Dream On Read online

  Cover Copy

  Her quest begins when she closes her eyes.

  Emory Bennett owns a lucrative dreamwalking business. Trained in weaponry and Muay Thai, she spends her nights entering the dream realm resolving her clients’ nightmares, whatever they might be: bad guys, scary beasts, or the classic forgot-to-wear-my-pants nightmare. Her jobs get complicated when a gorgeous man keeps appearing requesting her help.

  Grayson, a fellow dreamwalker, is stuck in the dream realm while a stranger inhabits his body. He needs Emory’s assistance in the waking realm, which he can’t visit if he can’t get back into his body.

  Once Emory is convinced Grayson’s not a figment of her imagination, they concoct a plan to lure the body snatcher out. But as Emory begins to fall for Grayson, the line blurs between him and the stranger who inhabits his body. She must keep it together to get close enough to discover his secrets, or divide her very soul if she can’t bring the man she loves back.

  CONTENT WARNING: Strong language

  A Lyrical Press Urban Fantasy Romance

  Highlight

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know. He won’t come out. I don’t even know if he’s a dreamwalker or just a roaming spirit. All I do know is that’s my body and I want it back.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Track him down and lure him out,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.

  “How? I wouldn’t even begin to know how to do either one of those things.”

  “I know and I’ve thought about it. I think the best plan of attack is for you to just go in and get to know the guy first. Maybe if we knew more about him we’d figure a way to do it.”

  “Whoa, you want me to befriend a body snatching stranger and figure a way to lure him out?” I started to question this guy’s sanity.

  He dropped his head into his palms, his tone exasperated. “I know it’s too much to ask. I’m sorry but I had to try. I never thought you’d say yes, but I gave it a shot.”

  His defeated expression tugged at me. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”

  Dream On

  By Renita Pizzitola

  Dedication

  To my biggest fan, Irene Walker, who (by total coincidence) happens to be my mom.

  Acknowledgements

  First off, I’d like to thank Reagan. Your amazing support, guidance and positive feedback through every step of this book is greatly appreciated. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m incredibly lucky to have you as a critique partner and hope you know how indebted I am to you for all of your help.

  Thank you to my family and friends for their continued support. Your encouragement means the world to me. Nikky–thank you for listening to my endless writing woes. Allison–thank you for your inspirational texts. Katie–thank you for being the best PR friend a girl could have. I don’t think a single person can have a five-minute conversation with you without finding out I wrote a book (and I love you for that). Kim–thank you for loving this story and for all of your daily affirmations.

  I’d also like to thank everyone at Lyrical. Your dedication to your authors is amazing. And to my editor Penny, thank you for jumping in and getting us back on schedule. I appreciate your long hours and hard work.

  Chapter 1

  “Really? This is what I’m here for?” I stared down at the small dog and scratched my head. “Geez, I could dropkick this thing.”

  Not that I would. I wasn’t typically violent toward animals but I had to earn my paycheck and it was my job to end nightmares–whatever it took.

  As a dreamwalker, I prepared for the unusual, but this, by far, rated one of my strangest requests. My client had recurring nightmares in which a dog–specifically a ferocious beast of an animal–chased her.

  Since I couldn’t carry physical items over into the dream realm, I’d requested my client, Shanna, provide me with a cage to capture the vicious dog, but instead I stood staring at a Chihuahua with no cage in sight. Such was the nature of dreams.

  Though many considered therapy as the more traditional route of ending bad dreams, I took pride in resolving these issues my way, even if the dreams seemed ridiculous. Maybe this little guy, who stared at me with big brown eyes and giant lopsided ears, turned vicious. Who knew? So, I’d do what had to be done.

  That was me–Emory Bennett, dog whisperer.

  Now I needed to convince the dreamer of his harmlessness. I shrugged, lifted the three-pound killer and sought my client. Maybe facing her fear might help.

