Dream Warriors.

Gareth.

Cyndi Friberg.

Prologue.

The Great Hall of Morpheus.

Ryder paced beside the reflection pool; his sandals slapped the marble floor, and a dark scowl marred his features.

"What, by the Fates, is wrong with you?" Kane lounged against a pile of cus.h.i.+ons while a smiling nymph tossed grapes into his mouth.

"I'm bored!" Ryder stopped in front of them, placing his fists on his hips. "If Morpheus doesn't rea.s.sign me soon, I'm going to go out of my mind."

"Boredom isn't necessarily a bad thing." Kane pulled the nymph onto his lap and cupped her bare breast. She giggled and arched into his touch. "Morpheus had me camped out beside the river Styx while the dream spirits played their games. Have you ever smelled the river Styx?"

Ryder smiled despite his frustration. The reflection pool rippled, and Morpheus appeared. Ryder hissed out a breath. Fluctuating between substance and shadow, Morpheus emanated light, creating a subtle nimbus blending red and gold. Only his piercing ebony eyes remained constant, a.s.sessing and shrewd.

"Bored, you say?" The Dream Master's voice snapped with irritation. "Of all my warriors, I would think you the most capable of entertaining yourself."

Ryder said nothing. He hadn't meant for Morpheus to hear his complaint. The Dream Master had a knack for appearing at the most inopportune moments. Ryder glanced at Kane, but his friend had buried his face between the nymph's round b.r.e.a.s.t.s, while she boldly caressed him.

"The danger is past, sir. Why am I still babysitting the mortal woman?"

"Because Atropos won't confirm that the danger is past." The Dream Master whirled on Kane and the nymph, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng. "Take her to your chamber. Aphrodite may encourage such revelry, but this is my hall."

With a solemn nod, Kane lifted the nymph in his brawny arms and disappeared through the archway leading to the private chambers.

"The Fates think the incubus will strike again?" Ryder crossed his arms over his chest, studying his master.

"Clearly you've never conversed with the Fates." Morpheus shook his head. His radiance undulated with dizzying effect. "They speak in riddles and innuendos until you want to shake them."

"Is Sheridan Vellmos still in danger?"

"They don't know." Morpheus clasped his hands behind his back, his posture stiff. "Or they wouldn't say."

Ryder heaved a frustrated sigh. "Am I to continue guarding her until the Fates make up their minds?"

"Were you able to purge her memory?"

"Yes, sir. She awakened the following morning with no recollection of the incubus or any of the events involving Gareth and Meagan."

Morpheus glided right through him. Ryder s.h.i.+vered and turned around. He hated it when the Dream Master ignored physical boundaries. Not only was it disconcerting, it was rude!

"How have Gareth and Meagan explained their situation?"

"According to your instructions," Ryder a.s.sured him. "Meagan met Gareth, who is now called Justin, while away on vacation. They succ.u.mbed to a whirlwind romance. Justin heard about the opening at the Carroll Foundation and jumped at the opportunity to relocate near his new love."

"Everything seems resolved." Morpheus turned for another pa.s.s, but Ryder sidestepped him this time. "So why is Atropos still uncertain?"

"The mortal's research may have resumed, but we didn't trap the incubus or the succubus. They're still out there somewhere." Ryder narrowed his gaze as possibilities erupted within his mind. "Release me from my current a.s.signment and I will hunt them. I will vanquish them outright or bring them to you for judgment."

Morpheus extended his hand over the reflection pool. The surface stirred, and one of the Carroll Foundation's laboratories appeared. Sheri sat on a high stool, working diligently on some sort of report. Tall, slender, with long shapely legs, she managed to make a lab coat look good.

"You're bored guarding her?" Morpheus teased.

"You wanted her unaware of the conflict, so I've stayed out of sight."

Morpheus chuckled. "I think I understand the nature of the problem. You're not bored, you're, umm ... frustrated."

Ryder smiled despite his eagerness for a different a.s.signment. For centuries he'd worked with Morpheus, guiding mankind by influencing dreams. Morpheus, like most G.o.ds, manipulated mortals without hesitation, generally for their betterment, but at times for his own amus.e.m.e.nt.

"It didn't seem right to entertain myself with Sheri because I was frustrated."

