Authors: Pleasures of the Night
Silvia Day
LEASURES
of the
N
IGHT
Sylvia Day
This book is gratefully dedicated to super agents Pamela
Harty and Deidre Knight. Their mission, which they chose
to accept, was to get me where I wanted to go. They did so
beautifully. As my goals expand, they continue to do so.
Thank you so much, P & D.
Hugs!
This story was lovingly critiqued by the awesome Annette McCleave (
www.AnnetteMcCleave.com
). Thank you, Annette.
Lyssa was named after my test reader and friend, Alyssa Hurzeler. Thank you for your honesty.
Thank you, Rose Shapiro, for your editorial assistance and suggestions. You helped me tremendously.
Thanks to the Allure Authors (
www.AllureAuthors.com
) for cheering me on. This business can be tough. Your friendship and support make it easier.
And thank you to my editor, Erika Tsang, for signing on this series and having such enthusiasm for it. I’m grateful.
The woman beneath Aidan Cross was only moments away from…
Lyssa Bates glanced at the cat-shaped clock on the wall…
As sunlight flooded his vision, Aidan blinked and stared down…
Aidan lay on his back and looked up at the…
“You have broken one of our most sacred laws, Captain…
For an age now, the simulated lightening of the sky…
Aidan pushed himself up from the coarse carpet where he…
As icy shards tore into her flesh, Lyssa flailed in…
Aidan’s growling stomach broke the silence that wrapped them in…
Determined to tackle her gorgeous problem head on, Lyssa took…
“Who the hell are you?”
“So you’re keeping Chad on a leash while you figure…
It was JB’s arching spine and bristling hair that alerted…
“I’ve been looking for you, Captain.”
Aidan rolled to his side, taking Lyssa with him. On…
Connor felt Aidan withdraw his glaive from the scabbard on…
Lyssa watched the writhing black shadows with wide-eyed horror. They…
Stance wide and hands clenched at his lower back, Aidan…
The woman beneath Aidan Cross was only moments away from a stunning orgasm. Her throaty cries filled the air, urging their audience to draw closer.
After centuries of protecting women in this manner, he knew the signs and adjusted his thrusts accordingly. His lean hips rose and fell in tireless motion, stroking his cock through her creamy depths with unfailing skill. She gasped, scratched his skin, arched her back.
“Yes, yes, yes…”
The breathless pants made him smile, the power of her rapidly approaching climax filling the room with a glow only he could see. On the fringes of the Twilight, where the light of her passion met the dark of her inner fears, the Nightmares waited with palpable excitement. But he held them off.
He would deal with them in a moment.
Cupping her buttocks, Aidan angled her hips higher, so
that every deep thrust rubbed the root of his cock against her clit. She came with a cry, her cunt rippling in orgasm along the hard length of him, her body moving with a wild, reckless abandon she never displayed while awake.
He kept her there, suspended in rapture, absorbing the energy this dream created. He enhanced it, magnified it, sent it back through her. She began to sink into the deepest dream state, the most restful, far from the Twilight where she was vulnerable.
“Brad…” She sighed before drifting completely away.
Aidan was aware that this encounter was no more than a phantasm, a connection of minds. Their skin had touched only in her subconscious. For her, however, their lovemaking had seemed entirely real.
When he was certain she was safe, Aidan withdrew from her body and shed the skin of her fantasy. From beneath the façade of Brad Pitt, his true body emerged—growing taller, broader of shoulder, his hair changing to his natural close-cropped inky black, the blue of his irises darkening to their natural shade of translucent sapphire.
The Nightmares writhed in anticipation, their shadowy bodies undulating on the edge of the Dreamer’s consciousness. There were several of them tonight, and only one of him. As he summoned his glaive, Aidan’s grin was genuine. He loved it when they outnumbered him so greatly. Eons of fighting had left him with a grudge, and he relished every opportunity to take it out on Nightmares.
With practiced grace Aidan flexed his sword arm with sinuous movements, using the substantial weight of his blade to alter the focus of his muscles from sexual tension to the limberness of a warrior. Certain assets could be aug
mented in dreams, but facing multiple opponents required innate skill regardless.
When he was ready, he drawled, “Shall we?”
And with a powerful forward lunge, Aidan made the first fatal thrust.
“Did you have a good night, Captain Cross?”
Aidan shrugged and kept moving toward the Temple of the Elders, his black robes swirling around his ankles with every long stride. “Same as usual.”
Waving his farewell to the Guardian who had called out to him, Aidan passed beneath the massive torii gate into the open-air center courtyard. As his bare feet carried him silently across the cool stone floor, a gentle breeze ruffled his hair and teased his senses with its fragrance. Energized as he was, he could have remained in the field and fought longer, but the Elders forbade it.
