His Lost Mate (A Steamy Paranormal Romance Novel) (6 page)

Was he sleeping now? Or was he making love with Sylvia? She fantasized sneaking into his room and into his bed. He would be naked and very hard. He’d pull her into his arms and kiss her mouth, her breasts, every sensitive inch of her.

She ached for physical attention and couldn’t remember the last time her body had been ravished by scorching, passionate, glorious sex. This explained why every time Deven glanced at her, she felt her face flush and her heart flutter. Not a good time to get the hots for your professor.

After hiking all day, the bed beckoned to every sore muscle in her body. She checked her alarm clock, turned off the lights then pulled back the simple white cotton bedspread, fluffed up the pillows and fell into bed. She lay on her side and stared out the sliding glass door to the view beyond. The moon cast long shadows along the path to the lake and sparkled on the ripples of the water like thousands of stars. The floating stars soon blurred and Lauren dropped into a deep sleep, only to awaken hours later from the rush of cold air.

While fumbling for a blanket, she opened her eyes, turned and saw an old man standing at the foot of her bed.

Lauren gasped and sat up.

She yanked the covers up to her chin and pressed her back against the headboard. Her gaze darted around the room, looking for a weapon or for an escape route, but she found neither.

Then she spied the security chain. It was fastened. Glancing to the sliding glass door, she saw it was closed too. She knew she had locked both doors before she went to bed. How did he get in? Her chest tightened and she held her breath, expecting the man to attack her.

He didn’t approach her.

The luminous glow from the moon shone into the room, making the man appear gray and translucent, as if the swirling mist of the jungle had condensed into a human shape.

She panted like a sick kitten and couldn’t get enough air into her lungs to scream. Her muscles felt paralyzed. You’re not real. I’m not seeing this.

Lauren blinked several times, expecting the dream or vision to fade. It didn’t. The man drifted back and forth at the foot of her bed. His hair was long and streaked with gray. His face was broad and angular and wrinkled from age. He was dressed in ancient Mayan attire, wearing the elaborate fan-shaped headdress of a Mayan shaman. When he moved, the beads dangling from the headdress rattled. The sound sent chills across her scalp and down her back.

Then he spoke out loud. “Cimi, my Cimi.” His voice was deep and his tone, pleading and desperate. It was the same word she had heard in the tomb at Tikal.

Although her throat felt raw, Lauren managed to whisper, “Who’s Cimi?”

He placed his hand on his chest and said softly, “My daughter, I am Muan. I will protect you.”

Lauren felt the blood throb in her temples. She didn’t quite believe him or trust what she was seeing. She couldn’t stop trembling. Closing her eyes, she shook her head then opened her eyes wide. Still, Muan stood there watching her.

“Cimi, you must find this and keep it with you.” He raised one arm. In his hand was a small object. He held it out to her. Lauren didn’t move.

As he approached her bed, a jolt of fear shot through her and Lauren let out a muffled cry.

Muan moved back and lowered his head, then glided across the room, disappearing into the outside wall.

Lauren jumped out of bed, both feet landing on the floor at the same time, then she fumbled for the light switch. Bright light spread reality back into the room. She held her hand against her chest as her heart continued pounding.

“Dream…dream,” she whispered. “Only a dream.”

She paced the room, then frantically checked under her bed, in the bathroom and double checked the locks on the doors. She glanced at the clock—three a.m.

She grabbed her backpack and pulled out her thesis notes and began reading—anything to take her mind off the dream. She spun her amber ring around her finger and thought about her brother. He would have a good laugh about this and then he’d tease her about her overactive imagination. She wasn’t going to let bad dreams get the better of her. She groaned when she saw that the clock read four fifteen a.m. Got to get some sleep.

She turned on the light in the bathroom and left the door ajar, silently chastising herself for needing a nightlight. Then she crawled into bed, pulled the covers up close under her chin and finally drifted off the sleep.

* * *

Lauren walked along a path in the rainforest beside Muan, the Mayan shaman. He talked to her but she couldn’t understand his words. She wasn’t afraid, only curious.

When Lauren felt tall grasses brushing against her legs and bare feet, she looked down and long raven hair fell forward to her waist. Strange, she thought. Her hair was wavy and blonde, not straight black.

