Sylvia Day - Heat of the Night

Her skin smelled like apples and her long blonde hair was damp from a recent shower. The sheets carried the lingering essence of them together, bare skin to bare skin, and a night of passion that had taken them from sunset to sunrise.

"Oh yeah?" He cupped the back of her head and kept her close.

"Yeah. Connor is at my house."

There was a long pause. "Imagine that."

Lyssa lifted her head and stared down at him. "Why don't you sound very surprised?"

Aidan exhaled harshly. "I saw another Guardian. She's staying in a hotel not too far from here."

"Oh shit."

He nodded wearily. "Exactly."

Gasping for air and wracked by violent shivers, Connor emerged from the frigid lake and crawled up the sandy bank. As he pushed to his feet, his Elite uniform clung heavily to his body. He was so focused on fighting off the tension that came from hypothermia that he didn't realize he wasn't alone until he was tackled and knocked backward.

As a smaller, wirier body wrapped around his, his roar of outrage reflected off the surface of the water and released his mounting tension. Connor twisted and grappled with his assailant until the moment they both fell back into the lake in an explosion of water and slapping skin.

The sting of the unexpected impact combined with the shock of being attacked really , really pissed Connor off. He grabbed his assailant by the scruff of his robes and dragged him onto the shore .

"Wait!" Dressed in gray, the man could only be an Elder.

Unfortunately for him, Connor wasn't feeling so charitable toward Elders right now and he was in the mood to kick some serious ass. He reached over his shoulder and pulled his glaive free of its scabbard. "If you had a death wish, old man," he growled, "you should have just said so outright."

"Cross needs you."

Connor stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. Of course it couldn't be just any Elder. Not on a crappy day such as today. It had to be Elder Sheron. His instructor from the Elite Academy .

"What Cross needs are answers, Sheron. We all need answers."

The Elder pushed back the soaked cowl that hid his face and Connor took a good look at the man who had helped to mold him into the warrior he was today. Sheron's appearance had changed so drastically he was nearly unrecognizable as the vigorous Master he had once been. His dark brown hair was now pure white, the suntanned skin now an unhealthy pale, and his pupils were so wide and dark they swallowed the whites of his eyes all together. In that respect he looked very much like the thing that had been sealed up in the Temple.

Disgust filled Connor only to be quickly replaced by fury. Aidan had looked up to Sheron as one would a father. Deserted by his birth parents for entering the Elite Academy, Aidan had needed a parental figure and turned to Sheron to fill that role. It angered Conner further to think that his friend's trust had been so misplaced.

For his part, Connor came from a long line of Elite Warriors. Male and female alike, the Bruces all joined the Elite . Live and die by the sword was their family creed, which was why Connor had little patience for lies and deceit. Time was precious, even for a nearly immortal .

Aidan's parents, however, were a different breed of Guardian altogether - one a Healing Guardian, the other a Nurturer. They couldn't understand the path their son had chosen and the constant questions they'd pestered Aidan with had eventually driven him away. The Crosses couldn't understand why their only child needed to be working against the Nightmares, not repairing the damage they caused after the fact. Since they were the only family Aidan had, that left him with only two bonds - Connor and Sheron .

And Sheron had been unworthy of such esteem and affection.

"Others have been sent to the mortal plane after Cross," Sheron said grimly, both hands clasped tightly around the hilt of his sword. "Powerful Elders. He will require assistance."

"We're not as out of the loop as you might think," Connor scoffed, circling his adversary with slow, steady steps. "And while you're in a sharing mood, why don't you explain what that thing was in the Temple?"

Sheron stilled, his sword lowered. "I warned them. I told them the system was untried and unsecured. It was too risky, but they were determined."

"What are you talking about?" Connor's gaze narrowed on the Elder, his wariness increasing. He'd seen this ruse before, the one where a combatant pretended to lose interest in the fight only to strike with the element of surprise.

Sheron paused mid-step. "The cavern was our primary means of controlling the flow between the mortal plane and the Twilight, but we knew that such heavy reliance on one location left us too vulnerable. We altered a room in the Temple of the Elders in an effort to attract Medium slipstreams. It worked, to a lesser extent. But the Temple is not secure from Nightmares."

"It isn't?" That struck a deep cord of unease in Connor. He had always looked at the shining white edifice of the Temple and felt peace. It was untainted by their enemy and filled with the history of his people in the Hall of Knowledge. While he'd never personally made use of the information there, it had calmed him to think of it.

"No." Sheron pushed back the sodden shank of pure white hair that fell over his brow. "The Nightmares have grown more desperate. The older ones have learned to stalk their prey, rather than simply attack in a frenzy. Every shadow you see is suspect and only the cavern is safe, though we are not certain why. Something to do with the water, I suspect."

"Maybe it's too damn cold," Connor suggested, shivering in the gentle breeze. With a wave of his hand, he heated the air around him, forming an insulating pocket. Outside of that immediate space, the velocity of the breeze picked up exponentially and the sky darkened with roiling clouds.

"We do not know, Bruce. I tried to dissuade the others, but they felt the risk was worth the gain."

"And what exactly is the risk?"

Sheron's lips pursed. "That Nightmares will…"

Thunder cracked and blackness descended in an all-consuming blanket. The Elder screamed and the clouds began to take shape, reconstituting into the familiar form of Nightmares.

Thousands of them…

Connor awoke in terror.

He jackknifed upward in the bed, startled by his surroundings, his brain taking a moment too long to register where he was. His heart raced, his skin was coated in sweat.

The mortal plane. He was in hell.

His chest heaved with labored breaths as he swung his legs off the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

Nightmares, the bastards.

As if the smells of this world weren't bad enough, now he had Nightmares to deal with.

Disgusted, Connor pushed heavily to his feet and stripped out of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He opened the door to the guest room he'd selected after seeing that the other two bedrooms were occupied. One was the master suite, the other smelled like the hottie who had opened the front door to him.

His mouth curved grimly. At least there was something- someone -he liked about this place.

Stacey was round, ripe, curvy perfection with those full hips, shapely ass, and big tits. She was the kind of woman a man could hang on to and ride hard.

His dick swelled at the thought and he moaned softly, his blood beginning to simmer from the combination of too long abstaining, too shitty a day, and too fine a woman. He wanted to wrap his fist into that riot of tight black corkscrew curls and possess that lush red mouth of hers. Even with teary green eyes and red nose, her heart-shaped face had been alluring in the basest sense. He wanted to see it flushed, glistening with sweat, and etched with the tormented need for orgasm. If he hadn't felt as if he was dying, he would have cheered her up right.