Wonderfully Wicked: The Dreamcaster Series

By C.J. Burright

Dream if You Dare...

Tormented by her nightmares, Kalila longs for a normal life with sweet dreams, a white picket fence and epic love...everything she can't have. When the man of her dreams—literally— kidnaps her and claims to possess a cure, she wants to believe him. She wants to believe the passion Lydon awakens in her is real too. But trusting him is easier said than done since her night visions predict he'll kill her.

Lydon will stop at nothing to be free of his enslavement to the V'alkara, a dangerous brotherhood who feed on dreams. Sassy dreamcaster Kalila may be the key to his escape, but not if the V'alkara destroy her first. No matter how much she protests or what risks he must take, he intends to keep her safe—and in his arms—for as long as possible.

Every second Lydon remains by his dreamcaster breathes life into his cold, tortured heart, and the longer Kalila spends with Lydon, the more she aches for him. But night visions never lie…and sometimes love requires the ultimate sacrifice.

Wonderfully Wicked is the first in a new adult paranormal romance series, and while the Dreamcaster Series may be best enjoyed in sequence, each book may be read as a stand alone. Each full-length story radiates with razor sharp tension, humor, banter, action and adventure, fated mates with hard-earned love, quirky goodness, beauty and hope in the darkness, shapeshifters with a nightmare twist, and a fresh and exciting take on the paranormal genre. If you like strong heroines who won't stop until they've saved their hot but tortured heroes, you'll love these magical romances. Discover the Dreamcaster world today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.J. Burright
• Release date: Oct 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996147217

C.J. Burright

C.J Burright is a native Oregonian and refuses to leave. A member of Romance Writers of America and the Fantasy, Futuristic & Paranormal special interest chapter, while she has worked for years in a law office, she chooses to avoid writing legal thrillers (for now) and instead invades the world of paranormal romance, fantasy, and contemporary romance. C.J. also has her 4th Dan Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do and believes a story isn’t complete without at least one fight scene. Her meager spare time is spent working out, refueling with mochas, gardening, gorging on Assassin’s Creed, and rooting on the Seattle Mariners…always with music. She shares life with her husband, daughter, and a devoted cat herd.

Book preview

Wonderfully Wicked

The Dreamcaster Series 1

DREAMS CAN BE DEADLY

Kidnapped by the man of her dreams, she must embrace the darkness within to save her life … and her heart.

She’s an ordinary girl with a nightmare problem

For as long as she can remember, Kalila Montgomery has been tormented by creatures from her nightmares. Doomed to a solitary life with her cats, she’s determined to go down fighting. Until the man of her dreams— literally— kidnaps her and claims to know a cure. If only she could believe him.

He’s no ordinary hero

Lydon v’al Endrian will stop at nothing to be free of the V’alkara, a dangerous brotherhood who feed on dreams. But the key to his freedom, sassy dreamcaster Kalila, might be his toughest challenge yet. No matter how much she protests, he intends to keep her safe from the V’alkara, even if it requires the ultimate sacrifice.

But a girl can dream … can't she?

Now on the run with a man she can’t quite trust or resist, Kalila must decide— fight for her dreams of a normal life … or embrace a power she doesn’t want, to save Lydon.

Copyright © 2014, 2015 by CJ Burright

Published by Ravenrock Publishing, LLC

Previously published by Swoon Romance. Original editing by Lindsay Leggett.

All Rights Reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

Cover Designed by Fiona Jayde of Fiona Jayde Media

Formatted by Woven Red Author Services, www.WovenRed.ca

Wonderfully Wicked/CJ Burright—2nd edition

ISBN: 978-0-9961472-1-7

To Jack for putting up with a weird writer and always bragging about me, even when I don’t deserve it.

And to Karissa for enduring most of the mushy scenes.

Acknowledgements

First and always to God, my Rock.

Thanks to Michelle for slogging through my early works and still saying kind and encouraging words.

A BIG thank you to the best critique partners in the universe: Mia Celeste, Traci Douglass, and Rhenna Morgan – you ladies rock!

Huge squishy hugs to Celia Breslin and Tricia Skinner for the beta read and crits, and for being all around fantabulous, not to mention the RWA Fantasy, Futuristic, & Paranormal chapter.

