours
Ask Me to Stay
Promise Me Always
Against All Odds Complete Set
The BREATHLESS Series:
Gifted
Perfect
Ruined
Rebel
Lucky
Charmed
Saved
Dreamer
The DARK FALLS Series
Dark Falls - Lori Ryan
Dark Secrets - Savannah Kade
Dark Legacy - Trish McCallan
Dark Nightmares - Becca Jameson
Dark Terror - Sandra Owens
Dark Burning - Lori Ryan
Dark Echoes - Savannah Kade
Dark Memories - Sandra Owens
Dark Rage - Becca Jameson
Dark Tidings - Trish McCallan
Dark Obsession - Lisa-Marie Cabrelli
Dark Passion - Lori Ryan
Chapter 1
Yasmin froze at the sound of the gruff voice, knowing what the man wanted without even having to turn around.
Fear rushed through her, adrenaline kicked in, and that was bad. Fear meant she was out of control. But how was she supposed to overcome fear when she instinctively knew—felt in her bones—that this man wanted to kill her?
Likely he'd hidden in between the cars and jumped up after she walked by, but that wasn't important. What was important was that she hadn't seen him, hadn't been on the lookout. The day was going far too well; she should have been more alert.
Inside her head, his thoughts cut through her own like cars careening down a busy street. His need to kill her fought with his desire to not pull the trigger. The pressure surged like a headache. She could almost feel her own hand shaking like his was.
None of that mattered. What mattered was she could not die like this. She would not get shot down by a man who wouldn’t face her. She could not leave this as her legacy. For herself, she would fight.
"Aunt Meeni?" The little voice at her side was exactly why she not only had to fight, she had to win.
Her sister's daughters clung to her, her charges for the week, after their mother dropped them off for a spur-of-the-moment business trip. Yasmin would not get killed in front of them in a grocery store parking lot for a gang initiation. She knew that’s exactly what this was. Exactly what everyone in Los Angeles feared most. But she was afraid of something else. She would not leave her sister that way and she would not leave the girls scarred from watching their aunt die.
Squeezing each small hand, she whispered. "It's going to be okay. But you do not turn around until I tell you to. Tell me you understand."
The gang kid behind her must have understood what she was doing, and he would have let her do it, too. Instead he was prodded by the second one. Older, harder, practically soulless, she felt him there now as well, along with several other pairs of eyes watching her from various points out in the distance allowed by the parking lot and the street beyond. In her bones, she could almost feel the purr of the getaway car engine.
In her mind, she heard the second voice as he applied pressure, though she was really too far away to catch the sound with her ears. "Do it now. Don't tap out on me, man."
The first one yelled out to her. "Bitch! Turn around!!"
The little hands flinched in her own. She heard Leyla, the seven-year-old say "yes." She understood. In her peripheral vision, Yasmin saw Maryam nod, too.
So Yasmin barked at them, "Get down!" as she jerked around to face her attacker.
Spinning counterclockwise, the universal direction for 'no,' she brought her left arm up, elbow out, palm toward the kid with the gun. With her right first finger she unconsciously drew a circle on the pavement encompassing both herself and, more importantly, the girls.
She was chanting even before she started to move. "In this circle, out of reach, a place where evil cannot breach—"
There was more to it, but the gun cracked as her hand passed in front of her face, blocking her view of the kid, his weapon, his hate, and his own fear.
As she turned, she caught enough of a glimpse to know he was dressed in baggy black clothes with streaks of blue on them. She saw the one standing behind him, whispering in his ear, though she could see neither face. Mostly, she saw the barrel of the gun pointed at her. She'd chanted faster, but clearly not fast enough.
He must have missed, she certainly wasn't dead. The palm of her hand stung, but that wasn't enough to stop her.
More petrified than she'd ever been in her life, and far beyond conscious decision making, Yasmin let her anger flood her. Pure emotion was needed and she had it in spades right now. She bared her teeth and hissed out all her air at him. It was a powerful move, one she had not planned. Now both her hands came up in front of her, palm out as she shoved whatever power she had gathered at the two who threatened her and hers.
In her mind's eye, she saw the gun glowing red and never questioned it as the gang kid screamed and dropped the weapon.
