He awoke with a moan, the sound penetrating the clouds of sleep and the hot discomfort of a dream that really was the last thing he needed after a day like today. He squirmed out from under a blanket that had tangled around his legs, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He tried hard, grittingly hard, to ignore the ache that raged through his body, knowing it was just an aftereffect of Lother's latest scheme.

He remembered the love spell all too well, and the only thing that mitigated his utter embarrassment was the fact that Blake had been right there in the middle of it with him. And Blake was a lot more willing to draw teasing than he was, which Cam was perfectly happy to take advantage of. Anything that took the attention off of him was welcome. Especially if it was going to linger like this, invading his dreams long after the spell's effect on his conscious mind had dissipated.

He didn't love Tori. He liked Tori, and he was grateful for her intelligent presence on a team dominated by teenage boys. He appreciated her wit, her dedication, and her willingness to gently mock her friends when she knew it was what he needed to hear. If there was anyone on the team he would confide in, it would be her.

But he didn't love her, and as far as he knew, he wasn't attracted to her in any way. She was pretty, beautiful even, and she didn't let it go to her head. That more than anything was something he unconsciously acknowledged--beauty that didn't put itself up on a pedestal. But it wasn't something he was looking for at this point in his life, and if he wanted to pursue a relationship with anyone it certainly wouldn't be another Ranger. That way lay chaos.

Cam took a deep breath, let it out, and glanced over at his clock. 1:35 AM. Great. That was just great. Less than three hours of sleep and already he was reluctant to stay in bed. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford the sleeplessness, and that left only one choice.

He closed his eyes, hoping to find some solace in meditation before he turned his body over to the whims of unconsciousness again. But exhaustion dragged at his brain the moment he tried to relax, and he gave up. Surely, if he was this tired, there was no way his mind would resume an unwanted dream for the sole purpose of torturing him?

He fell back into bed, hauling his legs up onto the mattress and closing his eyes. He didn't even bother with the blanket, promising his body he would reposition it in a minute... once he had the energy. Or when the discomfort outweighed his tiredness, whichever came first.

He was drifting in lightheaded sensation, totally unaware of the bed beneath him, when he realized he was dreaming again. Not so bad, his brain decided drowsily. He could feel the pillow behind his head momentarily as he shifted, the hazy doze interrupted by something he couldn't identify. It was gone as soon as it had come, and the realm of sleep engulfed him with a vengeance.

There were feelings he knew only distantly: the full-body flush, the yearning for something undefined, the forward press of every blood cell in his body. An ache strong enough to make him gasp, twisting under a touch so soft that he had to have imagined it. It was a feeling he had never associated with another person, but he knew it by name.

Desire.

Desire for someone, for something someone could do to him, for something he could only be with someone else. The sensation had never been more than a vague longing, but this time--with this particular person--it was a harsh reality that no fantasy could have prepared him for. It was lust, pure and simple, and it colored everything he knew.

Fingers in his hair, hands on his skin, he was wearing nothing and it was good, it was a relief, he couldn't imagine clothes getting in the way of this feeling. His back arched on an indrawn breath, wanting the brush of blond hair against the most sensitive parts of his body--the ghost of a tongue on his skin made him gasp and his fingers clenched in the sheets. He was writhing in the grip of something no one else had ever brought out in him and it was so good...

The jerk of climax made him cry out. For a moment he hovered between dream and reality, shuddering, reaching for someone who wasn't there--

Blue eyes stared back at him. Ice blue eyes that glinted in the dim light, hard and unforgiving... a far cry from the delighted sparkle that lurked in Tori's aquamarine gaze. He sat up with a shock, heart pounding as he tried to see into the darkness left in the wake of a dream too vivid for his peace of mind.

Hunter.

"No," he whispered fervently. He would deny that possibility with his last breath. "No."

He kicked the blanket away, hands shaking as he lifted them to his face. He scrubbed at his skin, trying to dispel images that refused to fade, trying not to think about why he was panting. No. It was just the love spell, just clinging magic that made him think he was still inexplicably attracted to Tori.

But it hadn't been Tori in his dream.

What the hell did his subconscious want with Hunter, anyway? He pushed his hair out of his face angrily, shoving himself to his feet and taking a deep breath as his head objected violently. Yeah, well, if the blood in his body would stay where it was supposed to, standing up wouldn't be such a head rush. And really, the headache was overdoing it just a little. He'd taken more aspirin before he went to bed the first time.

Now he wanted more. He fumbled his way toward the door, not bothering with the light until a voice behind him remarked, "You obviously inherited your stubbornness from your mother."

Cam spun, slamming his hand down on the lightswitch and searching the room rapidly. The light stabbed his eyes, making them water as he squinted into the corners, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing there.

Your reflexes, too. This time the voice sounded admiring, and it was still coming from behind him. He leapt away from the door, certain there was nothing between him and it but not certain enough to argue with ninja training.

Sorry about the headache, the voice continued blithely. It's not actually that easy to talk to you. I suppose people have told you that before.

"Who's there?" Cam demanded, his voice harsh in the silence. "What do you want?"

Less of a who, more of a what, the voice answered. Your mom didn't have time to tell you what you were getting when I chose you. It became slightly more reflective as it added, She must have figured out who you were, though... the choice of names is too odd to be coincidence.

"What do you know about my mom?" Cam growled. He was still scanning the room and coming up totally empty. "Who are you?"

His gaze dropped to his chest, where the necklace his mother had passed on to him was glowing softly in the brightly lit room. He reached down and yanked it off over his head, turning slowly to cover the rest of the room with his gaze. The voice moved with him, a feat that someone having fun with him would be hard-pressed to pull off in a place this secure.

I was with your mother for several years, the voice continued, sounding vaguely amused at his actions. I have to admit, I didn't expect to jump quite so far into the future, but when you've been around as long as I have, a few decades is nothing. And it's been quite an interesting ride.

Cam dropped the amulet on his desk and walked out of the room. For a moment, as he walked down the hallway toward the bathroom, there was silence. He could be crazy, he decided. He could be under a spell. Lothor could be messing with his mind again, which after today seemed more and more likely.

Sorry. The voice was back, and he let out the breath he'd been holding. It doesn't work that way. I'm afraid you're stuck with me until I choose someone new.

"When will that be?" he asked in spite of himself. His words sounded out of place in the quiet corridor. She wasn't actually... talking, as far as he could tell. The sound didn't seem to disturb the stillness around him--and besides, if she were physically speaking her voice would be coming from his room. It wasn't. It was still right behind him, as close as ever despite leaving the amulet behind.

You'll know when I know, she replied carelessly, and he wondered suddenly when he'd started thinking of the voice as feminine. In the meantime, I want to talk about this Hunter of yours.

He stopped in front of the medicine cabinet, staring inside without seeing a thing. "That was you," he accused. "That... dream, that was you!"

It explained a lot. Or at least, it did inasmuch as the idea that his mother's talking amulet was taking an active interest in his sex life--or lack thereof--could be considered an explanation. He couldn't help feeling relieved that he finally had some rationale for it.

It didn't last.

The dream? She sounded genuinely surprised. No, that was yours. I was just looking around... trying to find some common ground, as it were. Luckily our taste in men is it, since I was about to write you off as a lost cause.

There was a significant pause, and then she added, Did I mention that you're extremely difficult to talk to?

He sighed, pressing one hand to his temple while he squeezed his eyes shut. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he found himself just as tired as he'd been before. "What are you talking about?"

Dear?

If this was all in his head, he seriously needed to consider therapy.