A black wrap skirt hung to her knees. She tugged on the coarse fabric scratching her skin, then noticed that she was bare breasted. She didn’t feel self-conscious. Instead she felt an enormous sense of freedom and peace.

Around her neck dangled three necklaces made of shells and blue, red and green beads. She held them up, examining the colorful strands with wonder. Such an odd dream, she thought, and so many details, so much color.

She scanned the scenery around her. A few rays of sparkling sunlight pierced the dense canopy of trees in the rainforest. The air was warm and smelled of green moss and wild flowers. High in the trees, parrots squawked and howler monkeys screeched. The sounds and scents were familiar and comforting. She loved the beauty of the jungle. Never had she experienced such a vivid dream, one that was so delightful.

The old man stood tall, shoulders back, exuding strength of will, but she sensed his tenderness. She felt safe with him.

When she glanced up at him, he frowned with a look of concern.

“Cimi, I fear for your safety,” he said.

Lauren’s eyes widened. She could understand him now.

The man continued, “King Yaxkin Caan Chac demands another sacrifice, a Cha-Chac ceremony to summon the storm gods who would bring rain to our parched lands.” He drew in a deep breath and his nostrils flared. “The great god of the rains is angry with our people.”

Lauren, puzzled by this man and his statement, gently touched his arm and asked, “Muan?”

His face softened and he nodded his head. “Our time is short.” He pounded his chest in mock bravado. “I am Muan, a great shaman. I serve Hunab Ku—the supreme creator, but I do not have the power to protect you.” Tears filled his eyes. “I can no longer secure your safety, Cimi. You must leave with Kayab.”

Lauren stood with her mouth open and then smiled. “What a bizarre dream. It’s even more bizarre since I know I’m dreaming.”

Muan ignored her comment. His expression seemed conflicted with love and sadness. He peered down the path, then raised his hand and called out, “Kayab, here!”

Lauren saw a young man standing in the shadow of a massive mahogany tree. He held his head high. His hair gleamed like black obsidian and reached past his shoulders. A spear and square shield rested against the tree beside him.

Then the scene shifted and Lauren found herself at a pond next to a waterfall. Muan was gone, but the man he called Kayab stood facing her. “I have a gift for you,” he said. He held a small object wrapped in a black cloth and tied with a vine of violet orchids. He took her hand and gently laid the package in her palm.

Lauren stared at the gift for a moment, not sure what to do or say. An eerie sense of foreboding gnawed at her.

She was about to ask him what it was, but a buzzing sound in the distance continued to get louder. The noise annoyed her, invading the serene sounds of the jungle. She glanced over her shoulder, and the jungle faded away into darkness.

Lauren blinked her eyes several times before her vision cleared. She was no longer in the jungle. She stared at her buzzing alarm clock—five forty-five a.m. Not again, she thought. The same dream had haunted her since she arrived in Guatemala a couple of weeks ago. It was very unsettling. She switched off the alarm and abruptly sat up in bed, scanning her room. Muan and Kayab were still fresh in her memory.

She climbed out of bed and stepped out onto her balcony. Outside, the sky was streaked with shades of mauve and red as the sun conquered dawn. The dew in the trees and grass glistened in the early rays of light. She stretched her arms over her head, yawned and tried to shake off her bewildered thoughts. Weird dreams. Why was she having them almost every night? She couldn’t get the images out of her mind.

* * *

Later that morning, Lauren sipped steaming coffee in the dining room as she stared out the window that overlooked the small terrace. “Another restless night,” she muttered. She closed her eyes for a moment as images of Kayab and Muan paraded inside her head. Over the last couple of weeks, bits and pieces of the same dream invaded her nights, like chapters in a book read out of order and she woke every morning exhausted and troubled.

Outside, the lake was smooth and glossy like marble. No ripples marred its surface. The leaves on the trees remained still. There wasn’t the hint of a breeze and the ceiling fans in the room did little to circulate the humid air. It would be a warm day out at the ruins. Bad weather had kept them close to the hotel for most of the week. Lauren had spent part of that time working on her thesis, but she was anxious to explore more of Tikal’s mysteries. Sitting around the hotel was driving her a little stir-crazy. She wanted to get to the dig and stop sightseeing if the government would ever give them permission.