"Inactivity is hard on a warrior." Mischief flashed in Morpheus's gaze. "I understand your frustration. As long as she thinks she's dreaming, where's the harm in enjoying yourself?"

Chapter One.

Seattle, Was.h.i.+ngton.

"Morpheus said the Fates are still restless, so we must remain alert." Ryder appeared in the laboratory, visible only to his friend.

Gareth chuckled. He might reside in Justin's body, but to the Dream Warriors he would always be Gareth. "Meaning, regardless of how cleverly you pleaded, he wouldn't rea.s.sign you."

"I never plead."

"No, you flirt, you cajole, and you flash those dimples, all of which is wasted on Morpheus." Gathering his supplies, Gareth returned them to various cabinets scattered about the laboratory. "Is guarding Sheri so dreadfully dull?"

"She remembers nothing of the incubus. Morpheus insisted on it. Unlike you, I've had no reason to interact with my a.s.signment. I'm less than a ghost to her."

"Thank the G.o.ds you've had no reason to contact her." Gareth met his gaze. "You only glimpsed the incubus. Meagan still has nightmares."

"And you're there to comfort her." Ryder grumbled.

"Actually, Gareth is there to comfort her." He indulged in a c.o.c.ky smile. "I return to my original form when we meet in the Dream Realm."

Ryder raised one eyebrow in silent challenge. "Do you make love to her more often as Gareth or Justin?"

"That's none of your business, old man."

"You never had qualms about sharing your s.e.xual exploits before," Ryder protested. "Have pity on an old man. I have no life!"

"They were s.e.xual exploits before. I love Meagan. There's a big difference. I hope some day you'll understand."

Ryder glared at his friend, released his image, and floated from the room. Sheri's office was down the hall and around a corner. Pa.s.sing through walls expended unnecessary energy.

Sheri shrugged out of her lab coat and hung it in a locker as Ryder entered the room. Her ribbed sweater outlined her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and accented her trim torso. And d.a.m.n, how she filled out those jeans. Voyeurism wasn't usually his style, but a month was a long time to resist.

She rubbed the nape of her neck, her expression tense and tired.

"Looks like you need a ma.s.sage." Meagan spoke from the doorway.

"And I know just who I want to give it to me." Sheri turned and smiled at her friend.

"Do tell." Meagan raised her brow, amus.e.m.e.nt s.h.i.+ning in her eyes.

"Achilles!"

It was all Ryder could do not to groan. She'd watched that stupid movie four times -- at least, certain parts of it. Speeding past the fight scenes, she methodically examined every image of the actor portraying Achilles.

Meagan chuckled. "You finally got around to renting the DVD?"

Sheri fanned herself dramatically. "Slow motion is a wonderful thing." They laughed. "If only the camera had panned a little lower while he was bathing in his tent."

Gareth came up behind Meagan and wrapped his arms around her waist. "What are you two laughing about?"

"Just ... mythology," Sheri said, and Meagan pretended to cough.

Gareth's eyebrows drew together in bewilderment. "I've never found mythology particularly funny. Some accounts are horribly inaccurate, but not funny."

Neither woman bothered to explain.

"Ready?" Gareth took Meagan's hand and smiled into her eyes.

Ryder's heart constricted at their apparent happiness. It had happened so quickly for Gareth, but they seemed genuinely in love. Gareth had sacrificed his immortality for Meagan. He'd become human!

"We'll see you tomorrow." Meagan waved as they left the lab.

Sheri stopped by her favorite Thai restaurant for takeout on her way home. After hanging up her jacket, she ate alone at the kitchen table. Her life was so routine. No wonder he was bored.

Ryder waited in the bedroom while she took a long bubble bath. He'd tormented himself a time or two watching her bathe. What was the point in looking when he knew he couldn't touch?

As long as she thinks she's dreaming, where is the harm in amusing yourself?

Morpheus was a troublemaker. There was no way around it. He'd all but given Ryder permission to misbehave. No! His conscience objected. He wouldn't infiltrate her dreams without a reason. His mission was to guard, observe, and protect.

Sheri emerged from the bathroom, her s.h.i.+ny brown hair piled atop her head. Ryder wanted to take it down and comb his fingers through the silky strands. The emerald satin bathrobe clung to her damp skin, accenting her gentle curves and the green in her hazel eyes.

