Weaver of Dreams (14 page)

And it did, working just as he intended to send a delicious wave of fear his way. He took the energy into his body, letting it feed his muscles and energy. It felt like he was soaring. He felt marvelous, strong and virile. If he lived another thousand years, he would never get enough of this sensation.

The Dream Stalker morphed the specter, gave it big, sunken eyes. Its flesh melted from its face, leaving behind burnt muscle that puckered with deep hollow pockets. Its teeth, long and sharp, showed through some of the flesh.

The monster hovered above the woman, a hiss left its mouth purely for effect. Amnon forced her to watch as it slowly shifted its robed form. The black tattered robe flowed behind the figure when it settled over Maggie. It pressed against her then its mouth opened, and from the cavity came a white light.

“Wake up, Maggie. Wake up!” the woman cried aloud.

She tried to pull from the dream, but before the stalker could exercise his control over her mind, he discovered she couldn’t withdraw due to the sleeping pills.

Amnon forced Maggie to believe the monster was stealing her soul, sucking it through the beam that connected their mouths. He added the stench of rotting flesh and the musty smell of buried earth for ambiance, then made the beast moan in pleasure.

As he hoped, the addition of sound combined with the putrid smell and disgusting vision to push her over the edge. With all five senses fully engaged in the dream, it started to become real to her.

The Dream Stalker felt her again trying to wake from the nightmare. She dug her nails into her hands until they bled, hoping the pain would wake her. But of course, she didn’t wake.

Amnon smiled.

They would be able to keep this up all night. A quiver of exhilarating anticipation went through him.

Zane sat on the edge of the water, watching the whirlpool of colors swirl at the base of the falls. He allowed the steady sound of the water to wash over him. His vision and hearing merged into a mesmerizing combination which consumed him.

He didn’t notice when Jolan approached. It wasn’t until the Dream Weaver spoke that Zane realized he floated next to him.

“Lost in thought, my friend?” Jolan’s energy settled down beside Zane’s, sinking into the short grass.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Thinking about Amnon?”

“Yes.”
And no.

He’d been thinking about Amnon, trying to figure out a way he might be able to track him in this dimension, but before long his thoughts turned to the beautiful woman with strawberry-blonde hair and freckles in the human world.
Maggie
—just thinking her name was like a soothing balm to calm his troubled mind.

His thoughts were never far from her. She had a way of pushing into his mind at all times. A flower reminded him of her eyes. He looked into the water and memory of the fish she created in their shared dream came to mind. She was everywhere.

And nowhere.

Being separated from her made him uncomfortable. He longed to be near her, to touch her, even if only in a dream.

“Have you found a way to track Amnon?” Jolan asked, pulling him from his thoughts of the human woman.

“Not in this dimension,” Zane admitted.

“The Council will not be pleased.”

“I do not need the reminder.”

The Ruling Council was not known for its patience or tolerance. They expected Zane to deal out their particular brand of justice with swift execution. They did not listen to arguments or excuses and they would not be pleased Amnon still lived.

“You’ve spent a lot of time here, lately,” Jolan observed.

“I’ve needed to focus.”

“What distracts you?”

“Her.”

“The human woman you told me about?”

A breeze blew over their energy, cool, crisp. “Maggie,” Zane supplied, wanting to hear the sound of her name. It slid over his energy in a silken caress, wrapping around him to hug him with its sweet sound. Amazing how two little syllables could bring such comfort and yet distress.

What was she doing? Sleeping? Eating? Had her day gone well? Zane could not help but hope she was safe and well. For some reason, he needed her to be unharmed, which was just plain ridiculous, because his job was not to see to her safety.

“Why does she trouble you so?”

“I can’t seem to keep her from my thoughts. Every moment she enters my mind to distract me from my tasks.”

“You must focus on finding Amnon, Zane.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Zane needed no reminder of the importance of finding Amnon. The sooner he found the Dream Stalker, the sooner Maggie would be safe.

“So let me help,” Jolan offered. “Talk through the situation with me. I’ll keep you focused on what is important.”

“I . . .” Zane’s words were stilled by the sudden burning within. Every nerve fired at once, sending an electrical charge through his energy that sparked and sizzled around him like a sun. The sensation could only mean one thing, the dream catcher alarm had done its job.

Maggie was having a nightmare and by the intensity of the inferno within him, it was a ruthless one. Jolan said something Zane didn’t quite hear as he created a portal to her bedroom.

Stepping through the vortex dressed for combat in black turtleneck shirt, black combat pants, and a pair of shitkicker boots, Maggie’s fear rammed into his body with such force he staggered. Zane grabbed the vanity to steady himself, his stomach twisting as vile emotions poured over him.