For an age now they had insisted that every Guardian return to the Temple complex at regular intervals. They claimed it was to give them time to rest, but Aidan knew this wasn’t the entire reason. Guardians needed very little downtime. The archway behind him was the true purpose of the order to return. Huge and colored a shocking red, it was so imposing that it forced every Guardian to stare and read the warning engraved in the ancient language:
“Beware of the Key that turns the Lock.”
Due to lack of proof, he had begun to doubt the existence of the Key. Perhaps the legend was merely a tool to inspire fear, to urge the Guardians forward, to keep them on their toes and prevent them from becoming lax in their duties.
“Hi, Captain.”
He turned his head at the soft purr and met the dark eyes of Morgan, one of the Playful Guardians whose job it was to fill in dreams of surfing on the beach or weddings, among countless other joyous activities. Slowing, he altered his course to meet her where she peeked out from behind a fluted column of alabaster stone.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his mouth curved in an indulgent smile.
“The Elders are looking for us.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows rose. It was rarely a good thing to be summoned. “So you’re hiding? Clever girl.”
“Let’s frolic by the stream,” she suggested in a husky whisper, “and I’ll tell you what I heard.”
No fool he, Aidan nodded without hesitation. When a lovely Player was in the mood to be playful, one didn’t question the offer.
He led her stealthily away, descending from the raised marble platform to the grass beyond. Steadying Morgan down the sloping path to the heated stream below, Aidan took a moment to enjoy the pristine beauty of the new day and the panoramic vista of rolling green hills, bubbling streams, and raging waterfalls. Over the rise, his home waited. An image of sliding shoji doors and tatami mats over hardwood floors came into his mind. It was sparsely furnished, the colors muted, everything chosen with peace and tranquillity in mind. Small and intimate, it was his refuge—albeit a lonely one.
With a careless wave of his hand, he silenced the water so that a breathless hush weighted the air. He had no wish to strain his hearing or shout to be heard.
Discarding the robes of their respective stations—his
black to display his elevated rank, hers multicolored in honor of her frivolity—they sank naked into the steaming water. Resting against a small shelf of rock, Aidan closed his eyes and tugged his companion closer.
“It’s unusually quiet today,” he murmured.
“Because of Dillon.” Morgan curled into his side, her small breasts a delicious pressure against his skin. “He claimed to have found the Key.”
The news didn’t affect Aidan in any way. Every few centuries a Guardian fell prey to their desire to live the legend. It was nothing new, although the Elders took every mistaken discovery seriously.
“Which clue did he miss?” he asked, knowing that he personally would never miss one. Occasionally Dreamers would show some signs, but never all of them. If they had, he would kill them without question.
“His Dreamer couldn’t actually see his features, as Dillon thought. Turns out the Dreamer’s fantasy of how Dillon looked just happened to be very close in appearance to reality.”
“Ah.” The most common error, and one that was made more and more frequently. Dreamers didn’t have the ability to see into the Twilight, so they couldn’t discern the true features of the Guardians who spent time with them. Only the mythical Key could see them as they were. “But the other traits were there? Was he called by name?”
“Yes.”
“The Dreamer controlled the dream?”
“Yes.”
“The Nightmares seemed confused and disoriented?”
“Yep…” Turning her head, she licked his nipple, then
swam around to encase his hips between her widespread thighs.
He caught her by the waist and urged her against him. He was distracted, his physical actions more habitual than passion-driven. Deep affection for anyone was a luxury Elite Warriors could not afford. It was a weakness that made them vulnerable. “What does that have to do with you and me?”
Morgan ran damp fingers through his hair. “The Elders are now reinvigorated by the news. That so many mortals display such a proliferation of the traits leads them to believe the time has come.”
“And?”
“They’ve decided to send Elite Warriors, like you, to enter the dreams of those who resist us. My task is to work with the Nurturers to heal them once you’ve gained entry.”
Sighing his misery, Aidan dropped his head back gently against the stone. Some Dreamers shut away parts of themselves so securely, not even the Guardians could enter. Either they had been abused in some manner and blocked out the recollections, or they felt such guilt for certain past actions, they refused to recall them. Protecting Dreamers of that nature from the Nightmares was the most difficult task of all. Without a full understanding of their inner suffering, the ability of the Guardians to help them was severely limited.
And the horrors he had seen in their minds…
As memories resurfaced with a vengeance—wars, disease, tortures unparalleled—a shiver swept across his skin despite the warm water. Images that haunted him through centuries.
Fighting, action…he could handle. Sex, the blessed forgetfulness of orgasm…he sought with near desperation. A tactile man with insatiable desires, he fucked and fought well, and the Elders had no hesitation in using him to their best advantage. He knew his strengths and weaknesses, and took on the Dreamers who benefited from them.
