Weaver of Dreams (4 page)

It was just the advantage Zane needed. His target would be lost in the dream. Busy manipulating the dream world, the male would be distracted by the feeding. It would give Zane the time he needed to make sure all would go according to plan.

He noted the exact placement of each item in the room. In a fight, nothing brought the battle to an end like tripping over a piece of furniture or an item of clothing. By knowing where everything lay, he could either use the items to his advantage to defeat his enemy or avoid them to escape his own demise.

The small room was sparsely decorated. Against one wall rested a white dresser that looked like it had just come from Crate and Barrel. A TV sat on one corner and what appeared to be a jewelry box sat on the other. He turned around and found a matching vanity attached to a small mirror that would be his way back home. His eyes roamed the floor. In the dim light, he could not be sure of its exact color but the carpet seemed to be a light shade, with no debris cluttering the surface.

His eyes glossed over the bed, a basic, full-size model with a light-colored quilted comforter that lay crumpled into a pile at the end of the bed. Rumpled sheets completed the pile of cloth.

He saw two legs visible from under the pile. They were thin but defined. The distinctly feminine lines and smooth skin gave him his first clue as to the human’s sex. Her gown lay askew on her legs, allowing him a tantalizing view of one thigh while the other remained hidden from his view.

His pulse sped up as his gaze roamed her figure. Her flat stomach rose with each heavy breath as did the round globes on her chest. Her breaths came in rapid spurts, increasing speed as he watched. Her breasts mesmerized him with their sway from her swift breaths.

Blood rushed through his veins, warmed him with each pass. His body tightened, fingers flexed, wanting to reach out and take hold of the woman on the bed. A strange emotion filled him, one with which he was unfamiliar. Jealousy. Possession. He struggled to name it as his gaze tracked further up the woman’s body.

With her features bathed in soft light from his target’s glowing hand, Zane recognized her as the woman he’d seen through the portal a day ago. Her eyes slid back and forth under their lids while her hands twitched by her sides. Her angular face contorted with a pained look, her reddish brows furrowed deeply over her closed eyes. Her petite nose wrinkled under the strain. Full, sensual lips drew back into a tight line as she began to thrash about.

When a small, woeful moan pushed through her lips, Zane jumped into action. His beefy hands landed on the shoulders of the man sitting on the bed and tossed him across the room. His body hit the dresser, slamming it against the wall with a loud bang, before he slumped down onto the floor.

“Release her from the nightmare,” Zane demanded, aware that the helpless woman lay behind him on the bed, still thrashing in the throes of her dream.

The stalker rolled onto his hands and knees. Breathing hard, whether from the impact or from the absorption of her emotions, Zane couldn’t be sure.

“Why would I do that?” the male asked, his voice rough with emotion. “She is delicious. I’ve never had anyone better.”

“You are twisted.” Zane placed himself between the woman and the Dream Stalker. “I have come to bring you peace.”

The stalker pushed off the floor, rising to his full height. Almost as tall as Zane, he squared his shoulders and turned toward the warrior.

“Peacemaker,” the man spat out between clenched teeth. The tone of his voice sounded harsh, as if he found the name most disgusting. “I am at peace. I am full of peace and it feels fabulous.”

The man raised his head for the first time, allowing Zane a good look at him. He had a hard face, his jaw shadowed with the stubble of a beard. Having been good looking at one time, addiction had deadened his eyes, and made his cheeks sink into themselves. The stalker vaguely resembled a popular movie actor, but the pain of his craving coupled with the time spent absorbing negative emotions turned his features unsightly, but not unrecognizable.

“Amnon.”

A wicked smile took the stalker’s face. “Zane, it’s been a while.”

“Too long, apparently.” Zane shook his head sadly.

“Not long enough,” Amnon retorted. “Go Zane, before you do something you’ll regret.”

It was his duty to dispense justice without regret. Regret had long ago been drilled out of him, until only an efficient killer remained behind.

“Regret is not what I feel for you. Pity. Contempt. But not regret.”

Amnon’s expression lost some of its smugness. His eyes searched the room, obviously seeking escape. Zane knew he must act fast. The time for talking was over.

The warrior leapt through the air, arms outstretched. His fingers searched for some flesh to wrap around, reaching for his foe.

His opponent dodged left, and Zane’s hand brushed the collar of Amnon’s shirt. His fingers gripped the material, and pulled Amnon from his feet. Zane forced the male to the floor on his back and descended upon him, his knees coming to rest on each side of Amnon’s stomach. The Dream Stalker’s eyes bulged with surprise, when Zane’s fingers wrapped tight around his neck.

Amnon’s hands hit at Zane’s body, searching for a soft spot of flesh. The blows were strong, brutal. Much more so than Zane expected. Pain pulsed through him, but he pushed it ruthlessly away. Amnon’s strength must have been fed by the negative emotions of the woman, who still lay thrashing about on the bed.

Zane’s eyes left his opponent for a moment to look at the female. He spared her only a moment’s glance. Once assured she still slept and lay unaware of the battle taking place in her bedroom, his gaze returned to his adversary.

She was a distraction he did not need. Not when his hands were wrapped around the neck of his enemy. Any distraction in battle could get you killed. It was a lesson he had taught to several of his kind, just before he gave them their final peace.

