Wishmaster

Author's Note

: Hi, petals. I'm dipping my toes in. Please relax and enjoy.

~*~

The office was almost deserted.

Kiera preferred it that way. The hum of the PCs barely disturbed the cascading silence around her, and the room was lit by the soft glow of abandoned monitors reflecting off the impervious wall of windows. During the day, Kiera felt vulnerable between those sheets of glass, an animal on display at a zoo; perfectly conscious that every move she made could be watched by the outside world.

At night, however, when darkness enveloped the world, it brought with it a peaceful calm that allowed her the space to breathe. One by one her colleagues shuffled out for the night, bidding each other a good evening and a promise to see them the following day. And every day, Kiera was left alone, tapping away at her e-mails, clicking through some of her more pressing projects, and finally feeling like she could concentrate on the things she needed to get done.

Often she ignored the way her colleagues looked at her as they left. She had better things to do than decipher whether the expressions were more of pity or of sympathy. Many of them had families, friends or loved ones to return home to, warm houses and warmer embraces that let the stress of their days melt away.

Not Kiera.

She lived alone, more out of preference than luck, which meant that staying late in the office affected nobody but herself. She didn't need her colleagues feeling sorry for her; it was a lifestyle she chose.

But there was another reason that Kiera enjoyed staying late in the office, beyond trying to get more work done: Jason.

She hated that it was so juvenile - having a crush on one's boss was usually saved for the teenager who didn't understand boundaries and professionalism - but all pragmatism flew out of the window when she was around him.

Even now she had to will her gaze to stay on her screen, flicking over her e-mails, and not drift to the door of his office, closed for now, or the clock on the wall as the minutes inched past. She had to ignore the pressing thoughts of how close he really was, even if he was behind a wall, or how great his shirt looked on him, or how perfectly crooked his smile was...

Kiera shook herself, and opened one of her e-mails instead.

She was half way through reading it when his door opened, the sound of it unnaturally loud in the quiet of the room.

"Kiera," came his surprised voice, "what are you still doing here?"

With a small breath to steady her already racing heart, Kiera looked up. There he was, arms folded casually as he leaned against his open door. She'd never known anyone wear a doorframe quite like Jason Sharpe.

"Oh just finishing up a few things," Kiera replied breezily, impressed with how steady and easy-going her voice sounded. She looked back to her computer. "You know how it is - work never sleeps!"

She watched from the corner of her eye as he paced over to her desk, acutely aware of every movement she made with her mouse on her screen.

"No, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't," he said softly. He perched against her desk. Kiera kept her eyes fixed firmly on the screen. "This will still be here tomorrow."

While she worked late often, Jason was either already gone, or not in the office at all. She couldn't exactly admit to him that she often worked late just for a chance to see him alone. That would be pathetic.

"It's just a few things."

She could feel his discerning gaze on her even as she refused to look at him.

Jason seemed to hesitate, then cleared his throat. "Is there no one... waiting for you at home? No one who misses you? I wouldn't be a very good boss if they thought I worked you to the bone like this."

Kirera could feel the blush rise to her cheeks before he had even finished speaking. They normally just chatted about not-very-much, if at all, when they were alone like this. She hadn't been prepared for actual questions.

"No," was all she managed through a thin smile. "There isn't."

"I see."

That was it, she told herself. That was the end of the conversation: a perfect opportunity for him to turn around and get on with the rest of his evening, and leave her to fantasize about him sweeping her into his arms... or bending her over the table...

Good god, stop it woman.

Grateful that he couldn't read her mind, Kiera went back to her work, caught between wishing Jason would stay and wishing he would leave.

After a few moments where she wondered if he would ask anything further, Jason excused himself, leaving Kiera feeling strangely bereft. There was a difference between working in a completely empty office and one that was nearly empty, and she found herself distracted, unable to concentrate.

There seemed little point in hanging around for the night with Jason gone, so Kiera slowly began to wrap up her work, trying not to mentally berate herself as she did it.