His eyes focused on the cause of the depraved emotions, and noted Amnon’s merciless smile, which gave him an exceptionally cruel look. Maggie lay in her bed, her face and covers drenched in sweat. She thrashed, fists pounded the air as if she tried to beat something off her. Bucking like a bronco trying to dismount its rider, her body bounced on the mattress.

Her closed eyes informed him she slept, though Zane could not fathom how anyone slept through moving so violently. He heard something crack. Her bed? Her bones? He couldn’t tell which, but whatever it was the Dream Stalker was responsible.

The rage in him built, coursed through his muscles, bunching them under his skin. His blood rushed through his veins as much from the adrenaline as from his anger. The world narrowed around him. The thrill of the fight consumed him and he welcomed it with open arms. The hatred for his opponent enveloped him, blocking all thoughts from his mind with the exception of making the stalker pay for what he did to Maggie.

He bound across the room in one leap. Zane grabbed onto the collar of Amnon’s shirt and pulled hard, ripping him from the bed. His hand still on the Dream Stalker’s collar, Zane spared a moment to glance down at Maggie, giving her an assessing stare. Though still asleep, fear continued to contort her features and her body thrashed about

The distraction was all his opponent needed. Amnon spun, catching Zane on his jaw with his fist. Zane’s head snapped back, his body followed, causing him to lose his grip on Amnon’s collar.

His jaw throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The bastard was strong. Stronger than he’d been the last time they fought. He must have fed off Maggie’s terror. Zane needed to find an advantage of some kind. Strength alone might not be enough.

Zane didn’t have long to continue his supposition before it was tested. Amnon tackled him about his waist, sending the pair to the floor. They came to rest with Zane on his back and the stalker on top. Amnon quickly moved into position, straddling Zane’s waist. He rained blow after blow down on Zane’s face.

Zane’s head flew from one side to the other as the blows continued. Each one caused a fresh sensation of excruciating pain. His skin pulled tight from the bruising. The flesh under his eyes started to swell. He needed to do something to dislodge his opponent and fast, because going blind would not be helpful.

Taking a play from Maggie’s playbook, he began to thrash. He bucked like a prized bull until at last Amnon lost his balance and went head first into the carpet over Zane’s head.

Zane rolled to his feet. From behind his opponent, Zane wrapped his arms around Amnon’s waist and squeezed him in a fierce bear hug. Amnon threw his head back as hard as he could into Zane’s nose. The room filled with the sound of crunching bone when his nose broke. He tasted the blood as it poured through his sinuses. His blood flowed down his lips, and he struggled to ignore the pain.

Amnon writhed in his grasp, twisting and turning, taking advantage of Zane’s pain to break free of his hold. Horror widened Zane’s swollen eyes as he watch Amnon head for the vanity.

He was running again. The coward.

No way could Zane allow him to escape a second time. This needed to end here. Tonight!

The muscles in Zane’s thighs bunched as he prepared to jump. With a mighty leap, he landed in the middle of Amnon’s back, taking him to the floor, just as the mirror began to morph into a portal.

The two men rolled through the door to Maggie’s room. Each trying to gain the upper hand in their struggle. They fought like two large cats. Arms twisted, legs kicking out for any bits of muscle they could find.

Amnon’s fist landed on Zane’s broken nose, sending a fresh rush of pain through him. Zane threw his head back, a roar of agony escaped from his lips. The resulting surge of adrenaline coursed through him, increased his strength.

He flipped his opponent and rose over the stalker, but his advantage was short lived. Soon he found himself back under Amnon. The two shifted the dominate position frequently, each taking turns on top as they made their way down the hall.

When they reached the living room, they rolled apart. In unison, they rose to face each other in a fighting stance like a mirrored copy. Their hands fisted in front of their chests, their weight evenly distributed on the balls of their feet, they looked like a set of cage fighters.

Zane moved first to close the distance, and threw a right hook that sent his opponent’s head reeling on his neck. Amnon answered by throwing an uppercut to Zane’s jaw. After his head righted, Zane turned and threw his leg in the air, the roundhouse kick landing squarely on Amnon’s ribs. The warrior heard a most satisfactory crack as at least one of the stalker’s ribs broke.

A pained looked took the Dream Stalkers face, twisting the features as his arm wrapped around his ribs. At least the injury would make it difficult to breathe, perhaps slow him down a little.

It didn’t seem to deter Amnon, though. He sent a series of blows into Zane’s stomach, until he staggered backwards into the kitchen. Amnon caught him around the middle, and the pair crashed into the kitchen table. Luckily the thing was made of solid wood and did not break under their combined weight.