She’d had bizarre dreams before, never so realistic. Even stranger was dreaming while knowing she was dreaming. “Lucid dreams,” she said out loud. She tried to remember if she ever had one before.

“What about lucid dreams?” Margaret sat down at the table.

Lauren was startled out her deep thoughts. She stabbed at her eggs. “Oh, I had a very vivid dream last night.”

“Dreams can tell you many things. You should write them down. It’s your subconscious speaking to you in symbols.”

Lauren nodded as she remembered the details of the last dream. Kayab the warrior had given her a gift. How would you interpret that? A good-looking Mayan warrior could be her subconscious mind reminding her that she hadn’t had a man in her life for a while. Every time she looked at Deven, the tumbling butterfly feeling in her stomach was another reminder. It had been a long time since she’d made love. Too long but there was nothing she could do about it or wanted to do about it at the moment.

Her last dream also included the shaman called Muan, who said he had been her father. What did these dreams mean? Why was she having the same one over and over? At least she hadn’t seen Muan in her room again like she had on the first night.

A shiver raced through her as she thought about the figure gliding into her room. Was he a ghost, or had that been a dream too? Lauren shook her head, trying to shake the images out of her mind.

Margaret was watching her closely. “Do you want to tell me about your dream?”

Lauren hesitated. If these dreams were going to haunt her throughout her stay, it might help to talk about them. “The dreams are about the ancient Maya. But one dream, I don’t think was a dream. I think I saw a ghost in my room. Please don’t tell Deven. He’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I won’t, dear.”

When Lauren saw Justin and Kyle stroll into the dining room, she whispered to Margaret. “Maybe we can talk later.” She knew that Margaret was open to the strange and unusual happenings, but Lauren wasn’t up for being the joke of the day with the other students.

Margaret nodded and smiled reassuringly. “I’m fascinated. I’d love to talk more about your ghost and help you interpret the dreams. Come talk to me anytime.”

“Morning,” Kyle said as he and Justin sat down at the table. Kyle eyed Lauren’s empty breakfast plate. “Are we late, Dr. Hughes?”

“No, just arrived myself.”

At the entrance to the dining room, Sylvia and Deven ambled in, absorbed in conversation. By their solemn expressions, Lauren suspected the topic was serious. Hopefully, it wasn’t bad news concerning the field program. When they sat next to Lauren’s table, they abruptly ceased their discussion. Deven turned to the group and his expression brightened. “Morning,” he said cheerfully. “Sleep well?”

Lauren smiled and glanced at Margaret who was also smiling. “Like the dead.” Lauren had no intention of giving him any details of her bizarre dreams.

“I hope everyone is well rested.” Deven held Lauren’s gaze. “Looks like the rain will hold off, so we’ll have a full day of exploring and hiking.”

“Sounds great,” Lauren exclaimed.

His gray eyes glimmered with mischief and stirred her curiosity. His voice had a sensuous rhythm and also a deep and authoritative tone that stroked and excited her nerves. When he got his coffee, Lauren couldn’t keep from admiring his seductive mouth as he drank from the mug. As silly as it sounded, she envied his coffee cup, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips open to hers and press against her mouth, her neck, her breasts… And those rough outdoor hands that cradled the cup, how would they feel touching her in all the places she ached to be touched?

Deven could easily fit into her fantasy man image—attractive, adventurous, international traveler and very sexy. She imagined him scaling Mount Everest or skiing deep powder snow in Zermatt or scuba diving in the exotic waters of Palau.

Deven Chandler was definitely not a sit-behind-the-desk professor, but he was her teacher and she’d better cool it. She had other priorities pressing right now. A casual fling was not one of them. It might even be a hindrance.

Deven smiled widely as if he knew what she was thinking. “You have very expressive eyes, Lauren, are you trying to write your thesis in your head? You’ve been working hard on it all week.”

She felt heat rise up her neck into her face. “Huh? Thesis? No, I was sort of compiling a theory.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’ll have to discuss that theory of yours with me later. Maybe I can help you out.”