  An examination of the buildings filled me with an unusual vibe, as if I’d fallen into a western movie. The setting resembled an old ghost town, minus a sheriff asleep in his rocker outside the jailhouse or a drunk stumbling out of the tavern. Had I not been at work, a tavern would have tempted me.

  My shivering bundle whimpered, snapping me out of my search for an alehouse. We traveled down the silent street and his claws dug into me as he scampered up my chest. Picturing what we looked like–me kicking up dirt on this dusty road cradling a trembling Chihuahua–made me laugh.

  A flash caught my attention but a glance to the left revealed nothing. Before I investigated further, I found my client. Beads of perspiration dotted her pale skin as she stood with her stance wide, one hand at her neck and the other frozen at her side. Her mouth and eyes seemed in competition to see who could open the furthest. Her eyes won.

  “Shanna, it’s okay.” I kept my tone calm. “I’m going to walk toward you. You didn’t provide the cage for me to lock this little guy up.”

  She shook her head left then right, her movements in slow motion. Chihuahuas clearly terrified the poor lady. I blamed those commercials.

  “I’ll hold him. I promise not to let go. I think if you see him up close you’ll realize he’s not bad.”

  She stared at the dog and her expression read something along the lines of, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I crept closer.

  “Wh–what are you doing?”

  “Helping you face your fears.” My voice held a maternal affection that–though a tad forced–seemed believable to me. I could nurture, right?

  Her eyes became a more natural size as her expression shifted into what looked like annoyed curiosity. “By carrying around a tiny dog?”

  “I’ll bring him to you. You can see him up close–maybe pet him. I think it might help.”

  “How’s that little–” The competition reengaged. Her mouth hung open and her eyes doubled in size. She sucked in a deep breath as she focused on something past me.

  I looked over my shoulder and slumped. “Oh. That’s the dog.”

  My bundle whined and I didn’t blame him. I stared not at a dog, but into the eyes of a demonic wolfman clone. The fact it had four legs and a tail proved to be the only thing “dog” about it. Someone needed to lay off the scary movies.

  I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. There seemed only way to bring this beast down. I turned to Shanna. “Can you hold this guy so he doesn’t get hurt?” She nodded.

  I handed the dog over, attempting to appear in control. “You need to provide me with something to fight this animal.”

  Her blue eyes stayed blank as they flicked back over my shoulder. She mumbled something about a cage.

  “Shanna, focus.” Her gaze met mine and I held it. “A cage would help, but I need weapons.”

  A huge problem lay ahead of me. If my client had no familiarity with weaponry, she’d find reproducing them in dreams a challenge. Before entering dreams, I filled them in on the requested items–showed them pictures, explained the mechanics, but I’d requested a cage assuming I’d trap it. Obviously, that would’ve worked like trying to hold water in a paper bucket. Something told me when it came to weapons, Shanna hadn’t the s
lightest clue. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I found the “dog” inching closer as if stalking prey. I had time but needed to make it quick.

  “Shanna have you seen any war movies? Police? Mafia?” Her blank eyes fed my increasing panic. “Anything?”

  Her gaze lifted and a fine line formed between her brows. “Does that help?” Her voice trembled as she motioned to an M-16 with attached grenade launcher. The urge to roll my eyes tortured like a hard to reach itch. Of course, the one weapon she’d pull from memory would be the gun from Scarface.

  “It’ll do.” I gripped the cold metal and adjusted to the weight and size. Although happy to hold a heavy-duty weapon, the cliché factor made me feel like an idiot. I wondered if I should ask the beast to “Say hello to my little friend,” giving her the kick-ass dream she apparently expected.

  Fearful he would feel threatened and charge, I held the ridiculous gun and faced the dog. His long hairless snout foamed but even that didn’t hide the pointy canines. A strand of saliva yo-yoed from its jaw and his beady, black eyes bored into me. Its front legs, taller than the hind ones, caused its shoulders to jut out at an unnatural angle. A wicked case of mange covered his entire body. One word came to mind as I stared at the grotesque sight. Rabies. I grimaced and readied myself to bring this thing down. With the barrel raised, I took aim. I curled my index finger, easing into the trigger. Praying the gun didn’t misfire–and my limbs remained intact–I held my breath.

