Misty leapt between the hiker and the cubs. “Don’t even think about hurting them,” she shouted. “And get the hell out of my dream.”

The hiker started for her. Matt and Kyle were going insane, trying to move around her to attack. Misty put her arms out in an attempt to protect them and Graham behind them.

“Leave the Shifters alone!”

The hiss turned to a snarl, a cold, nasty sound, and then all Misty could feel was ice. It coated the flowers and killed them instantly, then started toward Graham.

Misty snatched up the cubs under her arms—these little squirming guys were heavy. She flung herself and them on top of Graham, trying to shield him from the creeping ice.

“Hey, I’m starting to like this dream,” Graham said, his voice still too weak.

Kyle and Matt wriggled out of Misty’s grasp. Tails moving fast, they licked Graham’s face. “Shit,” he said, screwing his eyes shut. “Now I’m hating it again.”

Kyle and Matt raised their heads and began growling anew. Misty looked up, and screamed.

The fountain had turned into a wave of ice, and now it was coming for them. The ice rose, frost white but with blackness in the center. It dove straight for them. Misty scooped Kyle and Matt underneath her, and stretched out on Graham’s hard body. Graham’s arms came around her, warm, strong, and caring.

The black wave washed over them, engulfing them, sucking them down into hideous darkness.

Misty screamed again and jumped awake.

Two men stood at the foot of her bed. One was Xavier. The other was Reid, tall and tight-bodied, like the hiker, but with dark hair instead of white blond. He had the same kind of eyes though, dark and mind-sucking, staring straight through her.

Misty yelped again and grabbed at the blankets. In her mad scramble, she tangled herself up, overbalanced, and rolled straight off the bed and onto the floor.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"You all right?” Xavier’s firm hand was there to help her to her feet.

Misty pushed her hair out of her face, plopped back down on the bed, and let out her breath. She was wearing only a long T-shirt, which covered her underwear, thankfully. “How do you think I am? I just woke up with two men standing over my bed.”

“Reid and I heard you screaming.”

“Had a bad dream. Sorry, I’m still a little shaky. And thirsty.” She licked the inside of her mouth.

Xav and Reid were staring at her as though they’d never seen a woman wake up from a bad dream before. Misty stood up, pushing aside the blankets, and started out of the room.

She heard Xav and Reid follow as she padded down her narrow hall and out into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, yanked out a bottle of water, and saw it was the last. “Need to go to the store.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Xav said. “I’ll send someone shopping for you, until we’re sure it’s safe for you to go out.”

Misty regarded him sharply as she pried open the water bottle. “You said you got Flores. Who else is after me?”

Xav exchanged a look with Reid. Xav started to say, “We’re not sure . . .” but Reid cut him off.

“Tell me about the dream.”

Misty took several gulps of water, letting the wetness slosh around her mouth before she answered. “I saw that hiker, and the cave again.”

“Every detail,” Reid said.

Reid looked a lot like the hiker. Not exactly, but enough to be unnerving. His build was similar, though the shape of his face was different. The greatest similarity was his eyes. Reid’s coal dark eyes had the same kind of intense focus as the hiker’s.

Misty related the dream to the two of them, remembering more of it as she spoke. She described the pool, Graham lying hurt nearby, the hiker’s commands, the wave of ice, and the two wolf cubs trying to stop her.

Reid listened without blinking. How did anyone not blink for that long?

“Fae water,” Reid said.

Misty glanced at her bottle. “What water?”

“Spelled. One drink holds you in thrall, giving the Fae a way to find you, no matter where you are. The only thing that will slake your thirst is another drink of the water. The Fae will make you his slave, forcing you to do his bidding in exchange for another sip. But the satisfaction doesn’t last, and you will be as thirsty as before. More, even. Those enslaved end up parched and dying, no matter how much water they drink.”

Fear worked its way through Misty. “But wait, that’s not right. It was just a dream. I’m thirsty because I was stuck out in the desert for hours. I was starting to get heatstroke. It takes a long time to cool the body down again.”

“No,” Reid said. “The person you describe is a hoch alfar. How he got to the place in the desert you were, I don’t know. There must be a ley line there.”

“What the hell is a hock . . what?”

Xav answered. “A Fae. They come into human mythology as fairies. You know, as in fairy tales, fairy godmothers. But apparently, they’re evil bastards, not the cute things with wings.” He jerked his thumb at Reid. “He’s a Fae.”

Reid looked annoyed. “I am dokk alfar. Dark Fae. Not the evil-bastard kind.”

“Depends on your point of view,” Xav said without smiling.

Misty opened her mouth to argue some more—they had to be insane—but Xav’s words made her remember something. “Wait a minute.”

Sucking on more water, Misty left the kitchen and made her way back down the hall, the tile floor cool to her bare feet. The bedroom she used as her home office was comfortingly cluttered, her computer and sheets of invoices waiting for her to catalog them, her shelves filled with books on flowers and plants.

Misty scanned the shelves, which contained books about everything from scientific studies of rose growing to the meanings of flowers in Victorian times. She had books on the care of cut flowers, flower arranging, how commercial flowers were grown and cultivated, and the history of every flower imaginable and how to grow them.

Misty also collected unusual books about flowers, buying them at antique stores, flea markets, garage sales, and used bookstores. She’d found fascinating gems filled with flower lore from centuries past.

There it was. Misty reached to the top shelf and pulled out a small book, leather bound, with the binding still pretty good. The book had been published in 1907, and by the quantity of handwritten notes and underlining inside, had been used quite a bit. She’d found the book at the bottom of a cardboard box of old paperback romances; the indifferent flea market vendor had charged her a dollar for the entire box.