Rebecca Zanetti - Tamed

The woman the nightmares insisted Lily kill.

Caleb sprawled across the massive bed, sweat rolling down his back. He was exhausted, but he knew better than to sleep, although very comfortable quarters had been provided for him. The Realm’s main lodge held an entire wing of guest suites, and his was masculine, with heavy furniture throughout the living area, kitchen, and bedroom.

He punched the pillow into a better shape. If he didn’t get some decent sleep, he wouldn’t be of use to anybody the next few days. Damn it. He really needed to get laid.

But every time he thought of finding a willing woman, his thoughts turned to a tiny blonde with a huge spirit who smelled like strawberries.

Even now, centuries after he’d courted her, he got hard every time he smelled a strawberry.

How fucked up was that?

Plus, there was no doubt the pretty prophet also occupied a suite somewhere in the massive lodge, somewhere close. Sleeping now . . . in what? What would the classy Lily wear? Probably a head-to-toe nightgown from the 1800s. He grinned at the thought.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his breathing, counting slowly in a method he’d learned from a monk two centuries ago. Most people wouldn’t believe one of his best friends was a monk, and he was just fine with that. Sometimes a guy needed depth, and he certainly didn’t need to share that aspect of himself with anybody.

Even Lily.

Damn it. He forgot to count.

He started over, and finally slipped into a sleep that included dreams of battle, of war, and of ocean voyages.

During the voyage, one he’d actually taken eons ago, the ocean suddenly turned black. Churning, deadly, angry, the water rose up to cover his boat.

He dropped into freezing cold darkness, knowing even as he did so that this was a new dream. One he couldn’t shield against.

So he dropped low and chose not to question how he could breathe at the bottom of the cold ocean.

Blackness swirled around him, brushed against him, but he couldn’t see. The chill fingered through his skin and muscles to his bones, digging deep with sharp nails.

Pain and fear roared through him, scratching inside his flesh.

He tried to awaken, and a voice in the darkness laughed in a distorted tone. “This is your future,” the voice said. “If you don’t fulfill your destiny, this is everybody’s future. Everyone you know, everyone you love. Darkness and pain.”

He tried to punch out, tried to kick, but the swirling vortex contained him. So easily, as if he were nothing better than a gnat in the air.

Down there, he was nothing.

“There is nothing,” the voice intoned. “Do. Your. Duty.”

“Which is?” he tried to yell, but his voice emerged weak, like a toddler’s.

“Janet Isabella Kayrs must die. To save humanity, to save everyone, the prophesied one must die.”

The water grew in force and stole his breath. He coughed, trying to get oxygen. Panic filled him. His skin heated. He struggled like a trout on the bottom of a boat, his mouth working, a silent scream seeking air.

Gasping, he sat up in the bed.

God. Oh God. Gulping, he sucked in as much air as he could. He panted and shoved the bedcovers to the floor. The cool air dried the sweat rolling off his body, and he shivered.

Taking a deep breath, he stood. His knees wobbled.

Preposterous. He was one of the most dangerous vampires alive in the world, and he could barely stand. From a dream. A nightmare.

He drew a shaking hand across his wet forehead. This was ridiculous. Feeling unbelievably chilled, he headed into the shower and let the scalding water wash away the remnants of the dream.

What the hell was going on?

When the water turned cold, he turned off the faucet and stepped outside to dry off. The stupid prophecy mark on his neck was turning him mad. He glared at the dark blue Celtic knot marking him for Fate. His was bigger and had sharper lines than Lily’s more gentle marking. Tying a towel at his waist, he padded out of the bathroom toward the kitchen. Maybe the king had stocked some whiskey for him.

A soft knock at the door nearly stopped his heart.

He shook his head at his scattered thoughts and strode forward to answer the door.

Lily Sotheby stood on the other side, her blond hair wild around her shoulders, her midnight-colored eyes wide. “I require a clear head.”

Shock kept him immobile for the briefest of seconds. He glanced down at her tank top and black yoga pants and actually took a step back. The top outlined pert breasts, while the pants showed small but toned legs. Lily Sotheby was out of a skirt.

She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

He bit down desire and gestured inside the living room. “Come in, Lily.”

She glanced at his bare chest and swallowed. Loudly. “Ah, I—”

He took her arm and all but pulled her into his suite. Even so, she moved gracefully past him and faltered. “I’m sorry to bother you. It’s merely—”

Good God from heaven above. Her ass was everything he’d ever hoped and more. Curvy, tight, she filled out the tight pants like she ran on treadmills all day. He tried to force his dick to remain calm. Mindful of her much smaller bones, he wrapped a hand around her bicep and turned her to face him. “It’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She shook her head, distress in every line of her body. “This is so silly. I’m silly. Please go back to, ah, the shower?” Her gaze dropped to his tenting towel, and a fine pink flushed across her smooth cheekbones.

“I had a bad dream and showered to clear my head.” He drew her toward the couch and settled her down. “If you’d like, I’ll go throw on some clothes.”

She breathed in sharply, lifted her chin, that intelligent gaze direct. “What kind of a bad dream?”

Shit. He ran a ragged hand through his wet hair. This was worse than he’d feared. “Don’t tell me. You’ve been having nightmares, as well?”

Her hands trembled as she clasped them in her lap. “Yes,” she whispered. “About Janie.”

“Fuck.” He dropped to the couch, the towel sliding to the floor.

“Caleb!” Lily’s gaze darted away as the pink turned to a full-on red across her face.

He coughed. “Uh, sorry. Be right back.” Standing, he turned and strode toward the bedroom to yank on a worn pair of jeans with a grimace. He was half-hard just from Lily’s scent, and the jeans were damn uncomfortable. Glancing down at his bare chest, he shrugged. The important parts were covered.

With a ton of stones dropping like weights onto his shoulders, his sense of foreboding dark, he headed into the living room to figure out what the hell was going on.

Lily’s breath heated, and her thighs trembled. Naked, Caleb was the most impressive man she’d ever seen. After being a counselor and even a part-time nurse the past centuries as a prophet, she’d seen nude men.

Not one compared to the Realm Rebel.

Good Lord.

Needing to put her hands on something, anything but the hard body that had just exited the room, she grabbed the damp towel from the floor and folded the thick terry cloth into precise lines. Her world was spinning out of control, and once again duty required more than she could imagine giving.

He stalked back into the room, having donned ripped jeans that weren’t fastened at the top. Broad and strong, his chest held impressive muscles, as did his arms. A happy trail, or so she believed it was now called, arrowed down his ripped abs, leading to what she now knew was a well-endowed cock.

Not penis. Not dick. That was a cock.