  Click. What the hell? Click, click.

  A dud. She’d provided me with a dud. The hideous animal charged.

  “Run!” I screamed over my shoulder, hoping she’d take cover. I pulled the barrel upright to check the chamber for bullets and slid the bolt open. My fingers trembled with the advancing animal’s guttural growl.

  I hated to do it, but without any proper weapons, I had to pull myself from this dream and let her deal with the nightmare on her own.

  The snarl grew louder, and I prepared to pull out when a loud bang followed by a crackling echo jolted me. The snarling ceased. The hideous animal lay on its side. Its leg twitched and its sharp black claws raked the dirt as the crunching of boots came nearer. A man appeared, raised a Glock 19 and, in an act of humanity, made one last clean shot to end the twitching. The functioning Glock had my heart racing and trigger finger itching. A serious case of pistol envy.

  I shifted my gaze beyond the black metal seeking the face of the man who’d just saved my ass. A tiny breath caught in my throat. Who knew a lady who dreamt up such a horrific animal could make such a breathtaking man? Heat flooded my cheeks. Even though a dream, it still felt real, and I really felt like an idiot holding my Scarface gun in front of this attractive guy.

  The man’s gaze fell on the gun in my hands before meeting mine. “Looks like you and your little friend are on the outs today.”

  The heat in my face shifted from embarrassed warmth to searing anger as I ground my teeth. The frustration of this dream combined with my mortification made me furious, and though I shouldn’t have, I turned my anger on my client. After all, she’d made me look like an idiot by placing a Chihuahua in her killer dog dream, providing me with a mafia dud, creating a man come to my rescue and making me the butt of a joke she’d created.

  I planned to tear into the man and this stupid dream, when Shanna rushed past me. She threw her arms around the captivating stranger.

  “You did it. You killed it.” She gushed over him, while I stood there like a complete moron who narrowly resisted the urge to smack the awed expression off a certain client’s face.

  I set my weapon down and approached the two.

  “Clearly the work here’s done.” Now, all fired up, the words just poured from my mouth. “If you wanted to play damsel in distress, you didn’t need to hire me. You could have brought this hero into your little western dream any day–would have saved us a lot of time.” I turned and headed to end my own personal nightmare. “It’s times like this I’m happy I require payment upfront,” I grumbled.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you. Please don’t go.” The dream man sounded concerned. Guilt flooded her subconscious and it played out through her fictional hero.

  I looked between the two. “Look, this is your dream, but I got hired for a specific job. Being put in this situation only to have you find your own solution–in the form of a man–wastes my time. You could have created him at any point in the past.” Her wounded expression triggered a slight pang of guilt and I attempted to regain my composure. “Just forget it. Your nightmare’s over, you killed the beast and hey, on the bright side, you get to end the dream wrapped in the arms of a gorgeous guy. I’m out, though.”

  The man seemed confused and sidled away from Shanna. He stepped toward me, about to speak.

  Shanna’s lower lip fell in a pout.

  I clamped my jaw to avoid saying anything I might regret. Not even bothering to find a good spot to exit the dream, I closed my eyes, sought my body and went home. This nightmare couldn’t end fast enough.

  * * * *

  My room came into focus as I blinked. I shifted for a better view of Shanna through the large glass window in the cubicle next door. Her chest rose and fell in steady beats. She frowned and I groaned. She was so headed to my client blacklist.

  I headed to the bathroom, and splashed my face with cold water. A failed attempt to smooth my long, dark hair resulted in a messy ponytail.

