Visions of Magic by Regan Hastings Page A

slept and the dream came.
    She was at home, in a small cottage on the edge of a thick wood with a stream rushing nearby. A peat fire burned in the hearth and herbs hung from the ceiling rafters. There was a wide window overlooking a garden that looked lush even in the moonlight. Everything was in its place. Warm throws and pillows rested on the pair of chairs drawn up to the crackling fire. Pots and jugs lined shelves where several precious books were carefully stacked. The bed was wide and lumpy, covered with a quilt she’d pieced together herself.
    In her dream, Shea recognized this place. She was herself and yet at the same time she was someone else. Someone in a different time. The woman who lived here. Worked here. Loved here.
    She turned and caught her reflection in the shiny bottom of a copper pan. Familiar, yet strange. The green eyes she recognized, but the thick black hair was different. Her face was heart-shaped and her lips were red and full. She was . . . another.
    In a dream that was so real, she smelled the peat smoke, tasted the warm, earthy scent on her tongue. Even in sleep, she felt flustered, as confusion spiraled through her mind. How could she be so at home in a place and time that wasn’t hers? How could she know that there was a village just a mile or so away? And that the herbs hanging over her head were for medicinal uses?
    She rubbed the forehead that wasn’t really hers and yet was, and tried to make sense of things.
    Then the door behind her crashed open, slamming into the wall. Heart racing, Shea spun around to face the giant of a man filling the open doorway. His long black hair was braided at his temples. He wore a simple homespun shirt and brown leather pants tucked into heavy brown boots.
    His gray eyes locked on her and her still-frantic heart leapt in her chest. She knew those eyes. Had known them, she now thought, through countless lifetimes. Something inside her loosened as even in the dream she felt pieces of a puzzle slide inexorably into place. Then she wasn’t thinking at all. Every inch of her body burned with a hunger that she recognized. Embraced. An icy wind slid through the room to caress the flames and send them dancing and writhing, making twisting shadows on the rough-hewn walls.
    â€œYou weren’t waiting in the village,” he accused.
    â€œDo I look like a woman to take orders?” she asked, but her voice was flirtatious.
    â€œYou look like my woman,” he told her and slammed the door closed, shutting out the world.
    Shea felt the thrill of that simple statement whip through her like a stray lightning bolt. Her gaze met his for a long minute; then she rushed to him, throwing herself against him.
    His hard, strong arms came around her, lifting her off the floor. The scent of him filled her senses, as his heat seeped into her bones and kindled fires inside her that seemed on the brink of eruption. Carrying her, he stalked to the bed in the corner and dropped her to the mattress. She tossed her hair back out of her eyes, licked her bottom lip and tugged up the hem of her floor-length skirt, showing him her legs, loving the glitter in his eyes as he watched her.
    â€œIs it a battle you’re in the mood for, Torin?” she asked on a sigh. “Or is there not something else you would find more pleasurable?”
    â€œThere is at that,” he said and tore his clothes off, tossing them to the floor.
    Shea inhaled sharply, letting her gaze slide over his muscular, battle-scarred body. He was a warrior like no other. She couldn’t imagine her world without him in it. She ached for him. For his touch. For the taste of him. Every time he came to her, it was as the first time.
    Magic.
    She shivered as that word danced through her mind with a surety that felt natural. As if that word were as much a part of her as her eyes, her breath. Not for the first time, she felt as though there was. . . something she should know. Remember. A flash