She fascinated him, attracted him in a way he didn't fully understand. He'd seen women more beautiful, more voluptuous, more sensuous. Still, Sheri appealed to him, made him long to touch ... Perhaps that's all there was to it, the lure of forbidden fruit. If he visited her once, he would appease his desire.

Meandering down the hall, she entered her bedroom. A tall armoire served as an entertainment center. She ejected the DVD she'd discussed with Meagan earlier, and a dreamy smile played about her lips.

Ryder wanted to shake her. There'd been nothing romantic about the Trojan War. Thousands had died, and Achilles had acted less honorably than most. She snapped the silver disk into its plastic case, and he paused. Did he dare?

Morpheus had made it clear he wouldn't object. Sheri was fixated on the movie. It would seem almost natural if Achilles appeared in her dreams ...

Sheri awakened slowly, or rather, she emerged into the dream. Her senses came alive, though her consciousness remained submerged. Something coa.r.s.e pressed against her knees and spread beneath her s.h.i.+ns. Rough rope bound her hands behind her; a pole pressed into her back. Blinking repeatedly, she brought the room into focus -- not a room but a tent.

Okay, Vellmos, think! What in the world is going on?

Her mind felt muddled, so she inventoried her surroundings. Expensive-looking rugs covered the ground. A mound of furs lay directly to her right. Smoke rose from wide metal braziers elevated on slender tripods.

The tent flap raised and a man strode in, adorned in familiar golden armor. He appeared battle-weary and dirty. She smiled, remembering where she'd seen this scene. Spicy food, restless nights, and visual stimulation -- she was having one h.e.l.l of a dream!

He lowered the tent flap, reducing the light. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Tension coiled deep in her belly, s.e.xual awareness heightened by fear. Her subconscious had perfectly duplicated the setting, but this man was no Brad Pitt.

As he removed his armor and scrubbed the grime from his flesh, her discomfort mounted. Scars marred his muscular torso. Identical silvery slashes intersected across his broad back. A wide, raised scar high on his side made her breath lodge in her throat. How had he survived such a wound? Forcing air out of her sluggish lungs, she drank in the masculine power of his nearly naked form. A true warrior would be covered with scars, regardless of his renown.

Eyebrows slightly darker than his golden hair drew immediate attention to his chocolate-brown eyes. With a strong jaw line and high, hollow cheekbones, his face was less elegant than the actor's, though no less attractive.

He unfastened the last of his garments, and Sheri swallowed hard. Good Lord, she'd never seen a man fas.h.i.+oned quite so well! All rippling muscle and corded sinew, the warrior stood before her naked and unashamed.

Remembering her comment to Meagan about the camera angle, Sheri released a nervous laugh and dragged her gaze away from his fabulous body.

"I disrobe, and you find it amusing? We shall have to work on your opinion of my anatomy."

Deep and faintly accented, his voice caressed her senses like a physical touch. Spanish? No, something more exotic. Not Italian, either. She couldn't place the unusual inflection in his voice. The fact that he was naked and stalking toward her might have something to do with her inability to concentrate.

As he pushed his burnished hair out of his eyes, she rea.s.sessed his features. Captivating. He emanated masculine grace. Distinct brackets framed his mouth, and faint lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes. She guessed him somewhere in his late thirties. Did age really matter in dreams?

"Have you nothing to say?"

"The casting director missed the boat." She cleared her throat. "You're a much more believable Achilles."

Deep, boyish dimples framed the most devastating smile Sheri had ever seen. His eyes sparkled, and her insides clenched. She should eat Thai food more often, if he was the result.

"We both know I'm not Achilles and you're not a captive acolyte."

"But I do seem to be a captive. Would you mind untying me?"

His warm, utterly tangible fingers cupped her chin and raised her face. "This is your dream, my sweet. Why did you envision yourself bound?"

Good question. This was so strange. Why was a character in her dream telling her she was dreaming? Licking her lips, she tried to look anywhere but at him. Her nipples gathered against her filmy gown. The diaphanous garment was more of a negligee than a dress. This had to be a dream, yet nothing had ever felt more ... real.

"Who are you?" she whispered. His touch made her restless and hot.

"Your lover." He knelt as he whispered his reply.