To assign him to work exclusively with those who were damaged, with no reprieve…What the Elders asked of him now would be pure hell, not just for him but for his men.
“You must be excited,” Morgan murmured, misunderstanding his sudden hurried breathing. “The Elite so love a good conflict.”
He took a deep breath. If the weight of his calling seemed crushing, that was for him alone to know. Once he’d had boundless enthusiasm for his work, but lack of progress had a way of disheartening even the most hopeful.
Amid all the ancient legends and tall tales, there was nothing that said his work would ever end. The Nightmares could not be eliminated, only controlled. At any given moment, thousands in the mortal realm were suffering from nightmares whose merciless grip they could not awaken from. Aidan was weary of the stalemate. He was a man who sought a result, and he had been denied one for centuries.
Morgan, sensing his preoccupation, brought his attention back to her with a hand between his legs, talented fingers circling his cock. Aidan’s mouth curved in the smile that promised her every desire. He would give her what she wanted. Then he’d give her more.
By concentrating on her, he could forget himself. For a
while. “How shall we begin, love? Hard and fast? Or slow and easy?”
With a quiet sound of anticipation, Morgan rubbed her hard nipples against his chest. “You know what I need,” she breathed.
Sex was the closest he came to companionship, yet it soothed only his physical hunger, leaving him with a deeper craving. Despite the Dreamers he met and the innumerable Guardians he worked with, he was alone.
And would be for eternity.
“I figured I’d find you out here,” rumbled a deep voice behind Aidan.
Continuing his exercises, he turned to face his best friend. They stood in the clearing at the rear of his house, knee-deep in wild grass, bathed in the magenta glow of the simulated approaching dusk. Sweat slid down his temples as he wielded his glaive, but despite the lengthening hour, he wasn’t yet fatigued. “You figured right.”
“Word of our new assignment is spreading rapidly through the ranks.” Connor Bruce paused a few feet away, his crossed arms boasting massive biceps and brawny forearms. The blond giant didn’t have the speed or agility that Aidan boasted, but he made up for it in pure brute strength.
“I know.” Aidan lunged toward an imagined adversary, his sword leading the way in a mock fatal thrust.
He and Connor had been friends for centuries, ever since they were dorm mates at the Elite academy. While spending their days toiling through multiple classes and their nights indulging in women, they had
forged a bond that held tight through the years.
The academy was a rigorous course, with an extremely high attrition rate. When times got rough, Aidan and Connor had goaded each other to continue on. Of the twenty students who started out in their class, they were among only three to graduate.
Those who didn’t complete the training picked up other callings. They became Healers, or Players. Some chose to be Masters and teach. It was a worthy goal. Aidan’s mentor, Master Sheron, had been a pivotal figure in his life, and he remembered the Guardian with admiration and affection, even after all these years.
“I can tell you’re not happy about the Elders’ decision,” Connor said dryly. “But lately you’re unhappy with everything they do.”
Aidan paused, his sword arm falling to his side. “Maybe that’s because I don’t know what the hell it is that they’re doing.”
“You’ve got that look on your face,” Connor muttered.
“What look?”
“The I’ve-got-one-hundred-questions-to-ask look.”
Master Sheron had invented the nickname for Aidan’s pensiveness. It was one of the many things the Elder-in-training had imparted that stayed with him to this day.
Aidan missed the hours he’d spent with his mentor at the stone table beneath the tree in the academy courtyard. He would ask a multitude of questions, and Sheron would enlighten him with laudable patience. Shortly after they graduated, Sheron had gone through Induction to become a full-fledged Elder, and Aidan had never seen him again.
Lifting his hand, Aidan fingered the stone pendant
Sheron had given him the day he’d graduated. He wore it always as a tangible reminder of those days and the eager youth he’d once been.
“Don’t you ever wonder why anyone would want to become an Elder?” he asked Connor. Yes, the possibility of finding answers was tempting, but Induction changed Guardians in a way Aidan found alarming. Sheron had been youthful in appearance, with dark hair and eyes, and tawny skin. Now he would look like the other Elders—white-haired, with pale skin and eyes. For a nearly immortal race, a change that drastic had to signal something. Aidan was damn sure it wasn’t good.
“No, I don’t.” Connor’s jaw set stubbornly. “Tell me where the fighting is. That’s all I want to know.”
“Don’t you want to know what we’re fighting
for
?”
“Shit, Cross. The same thing we’ve always been fighting for—to contain the Nightmares while we search for the Key. You know we’re the only barrier between them and the humans. Since we screwed up by letting the Nightmares in, we’ve got to stick with it until we find a way to keep them out.”