To editor Cathy Yardley, who truly is a super-genius.

To Fiona Jayde, thank you for creating exactly the cover I imagined and making the process so easy.

Thank you also to Rachel Streitberger, Michael Wilhelm, Nolan Streitberger, and Montana Francis. You know why…limited edition, that’s all I’m saying. Maybe it will be worth something when I kick off.

Last but not least to my agent Brittany Booker, who not only took a chance on me, but is an all-around amazing person.

Chapter 1

Lydon v’al Endrian stole into his target’s bedroom and hesitated in the shadows beside white sheer curtains. The woman’s breaths skimmed the midnight darkness, the slow, steady beat of sleep.

Soundless, he crept across the carpet and paused at the edge of her bed. A reading lamp sharpened details. Ebony hair spilling over red satin, full, raspberry lips parted as though awaiting a kiss. A well-worn book lay open atop her stomach, Poe’s The Raven. Interesting choice.

Long, graceful fingers curled near her chin. The pale line of her arm, luminous in the fragile light, led to a delicate collarbone beneath the thin strap of a black camisole. Her heart’s measured throb lured him closer, irresistible. He leaned over her, fingers hovering near her breastbone.

A frisson of warmth twisted down his neck, an impulse to press his lips to her skin, to trace his tongue over her pulse.

He stepped back and stuffed shaking hands in his pockets. This shouldn’t be difficult, denying himself a woman. Granted, not a simple woman. A woman whose nightmares made her valuable to the V’alkara, made her quarry. Made her dangerous.

She stirred with a murmur.

Lydon sprang back and crouched by the window. His heart twanged a tripped alarm warning in his chest.

Her breathing resumed a regular rhythm.

A laugh caught in his throat, and he pushed it down. Lydon the Black V’alkara, frightened by one small dreamcaster. Pathetic. Clearly time to end this mission and return home.

Home. A more palatable word than prison, but since he was technically out on parole, he’d call it whatever Master White wanted, do whatever it took to break free from the V’alkara and a lifetime of torture and chains. Even if it meant ripping an innocent from her home.

He ghosted again to the bedside. Her jasmine and summer nights scent drew him closer.

Furrows creased her pale brow. She squirmed and the blankets hissed around her body in restless whispers. Her low moan drifted over his skin in a flow of goose flesh.

His mouth went desert dry. She dreamed.

Of him.

Desire coursed through his veins, an infection, a disease. Muscles strained against the urge to soothe her, to hold her close, to protect her. To do all manners of acts completely foreign to his nature.

His throat convulsed, fighting for air. Soothe and protect? What was wrong with him? Lydon squeezed his eyes shut and focused.

The weaves of her dream captured him in a gentle pull, more persuasive than controlling, a trembling tether on his limbs and will. He eased free one strand at a time, a seamstress removing a hem from gossamer, stitch by stitch, careful not to tear or snag.

The last thread of her web slipped away. He wiped the trickle of perspiration from his temple and released a long breath. Delaying her capture wouldn’t make it easier. He pulled the leather restraints from his pocket and reached for her wrist.

Lydon. She whispered his name, shadow soft.

He cemented in place, quivering.

Sweet as the dream of long-awaited freedom, her voice brushed across his mind in introduction. Kalila. She sighed, and the peaceful sound drilled deep into the vaults of his soul.

Mine.

Fire erupted under his skin, incinerating from within, and he shuddered beneath the onslaught. Schemes and ambitions crumbled to ash, crushed by her call. She claimed him, branded him as her own.

How could he take her now, only to watch her die? How could he refuse his master’s command and survive?

Her eyelids fluttered, and he fled into the shelter of night.

***

Kalila Montgomery snapped awake. Blood howled in her ears and silk sheets manacled her legs in a messy tangle. The network of nerves strung through her body thrummed, and her skin tingled, leftovers from his phantom fingers.

Last night in her dreams, he’d murdered her, a night vision assassin, and her night visions were ninety-nine point nine percent right. She didn’t want them, but hey, they were an all-inclusive prepaid part of her fabulous curse. In tonight’s vision, though, he hadn’t come to kill. Oh no, something worse. Far worse.

