Chapter 47 - South Beach - Kestral Has a Dream and Talks to Wyatt

University - Stanfield and Mitchell Residence


She was falling, wings failing, wind ripping first the coverts, then the primary feathers. Losing lift, no longer able to thrust through the air, no place to land but that glowing hole, a yawning mouth that darkened as it deepened.



Kestral cried out and fought her way up through sleep, swung her legs over the side of the bed and felt ground under her feet. Solid ground. A floor. It was the dream, just the dream.

She drew a long ragged breath. Where was she? Jason's bedroom, the sheets tangled but the light quilt pulled up over his bare shoulders. Some of the distress slipped away; she felt safe with him. You're all right, she told herself. It's still the middle of the night. Get up and be very quiet and make some coffee.

Searching through a pile of clothing on the floor, she found a pair of his sweats and one of her tanks she’d left here when she went swimming last week, rolled up the legs and padded barefoot and silent down the hall and up to the kitchen on the top floor.

And stopped dead. She'd been sure no one was up, but there was Wyatt, intent and focused, working on something, sheet music spread out on the marble table.

He looked up, sat back and regarded her curiously. "Hi," he finally said. "I didn't know you were here."

Kestral felt the heat start somewhere around her neck and flame up her cheeks. Completely embarrassed, she stammered, "I'm sorry I was just going to get some coffee. I didn't think anyone was awake."

He simply watched her for a few long agonizing seconds, angled face shadowed, blue eyes. Jason had blue eyes but the expression was entirely different, not like Wyatt's. "Are you ok?" he asked her.

She never had a problem around Jett, who could be obnoxious but was generally friendly and easy to get along with. Wyatt though...Wyatt unnerved her. "I think I'll just go," Kestral responded, taking a tentative step backwards.

He eased out of the chair, stood up and flashed her a sudden smile. "You don't have to do that. Jas will come down on me if I chase you away. Get whatever you want. Or sit down and let me get the coffee for you."

Kestral cast a quick look back toward the elevator, hesitating, “Maybe I shouldn’t have come up here.” "It's ok," Wyatt coaxed her. "Have a seat. You want something to eat?"

She stared at him. Wyatt started for the counter, then turned and laughed. "Maybe you should make it yourself if you're hungry. My repertoire is limited to pancakes and eggs." He paused, and, more seriously, asked again, "Are you sure you're ok?"

Kestral moved firmly toward the refrigerator. If she could cook, she could chase all this away. "I'm all right. Sometimes I have bad dreams, that's all. What would you like to eat?"

The elevator at the end of the room began to hum. Probably Jason, Kestral thought with relief. Wyatt sat back down, studying her thoughtfully.

"Make whatever you want. And I know something about bad dreams -- if coming up here works for you, then come on up anytime you want. Whatever works to get rid of them, just do it."

Jason strode through the elevator doors, saw her, glanced at Wyatt, then said, "Kes, everything all right?"

She looked from one to the other, tongue-tied, still uncertain whether she should even be here. "I think your girl is hungry," Wyatt explained, an undercurrent there, but kind.


They wrapped each other up in a long, close embrace, a gesture of reassurance more than passion.

Wyatt leaned back in the chair, watching them speculatively for a moment before turning his gaze out the front windows. That girl was haunted; what did they call her again? Bird. That was about right. And she was going to face into the wind and take off if Jason didn't figure out what was chasing her.

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NEXT CHAPTER: South Beach Chapter 48