"Bitch!" The second man started to raise another weapon and she directed her focus at that gun.
Her hiss was turning into a yell as she fell into primal instincts, using everything she had to stay alive. She was pushing out another surge of power and praying to all four corners. But his gun didn't heat like the other.
She could see his face clearly as he aimed right for her head.
"Police!"
The new, deep voice cracked through the haze of her fright from off to her left. "Put your weapon down or I will shoot."
A sharp noise registered in the back of her head, high-pitched and long. Something moved to her left, multicolored and leading with a long arm, but she didn't look at it. The threat was still in front of her.
The first gang kid was holding his wrist, and she had the satisfaction of a split second thinking she'd burned that asshole. But losing her focus could mean losing her life here, so she kept her hands up where they were, her vision filled with her own long brown arms, charm bracelets, manicured nails.
She didn't look as powerful as she was. . . . as she was learning that she was.
The gun in front of her wavered, but Yasmin stood her ground.
Beside her, the man who had yelled out he was police crept forward. Once again he implored the criminal to drop his weapon. Once again he was met with no real response except frustration.
The high pitched noise got louder and suddenly the two in front of her broke and ran. They darted between cars and were out of sight before she could register what had really happened.
Keeping her hands up, staying firmly planted, and scanning the scene for further threats, Yasmin fought the confusion pushing in on her from every angle.
She couldn't sense anyone’s thoughts now. Beside her, the multicolored man ran into the scene in between her and where the others had stood. Voices raised in a cacophony off to her right and she heard car doors slam shut as the high pitched squeal started up again. This time she identified it as car tires.
Were they leaving?
No one was in front of her any more. She couldn't see any guns, no
Yasmin didn't move. Unsure what to do, she tried finishing the protection incantation, whispering the words. "In this circle, out of reach, a place where evil cannot breach. Strong as steel my heart has been, my foe without, I'm safe within . . ."
She couldn't remember the third verse.
Yasmin blinked. She knew this one. Why couldn't she find the third verse? The circle was not yet complete; she needed to complete the circle! What if they came back?
"Miss?"
I am . . . It started with I am . . . Good Goddess! What came next?
"Ma'am?"
A hand waved in front of her eye, breaking her stare and snapping her attention to the man in front of her. The multicolored man. Yasmin frowned at him.
He wore a pale purple, button down shirt, almost but not quite lavender. He had on gray slacks and two cloth grocery bags still slung over his shoulder, each in a different bold color. His teal tie was matched only in brightness by the blue of his eyes and the gold of his hair. Yasmin stared.
He looked concerned. "Ma'am? I'm a police officer."
Only then did she see that he was holding a badge, trying to show her who he was, why he was talking to her. Empirically, she understood that. But he'd put his gun away. Traded it for the silver and gold shield.
She frowned again. "Why didn't you shoot them?"
He ignored her question, but not the conversation. "Are you all right?"
She nodded in response, starting to feel a little fuzzy.
He pointed behind her. "How about your little girls?"
"I don't have any children." As soon as the words left her mouth, she gasped as though the sudden intake of breath would pull them back in. "Leyla! Maryam!"
Dropping to her knees on the harsh pavement, she gathered the small girls into her arms. "Oh, babies!"
They had only begun to move, staying where she had put them, doing as they were told, until she released them. Now they clung to her like monkeys, like the frightened kids they were. Her voice tumbled out of her mouth, platitudes repeating in a chant of their own. "It's okay now, it's okay now." She rubbed one hand over each of their heads. Their dark hair smooth and silky beneath her fingers.
It was only then that she felt the sting in her left palm. Only then that she realized what she'd done.
She was glad she was facing away from Officer Multicolor. She'd used the craft out in the open. Oh shit. What had she done?
Her brain paused, what had her other options been?
That street thug had jumped out at her and her nieces with the sole purpose of achieving his first kill tonight. She'd heard his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken them to her. Honestly, she didn't care one shred that he was conflicted about it. He'd held a gun on her and frightened her and the girls. He'd even fired at her.
She didn't have the words.
"Ma'am?"
A hand fell to her shoulder, but quickly lifted when she jumped at the touch.
"Can you tell me if you’re okay? If your girls are physically all right?"
