Weaver of Dreams (11 page)

Zane sat behind Maggie in the porcelain tub. Creating a soapy washcloth, he gently worked tiny circles over Maggie’s body. He started on her lower back, traveling north and over her shoulders, before working his way to her bosom . . .

Paying careful attention to each breast, he worked up a thick lather, enjoying the sight of her tight nipples peeking through the suds. His hand fell to her leg, rubbed circles down her inner thigh with the cloth before switching to her other leg and working his way up.

He made the washcloth disappear and drew Maggie back into the shelter of his body. Her back rested against his chest, his legs framed her thin body. Her heart-shaped bottom rested against his groin, which hardened from the delicious feel of her flesh. He knew she could feel the length of him pressing against her when she gave a contented sigh and rested her head against his shoulder.

In the mirror that hung next to the tub, he could see her face. Her long lashes formed dark crescents where they rested against her cheeks. Slightly parted, her plump lips tempted him. A fine sheen, caused by the steam from the water, glossed her pale skin, making it glow. Her hair fell to one side, exposing her slender neck. It begged for a kiss and Zane could do no other than give into the temptation.

He brought his lips to her nape. His tongue flicked out to taste the tender spot. She tasted sweet, like honey with a hint of salt. And just like eating a salty-sweet snack, Zane knew one nibble would never be enough of her.

His lips closed over her flesh and he suckled at her tasty throat, eliciting a low moan from her that vibrated against his mouth. She tilted her head further to the side, giving him better access.

His mouth kissed a trail up her neck. After tracing her delicate ear with the tip of his tongue, he took the lobe between his lips, pulling it into the warmth of his mouth.

His hands worked their way over her breasts, kneading the small globes as his mouth worked its way back to her neck. Her hands found his thighs, and squeezed them until he could feel the bite of her nails in his flesh.

Zane slid one hand toward the juncture of her legs. He circled her belly button with one finger before trailing lower, to run his fingers through the thatch of curls that hid her most feminine place.

She opened her thighs for him, welcoming his touch as her legs pinned his to the sides of the tub. His fingers slid into her velvet folds. She rocked against his hand, sending the water lapping over their bodies. It sloshed over the sides of the tub as Zane moved his other hand from her breast to cup her chin.

He tilted her head back and took her lips in a passionate kiss. His fingers worked her below in time to the thrusts of his tongue. The duel sensation sent her over the precipice, and solicited a soft mewling sound he swallowed with his kiss.

He released her, helping her to turn around and straddle his hips. He reached between their bodies, taking hold of his shaft, and positioned it at her entrance. His eyes closed as she leaned forward. Just as their lips touch, he thrust his hips to sheath himself in her core.

Cold air flowed over his face, chest, and the tip of his manhood. Zane’s eyes flew open. Maggie was nowhere in sight . . .

He silently muttered a string of vile curses and pulled from her mind. The sound of her alarm clock playing filled the bedroom, making her stir. Zane quickly rose from the bed and sent his magick to open a portal. He went through just as Maggie rolled over and her hand smacked the clock beside her bed.

Back in his energy form, Zane sent a silent prayer up to the Great Spirits that he no longer had a physical body. If he had been corporeal, he would be in a world of hurt from the unsatisfying dream. If he hadn’t wasted most of the night looking for Amnon, he could have had more time with Maggie.

Amnon.

Just thinking the name pissed him off.

“Back so soon.” Jolan floated up to Zane.

“Unfortunately.”

“I thought you sensed a nightmare. Did you not find the stalker?”

“No. Amnon was not there, only the woman.”

“Amnon? Is that the stalker’s name.”

Zane realized his gaffe. Lost in thoughts of Maggie, he’d accidently revealed the identity of the Dream Stalker.
Bad form
, he chastised himself. He knew better than to give away anything.

Zane believed he could trust Jolan. In the hundreds of years they had known each other, Jolan had never given Zane a reason to doubt his loyalty. But even a trusted friend could be turned by addiction.

Well, too late now. Jolan had immediately picked up on the stalker’s name. No point in denying it.

“Amnon is the Dream Stalker,” Zane confirmed, his energy gliding forward with Jolan’s following close behind. “Do you know him?”

“No. I can’t say I ever met a Weaver named Amnon.”

A small blessing, as long as Jolan told the truth. Zane settled in the grass next to his favorite meditation spot. Jolan’s energy floated down between him and the falls. A gentle breeze blew over them, making the water ripple.

“If you will excuse me, Jolan, I wish to be alone. I need to meditate.”

“Of course. Forgive my intrusion.”

“Please don’t think me rude. Normally I enjoy your company, but I find myself unsettled and wish to focus my thoughts.”

“I understand, Zane, you have a duty to perform. I will leave you to it.”