  I stared in the mirror, visualizing myself holding the grenade-launching M-16. I almost laughed out loud. Thank God hot guy existed only in a dream. In the real world, if a good-looking guy saw me kick some ass I preferred martial arts, and although no stranger to weaponry, I preferred the eight weapons Muay Thai provided–fists, elbows, knees and feet. Confident in my ability to take care of myself, I despised appearing otherwise.

  I exited the bathroom and stomped to my coffeemaker. Once on, it rumbled as it heated the water. Damn she slept hard. My office was like a second home but it wasn’t home, where I wanted to be. The only cure for my horrid mood was a good night of sleep. I stared at my sleeping client and popped in my single serving of coffee. With my cup under the drip, I pressed the blinking green button and walked over to my desk. While gathering her invoice, ready to give her the boot as soon as she awoke, I knocked a book to the floor.

  Oops. It thumped–loudly–causing her to stir. I picked it up and banged it back on my desk. More movement. I reached for my heavy-duty “paid in full” stamp and slammed it down on the invoice. I waited, but her eyes remained shut. Crap.

  I grabbed my coffee mug, a large metal spoon, and added my French vanilla creamer. The spoon clanged as I stirred with vigor, waking her at last. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and walked out of the glass cubicle. I turned to her and masked my sleep-deprived frustrations behind a wide-eyed smile.

  “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  She smiled politely, but shifted awkwardly. “No, it’s fine. I was awake.”

  “Well then, feel free to freshen up before heading home.” I lifted my mug and took a sip of coffee. She grabbed her overnight bag and shuffled out of the room.

  She emerged a few minutes later looking more awake, but still disoriented. I handed her the invoice with a smile. “It was nice doing business with you. Let me show you out.” She muttered, “Thanks,” and followed, but hesitated when I opened the door.

  Here we go.

  “Emory? I know you said you can’t bring things over into dreams, but you did bring the man, right?” I raised an eyebrow. Where in the world did she get that idea? “I’m sorry, but I just have to clarify. You brought him.”

  I sighed and pressed my back into the wall. “No, I didn’t bring the man.”

  “Who was he then? How did he get there?” Her mouth turned down at each corner.

  “Your subconscious, I suppose.”

  Her head bobbed but the crease remained between her brows. She stayed rooted in place and showed no plans to leave.

  I continued. “Someti
mes when we get in sticky situations our mind will help us find a way out of it. Your dreams are your subconscious way of solving problems, dealing with issues, coming to terms with sadness and grief. Even though people hire me to help them out of these situations, it’s possible to solve them yourself. I guess once it wasn’t just you in danger, but me as well, your mind thought enough was enough and decided to end it.”

  “Hmm, interesting. I guess you’re right.” She turned to leave but paused once again. “It’s just weird. After you left the man said he’d come looking for you.” I shifted my weight as my gaze drifted to the door. “He knew your name.”

  Of course he knew my name. It was her dream. “What exactly did he say?”

  “He seemed upset you ran off. He searches dreams for you and sometimes watches you. I think he wanted to talk but lost the opportunity.”

  “That’s odd, but dreams get weird sometimes.” I shrugged as I placed my hand on the doorknob, hoping she’d get the hint.

  “I asked him why he didn’t just go to your office to find you.”

  “Makes sense. You tried, but it’s just a dream so don’t worry about it.”

  “Yes, but he said he could only visit through dreams.” She rolled her eyes up, maybe attempting to remember more. They came back down and brightened. “He’s a dreamwalker, like you, but he can’t get back in his body. I think he needs your help.”

  While an interesting turn of events, this lady had proven herself a crazy dreamer, so I chalked it up to an overactive imagination. “I’m sure it’s just part of your dream. You can’t get trapped in dreams. Besides, I don’t know of any other dreamwalkers in this area. I wouldn’t worry about it.” My lips formed a reassuring smile.

  She nodded and stepped out the door. “Thank you for your help.”

  “No problem,” I said with my smile still plastered on my face. Exhaling, I pushed the door shut, and pressed my back against it.