It was pathetic, she reasoned to herself, but then, the only person who could know about it to judge her was herself, which seemed equally pointless. Realistically, she knew there was no way in hell a man like Jason Sharpe would ever pay attention to her. While rumour had it that he 'entertained' a number of ladies of varying occupations, he wasn't really the sort of person to mix business with pleasure, much to Kiera's sadness.

Even if he felt a spark of desire for her, which was pushing it given their interactions, he wasn't likely to act on it - so staying late into the night for a chance to glimpse him was more voyeurism on her part than anything else. It kept the doldrums of life at bay, but that was all that could be said for her ritual.

Still, the

reality

didn't have to play into the fantasy, did it?

As she shrugged on her coat and made her way towards the lift, there was nothing stopping her mind from running away with her. There was no reason he couldn't call out after her just as the doors opened, asking her to hold the lift. No reason at all why they couldn't spend a few moments within each other's personal space as it slowly descended the floors. No reason his breath couldn't be on her neck as he stood just an inch closer than may have been appropriate, no reason his hand couldn't ghost over her waist in an attempt to pull her into him...

Except, of course, that it wasn't real, but that didn't stop Kiera's natural reactions at the thought. She was almost sad when the lift pinged open at the ground floor, ruining her momentary fantasy.

Alone, she walked out, her shoes echoing off the pale marble flooring as she headed towards the revolving glass door. She felt power in those footsteps, somehow, each stride reminding her that no matter what happened in her head, her life was one of a 'professional' woman. Outwardly, at least.

Her tiny, pokey flat, her meagre office job, her solitary life... All part of the package of Kiera Fox. No one had to see the take away dinners for one, the growing pile of housework, or the journal she kept tucked under her pillow that imagined a very different kind of life.

That was Kiera's escape. Her day to day life may have felt empty, but settled in bed with nothing but her journal and her imagination, she penned a life that wasn't hers. A successful CEO of some perfume company; an apartment to die for; friendships, a perfect relationship, a perfect figure... All things she knew she could work hard for, but that in reality her efforts seemed to fall flat.

When her dating life was relegated to swiping left and ignoring messages, or fantasising about her boss in the office lifts, it just seemed easier to write something more glamorous in a journal. A whole other life that wasn't hers, which likely would never be hers, but one that kept her mind occupied as she drifted through life.

She almost couldn't wait to get home to write in it tonight. Her tête-à-tête with Jason would go very differently in her journal.

He'd move closer to her rather than leaving.

He'd place a hand on her shoulder, lowering his lips to her ear, and ask her why a woman as beautiful and confident as she didn't have anyone waiting for her at home.

His hand would move to the back of her neck, fingers pressing gently into her skin, his words seducing her with all the things he would never say. He'd be slow, careful, then angle her head just perfectly as he hovered above her lips, begging for permission to kiss her, because resisting her was just too much...

Caught up in her fantasy as she was, Kiera mindlessly swiped her card at the tube barriers, unaware that a figure close by was watching her every movement. Usually she was more aware at this time of night, but the fantasy had taken hold and she was more than willing to lose herself to it.

She barely registered stepping onto the train, let alone that she was followed. Too caught up in the idea of Jason deftly unbuttoning her blouse was she to notice a dark pair of eyes watching her intently from across the carriage, eyes that never blinked or broke their attention from her.

It was only when she was walking along the final street to her apartment block that she began to notice something amiss.

Kiera...

She slowed, glancing over her shoulder nervously. Had someone just called her name? It was dark, the pavement not well-lit, but she couldn't see anyone behind her. The leaves above her trembled in a slight breeze, but beyond that there was no movement.

She kept walking, broken out of her reverie and now focusing on just getting home.

Kiera.

This time, she stopped. It was definitely a voice, but it sounded distant, as though carried on the wind. Something about it made her skin shiver.

Don't be afraid, Kiera...

Kiera wheeled around, her heart beginning to race as a gust of wind blew more forcefully through the trees. Straining her eyes through the darkness, she couldn't see a thing beyond murky shadows passing over the one lingering streetlamp behind her.