He’d been her lover.

A yearning contorted her heart, deeper than physical, almost spiritual. After twenty-seven years of loneliness, she should be well-adapted to it. She’d adjusted to existence without Honey Boo Boo episodes just fine. No boyfriend, no problem.

The ache in her chest announced her lie. It pulsed and expanded, a hollow space needing to be filled.

She pushed her damp hair from her face and drew a rickety breath. Violence she could handle. Romance, not so much. No matter the loneliness factor.

The digital clock glared the time, a few past midnight. She tossed Poe aside, flicked off the mini reading lamp, and burrowed beneath the down comforter to ease the frigid touch in the air. Bringing nightmare monsters to life was torture enough, but the infrequent visions sucked twice as bad. They felt real as a root canal and were a complete waste of snooze time since preventing them was a no-go. She’d tried.

Her warning to cancel a trip wound up in a quick kick-out to foster home number twelve. The car crash wasn’t her fault, but foster mom Tammy felt otherwise. The body cast probably influenced that decision. No brownie points for trying. Then there was the school fire, the first fabulous meeting with her best friend Melanie, the creepy incident with foster father Pete the Pervert, Melanie’s accident...

A shudder shook her shoulders and she wrenched the blankets tighter. Freakin’ nightmares. Maybe tomorrow she’d finally find some helpful info to deal with them, to cure them, to have the normal life she wanted. She buried her head beneath fluffy pillows. Hey, a girl could dream.

***

Kalila hunched into her ski jacket, pulled her cashmere scarf tight, and waited for her morning mocha. The empty café echoed with the hum of caffeinated concoctions in production, the staccato tap of her Doc Martens on white tile playing percussion. Fresh baked blueberry muffins and rich ground coffee infused the air, familiar and serene, but not enough to shake the looming sense of bad luck. Not even the dawn’s warm and fuzzy promise of February sunshine helped.

The spot between her shoulder blades itched, as though hidden eyes watched with predatory patience. She swiveled to face the line of windows behind her. Streets and sidewalks glinted like glass in the sunlight, abandoned to the rule of winter, but no chainsaw wielding assassin lurked outside.

She planted a hurry-up-before-I-hurt-you stare on the yawning teenager behind the counter. Expecting a knife in the back or worse at any given moment was bad enough, but the second nightmare haunted her, memories of his coaxing mouth on her skin and those pale eyes.

Nope, some dreams were best forgotten.

The café door opened on a winter blast, and a chill slithered over her skin, coiling around her heart. Her stomach nose-dived. She forced herself to turn.

Blue eyes, sharp as arctic skies, bored into hers.

Time came to a grinding halt. A thousand needles stabbed her chest, and her breath scraped in her throat, hot and dry.

Her nightmare come to life glided inside the café, tall, dangerous, and deadly.

Heat bloomed in her abdomen, the lure of a sweet, poisonous flower. Kalila spun back around.

He stopped right beside her.

The high speed race of her heart thundered against her ribs, vibrating through her fingers. She lifted her chin. So what if one dream cast him as her murderer? She’d never been a passive victim, never surrendered to fear. If cornered, she put up a good fight. Pete the Pervert could confirm that one.

She crammed her gloves in her pockets and pretended to study a countertop ad for organic, free-range chicken while assessing the enemy on the sly. Glossy military boots, Gucci jeans, pristine black overcoat. Good disguise. No one would suspect a male model of murder.

Another frosty draft swept inside the café, followed by a stamping of feminine feet.

He glanced at the door, giving her time for a lightning round peek. His cropped hair hovered a shade beneath golden, flipped back from his brow in artful disarray.

Great. A stalker with vanity issues.

A night vision photo flickered in her head. His macabre grin as she died, teeth red with her blood. She slouched deeper in her coat. Nothing stylish about that.

The slumping barista pushed two cups across the counter. His words trickled out, the sluggish tone of a talking sloth. Venti skinny mocha and venti double chocolate chip crème cappuccino.

Thanks. She scooped up the coffees and took a fortifying swig, hoping her stalker wouldn’t notice her shaking hands. Better to pretend to be clueless than run off in a panic. Then, he’d know.