Zane watched Jolan’s light shrink as he floated away, until at last, it disappeared completely. He shut down his vision, closing out his world, and tried to clear his mind.

Thoughts of Amnon crowded in, keeping away his inner peace. The stalker may not have been terrorizing Maggie this night, but he had in the past. The sweet woman did not deserve his torture. No one deserved his torture.

Anger pulsed through his energy making him feel edgy, irritated.

Jolan’s parting words resonated in Zane’s mind.
You have a duty to perform.

His friend’s observation rang true. Zane did have a duty to perform. He needed to find and dispose of the stalker. Instead he had wasted precious hours this night sharing a dream with Maggie. How could he let himself to be distracted so?

No other human kept him from his duty in the past. When he realized her nightmare had not been created by Amnon, he should have ported back to this dimension to search for his energy trail. But he’d stayed there with her, taking control of her dream to comfort her.

He chose her over finding Amnon.
Unacceptable
. Zane gave himself a mental shake. Why did he allow himself be distracted? He needed to perform his duty to his people, not rescue a human from her bad dream.

Well, whatever had caused such a lack of judgment he would not continue to allow the distraction from his duty.

Zane forced the thoughts of the woman from his mind and sent his energy flowing out over the land. The energy of the plants, the emotions of the other Dream Weavers flowed through him. He pushed further, searching for the unique energy he knew to be Amnon.

Ah, there, the familiar thread of darkness. Zane’s mind grabbed onto the oily thread, and sent his mental energy along the fragment of negative energy to find where it led.

At the end of the thread, Zane knew Amnon waited for the justice he would bring. He needed to follow it, not lose it before . . .

Zane felt the thread snap. He gathered his energy back into himself and quickly opened a portal to the place he sensed Amnon.

He emerged through a cracked mirror into a bathroom, dressed in black fatigues and a black turtleneck shirt. When he jumped down from the dirty vanity, his feet landed silently on the tattered floor mat below. On muted feet, he made his way through the open door and into the bedroom, where the repugnant aroma of stale beer and sweat, mixed with the pungent stench of negative emotions.

This must be the right place. The negative emotions still hung in the air. They flowed into him, touching him with their oleaginous tentacles. His gut twisted in response to the noxious feeling.

His eyes searched the room. Sparsely furnished, a bed sat by itself in the middle of the room surrounded by bare walls. A lamp stood like a sentinel next to the door, its shade tipped at an angle. And Amnon?

The stalker was nowhere to be found.

Zane made a quick pass through the tiny home, checking the kitchen and what passed for a living room before making his way back down the hall to reenter the human’s bedroom.

The person rolled onto his back, and Zane saw his face for the first time. A heavy beard grew on his chin. Perspiration matted his greasy hair to his head. The toes of one foot stuck out from his sheet, exposing his overgrown toenails. The man seemed to suffer from weight loss and did not carry enough meat on his bones, evidenced by the too-sharp cheekbones and sunken eyes. Clearly the man did not take care of himself.

Having no reason to stay, since Amnon could not be found, Zane crossed the room in three purposeful strides and entered the tiny bath. The toilet drew his attention when it made a flushing sound. Nothing to note, except the stains of human waste.

Zane sent his magick into the mirror and flowed through, grateful to be leaving the disgusting home behind.

Amnon glided through the air at a furious pace. Foster’s pain and fear had been a delicious combination with his powerful hate. The intoxicating mixture fed his corporeal muscles, his tissue and sinew . . . his very soul. The euphoria was tantamount to the strength that coursed through his body. They were one in the same, pure ecstasy. He felt wired, antsy, a good kind of antsy—like being excited, and filled with anticipation.

He still flew on the high. Literally, now that he once again soared in his own dimension, free from the confines of being mortal.

He could live forever as energy. Here nothing could stop him. He was truly invincible.

Like a god!

He soared higher, reaching for the sky. It bathed his sight in a swirl of colors. Yellow clouds bled into orange and pinks ones. They swirled around a blue spot spiraling outward to look like a multicolored cornucopia. The emerald waves of grass roll beneath him.

The air rush around him, so cold at this height, it almost burned. He increased his own energy to compensate. He would allow nothing to ruin this high.

He pushed ahead, gliding over the nearest mountain. The tip of which brushed him as he passed. Capped with purple snow, it chilled him further.

He found this height exhilarating, but too cold. Amnon started to feel a little uncomfortable, even with his energy increased to compensate. Much longer at this altitude and he would end up frozen.

Deciding not to allow anything to ruin his high, he dove down into the valley. It welcomed him into its multicolored arms. Amnon landed in the grass, and the colors bled over him. Rich hues of the most vibrant blues and reds mixed as he moved between the flowers to create a purple paint which covered his being.