She was imagining it, she told herself. There was no voice, and nothing was calling her name. Burying her hands in her coat pockets and her face in her scarf, she turned and walked purposefully towards her building. In only a few steps she would reach her door and whatever weirdness was playing tricks with her mind out here wouldn't matter. One, two...

The relief Kiera felt upon sliding her key into the front door was nearly overwhelming. She had half expected a hand to grab her and pull her into the night; perhaps she really was working too hard. She made a note to leave a little earlier in the coming week, Jason or no.

Briefly checking her pigeon hole for post and finding nothing, Kiera began climbing the stairs to her floor. This building wasn't modern enough to have a lift, so every evening she climbed three flights of stairs to reach her floor, passing various numbers of apartments as she went.

She was ashamed to say she didn't really know her neighbours. She knew an elderly woman resided in one and she had previously complained about noise, but beyond that, the inhabitants kept to themselves. Kiera was hardly upset by this as it meant her home life was generally undisturbed, but she started to wonder if anyone would actually notice if she just never came home.

If she'd been pulled into the dark by a disembodied voice, would anyone even have noticed? She almost gave a hollow laugh - more at the ridiculousness of the idea than the reality it brought to her. She wasn't one for ghost stories or the paranormal, and clearly hearing things outside. It was nothing a cup of tea couldn't fix.

Kiera's apartment felt like her sanctuary from the outside world.

While it wasn't much to write home about - simple and pokey rather than spacious and polished - just knowing that it was her own hard work that let her live there caused immense satisfaction at the end of a long day. It didn't matter what happened to her during the day, when her key slid into the lock and she pushed open the door, a sense of calm always enveloped her like a warm embrace.

This place was hers. All her own doing, with all her own hard work. Sure the carpets were thin and fraying, one of the windows didn't close properly, there were a few cupboards that didn't quite fit their frames and it took far too long for anything to cook on the electric hob - but it was hers.

She just, sometimes, wished it was a little nicer. Sometimes. Wages in London could only afford you so much, however.

So it was something of a surprise when, as she pushed open her door with the familiarity of an old friend, the apartment waiting for her wasn't her own.

Instead of a narrow hallway that was in desperate need of a repaint, the door opened into a large, open-spaced living room.

"Shit, sorry!" Kiera called as she backed out and closed the door behind her. "Wrong flat!"

Then she paused.

This was her key. It had fit in the lock and turned. She looked around, glancing to the door opposite her. The number '3' hung at a lopsided angle as it always did, and was usually one of the first things she saw in the morning. She glanced back to her own door, bereft of number (she'd always meant to sort that out) but very definitely her apartment.

Breathing hard, she slowly pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted her made her gasp.

Instead of the cheap and cheerful, narrow corridor that branched out either side of her front door, the room that she stepped into was vast - cavernous, even. Rather than greying carpet, the floor was lined with gorgeous rosewood floorboards, their sheen warming as they reflected the lights above. The walls, once neutral and lacking character, were now a deep, velour green, laced with a skirting of creamy wooden panels that smacked of both luxury and serenity.

The furniture, too, was no less decedent: an inviting sofa dominated the living area, plush cushions the shade of smoked ash, while a large coffee table carved from pure oak separated it from a roaring fire in a beautiful iron grate. A deep, red rug protected the floor from the furniture, its look so rich that Kiera had to stop herself from rushing to it to feel it.

Instead she gazed to the open-plan kitchen with black marble surfaces, wooden panelling to match the floors, soft halogen lighting and an inviting sense of homeliness.

This was not her apartment. It was far beyond anything her budget could afford, and it was nothing like the place she actually lived. And yet every detail about it, from the house plants decorating the shabby-chic bookshelves and tables, to the subtle art on the walls, had been almost plucked from Kiera's own ideas of perfection. When she wrote about her perfect life in her journal, this apartment was what she imagined coming home to every day. In her dreams and fantasies, this was where she lived.

Kiera struggled to take a breath.

It couldn't be real. It was a ... a trick, a hallucination. Feeling a little faint, Kiera reached out to steady herself on the open doorframe and closed her eyes. From the blackness she summoned the image of her real apartment, with its faults and creaking sounds and strange smells. Her breathing steadied.