They rolled from the table to the floor, Zane landing on top. He straddled the stalker, his fingers closing around the male’s throat.

This was it. The moment he would send the Dream Stalker to his death.

His finger’s tightened. Amnon clawed at his hands, desperate for air. The blood vessels in his eyes burst from the pressure around his throat. Zane watched as the blood from Amnon’s broken capillaries oozed over the whites of his eyes.

Suddenly Amnon jerked. The move so unexpected, Zane could not counter. Amnon’s leg twisted up around Zane’s neck and pulled, sending Zane backwards, and his grip pulled from Amnon’s throat.

His neck pinned between the man’s legs, Zane’s airway constricted when Amnon bunched his thighs. His lungs burned, struggled for air. Pressure built behind his eyes, his body jerked from the lack of oxygen. When darkness started to close in, Zane realized if he went unconscious, the fight was over. Amnon would be able to feed off Maggie for the rest of her life.

The realization sent a bolt of desperation through him. He could not afford to lose this battle. Not with Maggie in the balance.

Zane squinted his eyes, trying to stay the darkness. They focused on the leg just below his mouth. He bent his head and bit down into the fleshy thigh as hard as he could, earning a satisfying scream from the stalker.

The moment the legs released him, he pushed from between them and stood. His head swam in protest as the oxygen rushed to his brain. Zane brought the heel of his boot down on the side of Amnon’s leg, crushing into his peroneal nerve. His opponent roared in anguish, bowed back in excruciating misery.

Knowing his adversary lay immobilized for the moment, Zane’s gaze flew to the glint of a blade. Pushing off on the stalker’s leg, he lunged for the sink, and grabbed the large knife concealed within.

Amnon rose from the floor, limping toward Zane with a look of wrath that made him no longer appeared quite human. Just as he leaned forward to pounce, Zane thrust the knife forward. It plunged into Amnon’s stomach, his own momentum driving it deeper within. Zane twisted the blade and drew it to the side, slashing the stalker across his stomach. The movement opened a large fissure in the Dream Stalker’s flesh, sending an arc of blood out to coat not just Zane, but the cabinets and stove as well.

Amnon grabbed his gut, and fell on his knees before Zane could wipe the blood from his face. A thick column of light poured from the stalker’s wound. He fell on his back with a sorrowful moan. The wide, luminous beam touched the ceiling of the tiny kitchen. It bathed the room in light, and Zane narrowed his eyes against the brightness. A blinding flash poured from Amnon’s flesh as his energy released into the cosmos. Zane threw his hand over his eyes to protect them from the nimbus of pure white light he knew would vanish quickly.

Like the beam of a high intensity laser, the concentration of the light from Amnon burned the retinas of Zane’s eyes through his lids. The torture of which matched the agony in the rest of his body.

When he opened his lids, darkness greeted him, but he didn’t panic. He knew from experience he suffered temporary flash-blindness due to the harsh light. After a few moments, he began to see the familiar afterimages he’d come to expect. Blobs of color sharpened with each blink, restoring his focus as the pain slowly receded until finally his vision returned to normal.

He glanced around the kitchen. The table and chairs lay strewn about, but luckily not broken. Amnon disintegrated when his energy released, so at least Zane did not need to dispose of the body.

He tossed the knife into the sink and ran it under water to wash the evidence of Amnon’s death down the drain. Next he took a wet sponge to the blood spatter on the cabinets and stove, scrubbing them clean. Satisfied he’d disposed of all evidence of Amnon, he righted the dinette set and straightened the items on the counter before leaving the room. The living room had fared much better than the kitchen. Only the coffee table needed to be straightened.

Zane retraced their steps, making sure he put everything back in its rightful place. He carefully erased all signs of their struggle. Even the pictures hanging in the hall were meticulously straightened.

As he made his way into the room where their epic battle begun, regret weighed heavy upon his shoulders. He did not regret he’d been forced to end the life of one of their own, for that could not be helped, but he regretted that Amnon had broken their First Law. Zane tried to take solace that he had done the only thing he could to put the stalker out of his misery. His was a heavy task, but it must be done.

Being a Peacemaker came with a price, both mentally and physically, he acknowledged, straightening the items which fell over on Maggie’s vanity during the struggle. The smell of her spilt perfume wafted in the air, tickling his broken nose. He inhaled deeply wanting to commit the scent to memory forever. The action brought a fresh sensation of misery to both his sinuses and his bruised ribs.

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. A battered and bruised man stared back. His clothes clung to his skin, wet with the blood—his own and his enemy’s. Both eyes were red and swollen. Dried blood caked his knuckles and face. A deep shade of purple colored his jaw and the flash burn created by Amnon’s death had made his eyes red.