Somewhere deep within his mind, he knew this could not be real. The colors of his world, while brilliant enough to be from a painting, were not paint. They did not bleed, but with the human male’s emotions coursing through him, his mind created a wonderful hallucination, trying to trick him into believing the impossible sights before him.

If he’d been in his human form, he would have smiled at the sight.

He felt alive, exalted. Like the king of the world.

And really, why shouldn’t he be?

He would be a fabulous king. The first thing he would do . . . rescind First Law, so all his subjects could experience this type of ecstasy. The second thing . . .

His mind took only a minute to come up with the next item on his royal agenda. Destroy the Peacemaker.

And wouldn’t you know, but maybe he didn’t need to be king to do that. After all, when they fought in the human dimension he kicked Zane’s ass. He believed himself to be stronger, smarter, and much faster than the Peacemaker.

If he remembered correctly—and of course he did—he almost won their struggle. Why after a good feeding, like the one he indulged in tonight, he could take on Zane and easily win.

A plan started to form in the stalker’s mind. He would visit the woman.

Maggie was it?

Yes. He would visit Maggie. Her emotions were much easier to solicit than Foster’s. Unlike the male, the woman’s dreams tended to be relatively mild and meek, making them all the more horrific when he manipulated them into nightmares.

Amnon could almost taste her emotions now. He would induce the most horrific dream he could think of and feed. Gorge himself on her emotions until he could take no more. When the Peacemaker showed up to stop him—and he would, the stalker was sure of it—Amnon would kill him while in corporeal form.

He’d created the perfect plan. Nothing could go wrong.

Foster popped the tab of his beer can and guzzled the frothy liquid down in one long drink. It warmed his stomach when it settled there.

“The breakfast of champions,” he muttered to himself, removing a second beer from his fridge.

Taking the cold can with him to the living room, he sat down on his worn couch and turned on the morning news. He popped the top of the fresh beer and took a long draw. Man, it sure tasted good going down. The bubbling tingled all the way to the pit of his stomach. His stomach rumbled, obviously happy with his choice of breakfast, Foster decided, closing his eyes to savor the taste.

The sound of a woman’s voice opened his eyes. Oh, yeah, the TV was on. A little boob tube was exactly what he needed to make his morning ritual complete.

Foster took a swig of his beer and nearly spit the amber liquid across the room when an all too familiar face appeared on the screen.

“. . . We cannot falsify test results or eligibility paperwork. It would be unethical for the school to do so. Thank you. I have no further comment.”

There she was again. Why did the news always replay things from the night before? Couldn’t they come up with fresh news over night?

The strawberry-blonde’s image disappeared from the screen, replaced by the lead anchor. As the guy droned on about some deadly accident that shut down the interstate, Foster’s mind took him back to the nightmare he experienced last night.

The woman from the TV had been there.

With Evan.

She punished him. She must have thought he was a naughty boy.

She’s the naughty one. Punish her.

Evan had held him down while she burned his flesh with a cigarette.

The bitch!

He’d done nothing wrong, only walked into the cemetery, then they attacked him.

Foster took another sip of his beer.

They must die!

“Evan is already dead. I killed him,” Foster confessed to the voices in his head before taking another sip.

She isn’t.

“Isn’t what?”

Deeeeead!

“I shouldn’t kill her.”

You shhhhhould.

“No. It would be wrong.” He looked down at the can in his hand, and watched the tiny sweat beads dripping down the silver canister like tiny drops of blood down a shiny axe.

She isn’t real. She is just a character from TV . . . from your dreams.

“She hurt me.”

Yessssss. She deserves to die for what she did to you.

Maybe he should put her out of his misery. If she disappeared, she would not haunt his dreams.

Kill her. Be rid of her.

How could he find her? He took another swallow of his liquid breakfast.

Her high school.
Evan’s
High.

Where else would she be but with Evan?

Rage raced through his blood making it boil. That bitch with her pretty little face and freckled nose, probably sat with Evan right now planning on how they would next punish him.

He tried to be a good boy, he really did, but sometimes the voices were just . . . right. Evan had tried to beat the crazy out of him. At least he said that some of the times he used a belt on Foster’s hide. Man, Evan’s thick belt stung something fierce. The bite of the leather had been almost worse than the bastard’s fists. Almost. Of course Evan’s favorite form of torture had been the cigarettes. Just like that woman used on him last night.

She hurt him. The voices were right. They said she deserved to die. Sometimes he just needed to listen to them.

Lissssten now.

Foster threw his beer can across the room at the TV. The can hit hard and bounced onto the floor, bleeding its contents onto his tattered rug.

Foster shrugged. Who cared? It would be just one more stain.

He pushed from the couch, the voices within cheering him on.