The tone was soothing. Just a little low, just a little gravelly. As though he possessed some talent in the craft himself, she found herself wanting to do exactly as he said.
She grabbed one of the girls' hands in each of hers and held on tight. Then she stood up and faced him. She looked him in the eyes and nodded. "Yes, we are physically okay. Just shaken up."
Leyla piped up. "He made us drop our ice cream."
Looking down past her older niece, Yasmin saw the crumpled bag. The puddle of orange juice, the brown of chocolate starting to pool in the L.A. heat. She pushed her lips together to keep the small laughs in her from becoming hysterical.
A mental list started to form in her head. She needed to tell Tristan. She needed to get more ice cream. Needed to find a new grocery store in another neighborhood.
Turning back to Officer Multicolor, Yasmin found him looking her up and down, probably checking to see if the fired bullet made contact and if she was still really upright or just held together by shock.
He must have declared her okay, because he started to reach into his pocket and only then seemed to realize he still had his grocery bags slung over his shoulder. Setting them on the pavement, he looked her in the eye.
"I'm Detective Luke Salzone with the LAPD. I'm going to call this in and get more officers here if you're all right."
He seemed to be waiting for her, so she smiled. "Oh, I'm okay!"
She was looking into the darkening blue of his eyes as the sparkles started crowding the edges of her vision. Her stomach pitched right before everything went black.
He caught her just as she fell. Thank goodness he'd set down his grocery bags.
Luke smiled at the irony. When he'd seen her in the store he'd wondered what it would take to make her swoon for him. Not in his wildest imagination had he envisioned this . . . not her and her two adorable little girls getting shot at in his neighborhood grocery parking lot.
He knelt, one arm around her torso, one cradling her head as he tried to balance her. She sure wasn't putting any effort in; she’d blinked out cold. In an attempt to get her head down on the same level as her heart, he set her on the pavement, her hands listlessly rolling beside her. For a moment, he was thinking he'd just lay her down, it wasn't all that clean, but she was passed out and people could be washed. Then again, if he ever wanted any chance with her, laying her on the blacktop of a grocery store in Los Angeles was a surefire way to guarantee that nothing ever happened. He probably didn't stand a chance anyway as he was now associated with what was most likely the worst memory of her life. Luke certainly hoped she hadn't been through worse.
He looked up at the little girls watching him. As they eyed him sideways, he remembered to smile. "Honey? Can you hand me . . ." he looked frantically around— "that blue bag? Empty the groceries out so I can use it for a pillow."
They did as he asked, albeit warily. The older girl held it out to him, trying to complete the task assigned, but also clearly trying not to make any physical contact with him. Taking the bag, he looked up from where he was frowning at the woman in his arms and smiled again. "Thank you."
He tucked the makeshift pillow under her head and tapped at the side of her face. She didn't come around and he didn't want to tap harder, so he just stood watch over her and scanned the parking lot.
He wanted to pay attention to her and see if he could get those whiskey-colored eyes to open. See if she would smile. He'd seen her light up in the store while she and the girls were picking out pizza fixings and ice cream. But right now there was too much to do.
For whatever reason the Del Sur boys had picked her to be their initiate's kill. It hadn't gone well, and his experience with Del Sur was that they were tenacious. If you screwed with them, you got back tenfold whatever you gave. There was every possibility they were circling the neighborhood, ready to finish the hit. Squealing wheels only meant they were gone right now. They could come back just as fast as they'd left.
Without taking his eyes from the street, he spoke to the girls. "Can you kneel down by your mommy? See if you can get her to wake up?"
They obeyed but still looked scared.
Shit, of course they were scared. There was nothing he could do about it right now.
He had to call this in. Then again, chances were, someone already had. There had been gunshots—and while that wasn't horribly uncommon in L.A. it wasn't common here at the Ralphs' grocery parking lot in Hollywood.
He scanned the area again, listened for wheels, shots, and didn't hear much. Traffic was going by on Melrose as though nothing had happened. No one came forward to help. Maybe because, while it felt like an hour, it had really only been a minute. Anyone who had seen anything was likely still cowering. The sad fact was, anyone who recognized the gang colors wouldn't say anything at all. So he didn't hold out hope for eyewitnesses.