He stepped up to the counter. Coffee. Black.

Her eyelids drooped, nothing to do with the delicious heat sliding down her throat. Two words, that was it, yet his voice poured over her, rich as honey, pooling low in her belly.

Get a grip, Montgomery.

Kalila weaved through the room of empty tables, headed for escape. The itch to run squirmed through every muscle, an almost undeniable need. She crushed it and kept to a walk.

A leggy blonde stood in line beside him, smiling an invitation. He didn’t seem to notice, all attention fixed on the barista. Maybe today was his day off from murdering innocent women. She was totally okay with that.

She ducked outside and cold slapped at her face, stinging her eyes. Coffees clutched close, she inched her way across the glazed sidewalk to her SUV. A frowning snowman watched her with one stony eye. Its stick fingers seemed to be pointing at something behind her in silent warning.

Dream-stalker stepped from the café into the radiance of sunlight and snow, as if he’d sprouted from the icy realm to reign. His gaze locked on her. He strode in her direction.

Her heart rocketed into her throat. Would he try to kill her out in the open? Of course, other than the barista and the blond inside, the streets were deserted. From a stalker’s view, now was a perfect time.

She fumbled for her keys, her hands trembling. The crunch of his boots on the ice surrounded her, growing louder, faster, like the theme song from Jaws. She yanked open the door and plunked Mel’s drink in the cup holder, sloshing coffee on the center console.

Crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch.

Kalila whirled and launched her coffee at him in a paper and liquid heat missile.

He jumped back, too late. The cup smacked him square in the chest. Brown rivulets trickled down his immaculate black coat, steaming. He stared down at the stained wool. A low growl rumbled in his throat.

She dove into the leather seat and kicked the door. It flew wide and struck his arm.

His feet slipped out from under him, skidding on the ice, and he fell to the sidewalk with a grunt.

She hauled the door shut and hit the locks. So long, sucker.

Keys jammed into the ignition, the engine purred to life. The vehicle squealed clear of the curb in a slushy spray and skated over glassy pavement. The SUV fishtailed and floated in an unstoppable slide toward a snow-crusted car. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and tensed for impact.

With centimeters to spare, the tires found their footing, and she jerked hard on the wheel. The vehicle swayed away from the parked car and wobbled down the empty street.

Through a hot adrenaline rush, pulse thumping a death-metal beat, Kalila checked the rearview mirror. A huge, glossy raven stood in the middle of the road, staring after her. GQ stalker had vanished.

She maneuvered the SUV around a corner and lost sight of the bird. With the back of her gloved hand, she swiped the cold sweat from her brow. He hadn’t turned into a bird. No way. Hallucinations due to sleep deprivation, that’s all.

Her cell crooned Music of the Night, and she hit the Blue Tooth. "Mel, I’ll be back in a sec. Just had a little encounter with him."

Your dream guy? Mel’s squeal crackled from the speaker. Did you talk to him?

Oh, sure. Kalila rolled her eyes. We discussed the weather and then went straight into Fifty Ways to Murder. I suggested a wood-chipper wouldn’t leave much evidence and he politely agreed, although he preferred a much more personal approach, the ever popular plastic bag over the head. Stimulating conversation.

Mel’s annoyed sigh filled her ear. Nothing’s determined by your dreams, Lils. You can’t plan your life around them.

What about night visions? Her jaw clenched. Why couldn’t her dream for a normal life leak into reality instead of her nightmares? She’d seriously consider auctioning off her soul to the highest bidder to be rid of her nightmares before they hurt anyone else. Or pushed her over the edge.

Take a chill pill, girl. I haven’t sensed anything shady, and you know I would. I bet change is coming. Mel’s voice rang with sudden excitement, as if she’d discovered an ancient secret. I bet your death is symbolic.

Right. Mel and her endless optimism.

I bet your present life’s about to kick it. A muffled shriek erupted, followed by the tip-tip-tap of feet dancing on tile. And he’s the catalyst.

You’re no help. I should’ve kept those dreams to myself. The memory of hands sliding over her skin and silken lips on her neck reawakened with an exquisite shiver.

Mel’s laughter chimed, clear as tiny bells. Not even. I’m still cooling off.

