Visions (Cainsville 2)

"We'll head back, and I'll get the fireplace roaring."

--

Ricky was having a dream. A bad one. I woke when he kung-fu-chopped me in the neck.

I scrambled up, ready to fight whatever monster had attacked in the night, only to find Ricky tossing and turning, moaning softly. Sweat plastered his hair and soaked the pillow. I tugged the covers off, in case he was just overheated.

He mumbled something I couldn't make out. He kept mumbling it, over and over. I rubbed his sweat-drenched back.

"Ricky?"

More mumbling. Then he shot up so fast he startled me.

"I know," he said, grabbing for me. "I know it."

His eyes were wild, those golden flecks I'd seen earlier glowing. He held my arm tight, gaze fixed on mine, sweat dripping from his face.

"I know it, Liv."

"Okay." I loosened his iron grip on my arm.

"Sorry, sorry." He let go. "I know it."

"All right," I said. "What do you know?"

"The tusk. The writing. I know what it says. What it means."

"Okay. What?"

His mouth opened. Panic flooded his eyes. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no. I know. I know."

"Ricky . . ." I shifted to kneel beside him. "You were having a bad dream."

He shook his head, sweat-soaked hair lashing as I gripped his shoulder. "No. I remembered. It's important. It's so important."

I leaned in. "You're still half asleep. It's okay. It was just--"

"No! You need to know."

He pushed me away. It wasn't a hard shove, but it caught me off guard and I fell back.

"Fuck!" His eyes rounded as he grabbed my arms, steadying me. "Sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine." I reached out, ran my hand through his wet hair, and leaned over to brush my lips across his cheek. "You're having a bad dream."

He nodded and took deep, shuddering breaths. His arms went around me, pulling me against him, and I fell into them. He held me tight, still shaking, as I rubbed his back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Fuck. I'm so sorry."

"Stop." I nuzzled his neck, kissing him. "It was a nightmare."

His head shook against my shoulder. "Not a nightmare. Well, yes, kind of. But more like a dream. I knew what the writing on the tusk meant, and I had to tell you. It was so important to tell you, and . . ." He took deep breaths. "And it was just a dream."

"Uh-huh."

"Fuck." He pulled back, looking abashed. "It seemed so real. I had to tell you, but part of me didn't want to, like I'd lose you if I told you, but you needed to know, and . . ."

Sharp breaths now, and I could feel him shivering as the dream passed and the sweat dried, leaving him cold and confused. I pushed him back on the bed and crawled in beside him, tugging the covers over us.