She opened her eyes again and found the transformation persisted.

Not only that, but now there was a man lounging on the sofa, staring at her with what could only be described as a smirk.

Her mouth went dry.

"Kiera," he said, with a devilish smile. "Welcome home."

~*~

There is a feeling somewhere between fight or flight which renders the person caught in it paralysed with indecision.

Such was Kiera's reaction when faced with the 'reality' before her. So many thoughts were trying to cram themselves into her mind at once that she couldn't comprehend any of them. Part of her wanted to run straight for the door. Part of her wanted to launch herself at the prospective attacker. Part of her wanted to just lie on the floor, part of her wanted to close her eyes and never open them and part of her was convinced she was still at the office and had fallen asleep at her desk.

In a strange moment of clarity, she reached across and pinched her own arm. Pain seared up her for a second, confirming that at least this wasn't a dream.

Next, she forced herself to take a breath. Then another, then another.

Somehow, miraculously, she managed to force out some words. "...Who are you?"

Her visitor's smile deepend. "A good question.." With an elegance that was difficult to comprehend, he pushed himself up from the sofa and to his feet. Then, to her surprise, he gave a small bow. "You may call me James if you feel so inclined. Please, don't be afraid - I know this is alarming."

"

Alarming

?"

Kiera's gaze roved the apartment, seemingly plucked as it was from her imagination. Alarming didn't even cover it.

Her gaze settled on James. He was tall, she noted. Lean. Dark hair with dark eyes, an impossible shade to make out. A five o'clock shadow danced around his chiselled jaw, petering out beneath a set of defined cheekbones shaping that very same smirk from before. He wore a black shirt, black jeans, and with his arms folded over his chest she could see the line of muscle outlined in the fabric.

There was something about him beyond his clothing, however, that she couldn't quite put her finger on... something about the way he held himself with unnatural confidence that set her senses on edge.

He seemed content to let her survey him.

"How are - "

Shhhh.

The voice was on her in an instant - the same one that had called her name outside her apartment. James must have moved at a startling pace, because the next thing Kiera knew, he was behind her. Her instinct was to scream, but in a moment his voice was at her ear.

"Close your eyes," he breathed and, to her horror, she obeyed him, even while her mind screamed out at her to turn and punch him in the face.

Her world became shrouded in darkness.

"Be at peace," he murmured again, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Kiera felt her body relax at his touch. It was warming, his touch - comforting. The warmth spread from his hand across her shoulders, down her spine, along her arms and into her fingers; down her torso, through her thighs and into her toes. In a few, short moments she felt utterly relaxed, and the voice in her mind crying out at the danger seemed to get dimmer - fainter. Like a candle being snuffed in the dark.

That's it...

soothed the voice, surrounding her, both inside her mind and outside her body. Kiera felt herself nod mutely.

Focus on my voice

, James instructed, the words piercing the blankness of Kiera's mind.

This apartment is yours now. Isn't it what you've always dreamed? You've earned it. You deserve it, Kiera.

She should have felt fear, she knew, but instead there was nothing but tranquil calm. With her eyes closed she became hyper aware of the crackle of the fire in the grate, and the smell of sandalwood drifting through the air. She breathed deeply and sensed James breathing with her, his other hand coming to rest on her opposite shoulder, grounding her.

Kiera wanted to tell him she didn't understand, but her voice refused to utter the words.

Instead she heard a soft chuckle within her mind.

I can give you everything you've ever wanted

, he said.

Open your eyes.

She obeyed.

They were back in her office block. Kiera was standing at her desk, her back pressed into James's chest as he held her shoulders, but before her... Jason was on his knees, in the process of kissing her bare thigh, his hands running over her calves, sending shivers up her skin.

Kiera immediately plummeted into a pool of desire, her senses heightning in every aspect: James's fingers tenderly kneading her skin as he whispered sweet nothings between his kisses, the cool of the air along her bare flesh, James's voice in her mind...