A single night with a man, no matter who he may be or what he can do, isn’t worth dying. Warmth skimmed the rim of her ear, as though brushed by his breath, and that soul-deep yearning to ease the ache of loneliness stirred again. See you in five. And brew some coffee. I lost mine.

Kalila disconnected the call. Mel might be her best friend, but sometimes she didn’t have a clue. Not about her, anyway. Maybe her nightmares-come-to-life messed with Mel’s psychic signal. Whatever. Freaks needed to stick together.

Still, it might be best to get extra-caffeinated, pull a dream research all-nighter, and figure out a game plan. With her nightmare living, breathing, and walking the streets, tonight could prove more frightening than fascinating.

Chapter 2

Lydon shifted on the rowan branch he’d perched on for too long and fluffed his feathers as the last sunlight glint vanished behind the trees. Lesson of the day: even ravens eventually cramped up. Next time, he’d choose a better form, such as a spirit. No muscles required to sit still for hours.

Beyond the window, the pixiesque blond woman flicked on a light and banished the evening shadows. She tossed an apple to Kalila and curled beside her on the couch.

Kalila.

If he had lips at the moment, he would have smiled. In all his imaginings, never once had their initial meeting included a coffee bomb, not only aimed at him but taking him down. And her eyes, all fierce and gold and ready to burn him alive. Heat wormed into his chest. She was extraordinary. Perfect.

Kalila chucked a handful of papers in the air and leaped up, waving her hands, a frustration volcano set on explosion. The house muffled her words, but he could take a wild guess at the subject.

Dreams. Or to be more exact, nightmares.

A tuft of snow plopped from a branch above, scattering ice crystals in his face. He ran his beak across his wing and resumed spying. She wouldn’t find any reliable information. The V’alkara made sure of that. No step-by-step instructions on managing manifested nightmares, no self-help manual guiding dreamcasters how to use their dreams. Wouldn’t want to empower their victims.

The heat inside dove toward the dark side. Through the years of torture and breaking, the slow rise to Black, the endless misdeeds committed at his master’s behest, one thought had kept him sane. Freedom. To gain freedom, he had to become White. To become White, he had to kill his master.

Cold crept in, destroying any warmth. The torture had made him strong, strong enough to conceal his emotions and intentions from White. Not enough to defeat him, not yet, maybe not ever. He tracked Kalila’s pacing across the room and back again. Now, maybe he had an alternative.

As if sensing his mutinous thoughts, heat stung his wing tip. The thin bracelet linking him to White might not show up in the forms he took, but it was always present. It burned a message, a summons home, calling the hawk back to its cage.

A deadline. Magnificent.

A stretch of his wings didn’t ease the knots in his neck. He couldn’t risk disobedience without complete certainty the dreamcaster was the key to his freedom. The consequences were too high, and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t return without her, not after watching her for days. He could hide his emotions, but not his memories. Failure was another price he wasn’t willing to pay.

Kalila snatched her coat and embraced the other woman goodbye. She jangled her keys and headed for the door.

His throat closed, as if a noose slipped tight. Only one possible avenue remained clear. Take her to the V’alkara, charm her along the way, gain her trust, and hope to hell she made him hers before the V’alkara destroyed her.

***

—here I opened wide the door; —

Darkness there… and... nothing... more...

Poe drooped from her hand onto the blankets and Kalila’s eyes drifted shut. Tension eased from her body, sleep staking its claim, not long enough to dream. Or deep enough to miss the rustle of curtains at her double-locked window.

She kept motionless, her breathing steady. Prickles of awareness danced down her neck. He was in her room, had somehow slipped past her state-of-the-art security system.

I know you’re not sleeping. Too close, the low drawl of his voice sent her heart into a backflip.

She slit one eye and gasped. He crouched right beside her bed. His gaze held her frozen in place, but the expected jolt of fear didn’t come. Instead, traitorous heat bubbled through her, igniting her senses and swirling in her belly.

So not the time for a libido refresher course. She swallowed hard. Impromptu attack plan: no panic. Get him talking. Strike when he least expected it.

Why are you in my room? If he noticed the sting of her voice, it didn’t show. Who are you?

Depends on who you ask. He scratched his jaw with one long finger. Since you told me your first name, I’ll give you mine: Lydon.

So wrong. His name should be Ted as in Bundy or Jack for ripper, not Lydon. Not a name she could imagine sighing in her sleep.

Kalila reached beneath the covers, inching toward the knife tucked at the side of her bed. Over her years in the system, Pete the Pervert had only been the first ‘concerned’ foster father to slink into her room. A sharp weapon usually changed their tune from lullaby to hymn, and when that failed, her nightmares played back up. They preferred deathgrind. Her fingertips met cool metal and she eased onto her elbows.

Lydon didn’t shift a centimeter, watching her with those silver-blue eyes. Figured he wore all black, the perfect color for murderers. His large hands were empty, relaxed across his knees. Good. He still considered her easy prey.

I don’t talk to strangers. With the knife in her hand, she breathed easier and gave him a look meant to burn skin from bones. Unless they’re invading my personal space and I don’t have coffee to throw on them.

Tsk, tsk. He sounded almost disappointed. You don’t remember our last midnight chat? His lips twitched. I’ll never forget. Kalila.

The way he said her name, sweet as a caress, shivered in ribbons down her spine, but her chest constricted. If he knew her name, what else did he know?

You want to kill me. A statement, not a question. A test, a dare.

Lydon’s head tilted to the side, lips curved into a sly, I-know-your-secret smile.

Her second vision, the heated, disturbing one, flared to life. How soft and sinful those lips had felt on her skin, drifting over the curve of her neck.

Naughty dreams. His voice lowered to a husky tone, another velvet echo of the dream. Thought I’d lost my touch and you found me repellent, but seems you avoided me for good reason. His eyes glinted in the shadows, sharp and cold. Can’t say I’m sorry to discover the truth.

You don’t even bother to deny it? Beneath the blanket, her hand wobbled. He couldn’t possibly know about her nightmares. She’d only told Mel. The image of the huge raven in the icy street slipped across her mind.

Would you believe me if I did?

Nope. She sat up straight. By the way, I do find you repellent.

Lydon remained crouching. His predatory gaze tracked her every move, probably expecting her to make a getaway like a normal victim. Guess he didn’t know she’d lost out on the normal genes.

Are you a sociopath who chooses a specific type of victim or am I lucky? She tensed for action. Have something against sleeping women? Or is murdering innocent people a hobby of yours?

His teeth gleamed white in the gloom. Aren’t you a feisty little kitten?

More like Grumpy Cat. She slashed out, and the blade pierced his black shirt, straight into his shoulder.

He wrenched back with a hiss.

She sprang from the bed and sprinted toward the door. Maybe she should’ve gone for his heart, but unlike him, she didn’t want murder guilt weighing her down.

You stabbed me. His voice boomed from her bedroom, dripping with disbelief.

Enjoy.

Kalila yanked the door open and raced down the carpeted hallway on bare feet. She took the stairs two at a time, jumped over the last three steps—and smacked straight into Lydon’s chest.

What the—? She bounced back onto the staircase’s unforgiving angles. The knife fell from her fingers and flipped between the banister posts. It landed with a thud somewhere in the living room darkness. Blood roaring in her ears, she slammed her palm up into his chin.

His head snapped back and he staggered.

Her keys waited on the clean kitchen counter. She

Reviews for Wonderfully Wicked

[jansenschmidt · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Great book with interesting characters and plot twists. A kick-butt heroine who knows what she wants and goes after it.

I strongly recommend this book for lovers of unique paranormal romance.

[thebookjunkiereads-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Wheeled me right in from the first words-to-paragraphs on the page. I kept turning the pages to get to the next scene. Dream are normal. Dreams that come true can be called something else. Dreams that come true and cause injury or worse are called nightmares. Kalila has a problem. When she dreams bad things can happen. She wants nothing more that to be free from it all. But being kidnapped was not part of her wants. Lydon has plans for the lovely dreamer. Plans that include kidnapping her. Fight his attraction or the leaders of his people were not part of the plan. There are worse things in the night.Wonderfully Wicked has me charged up and ready to fight with what I have and win the battle with my dreams/nightmares.