Amnon shifted under Zane’s weight, planted his heels into the floor and pushed his hips up. Suddenly Zane found himself bucked from his opponent and heading for a face-plant on the floor. He let go of Amnon’s neck and threw his hands out to catch himself.

Amnon used the momentum to thrust Zane off of his body. The stalker jumped to his feet just as Zane tucked into a ball and rolled.

The warrior landed on the balls of his feet, and pivoted to track his target, but Amnon made for the vanity. He was going to port. In their vast dimension, Amnon could easily hide. It would be impossible for Zane to find him. Though tainted by his addiction, he was not stupid. The Dream Stalker would know how to avoid Zane and cover his energy.

Zane pushed off on the soft carpet, his back foot sliding as it struggled to find purchase. Thrown off balance, he stumbled forward. His hand reached out to clutch a bit of cloth from Amnon’s shirt, but all he grasped was air.

The mirror swirled to life, and the warrior watched Amnon go through, his physical form disintegrating before Zane’s eyes. The mirror changed back to reflective glass in a blink of an eye.

A sting of vile curses left Zane’s lips. He’d underestimated his opponent and it resulted in his escape.

“It won’t happen again,” Zane vowed to himself.

The sound of smooth skin against cotton sheets drew his attention away from the mirror. His eyes fixed on the woman lying in the bed.

Her connection to Amnon had been severed the moment he went through the portal. The human, finally free of her nightmare, awakened and turned her head in his direction.

She must not see him. He needed to escape before she fully awakened. Zane raced across the room and touched the mirror with his finger, instantly opening the connection with his world. He allowed the pull of his home to draw him in, shedding his human form to escape before the woman’s sleep-laden eyes.

Maggie pushed herself into a seated position on her bed with one hand while the other pushed her matted hair away from her face. Trying to clear her fuzzy vision, she blinked once, twice. After taking several deep breaths, she willed her beating heart to calm.

Her muscles felt achy, like she’d just been through an extensive workout at the gym. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand and looked down to find her sheets in a crumpled pile at the end of her bed. She had been having another nightmare and from the way her muscles ached, she must have been acting it out in her sleep. Not the first time she awoke from a bad dream to find her body sore, and Maggie knew it wouldn’t be the last.

She didn’t remember a time without the nightmares. Friends and boyfriends had come and gone. Her home address changed several times in her thirty-three years, but the bad dreams followed her always. And tonight had been no different.

First, someone who looked like a strung-out version of the actor who played the title role in the latest superhero movie had attacked her in her dreams. She caught a glimpse of the man when she fell into the pit from Hell. Then, when she finally escaped her nightmare, she awoke to find a handsome man in her room. In the blink of her eyes, the man disappeared from her bedroom . . . by crawling into her mirror.

Oh yeah. She was losing it.

Maybe there was something to the warning that people needed a certain amount of sleep each night or they would go crazy. She definitely suffered from sleep deprivation and it seemed she was starting to see things—like men disappearing before her eyes.

She gave an inelegant snort and flopped back down on her bed, throwing an arm over her face. Too bad she couldn’t take the day off and try to catch up on her sleep. Nope, she must get up in—Maggie glanced over at her alarm clock—in less than an hour.

She moaned. No use in trying to go back to sleep now. By the time her mind settled down, the alarm would go off. Better to get up and have a few extra cups of coffee with the additional minutes than waste them trying to sleep.

Maggie yawned and rolled out of bed, sticky and sweaty thanks to the nightmare. She pulled her gown away from her moist skin. She needed a shower, but a cup of coffee was the first order of business. Thanks to her early wake up time, she’d have plenty of time for a shower later.

She stumbled out of the bedroom and into her tiny kitchen. Small and efficient, a few Formica cabinets held her pans and dinnerware. Stainless steel appliances gave it a competent look. A small square table with four chairs sat off to one side. One of the few items in the home she had not purchased herself, the set had been a gift from her parents when she moved into her first apartment.

Her bare feet smacked against the linoleum as Maggie crossed the kitchen to reach her caffeine angel. A push of a button brought the coffee maker to life. As it made its usual gurgling noises, the delicious aroma of fresh-ground beans tickled her nose, making her mouth water. Instantly, Maggie’s mood brightened in anticipation.

With the coffee brewing, she cleaned up the remaining dishes from the previous night’s snack. “Maybe I should stop eating before bed,” she murmured to herself.

“Perhaps it was an undigested bit of beef or an underdone potato. There may be more gravy than grave about my nightmare,” she pronounced, giving her own personal spin on the Dickens quote.

Maybe there actually was something to the saying. She had eaten before bed far too much lately. She might want to reconsider doing that. Tonight, she decided, she would not eat after seven.

Not waiting for the coffee pot to complete its cycle, she pulled the pot from the heating element and poured herself a cup. The appealing fragrance wafted up to delight her nose. Cradling the mug between her hands, she could almost feel the caffeine taking effect, just from the smell.

She let the full flavor settle on her tongue for a moment before swallowing. The warm, rich taste slid down her throat to warm her from the inside out. Her tummy gurgled its approval and a deep sigh left her throat before she turned to leave the kitchen.

Making her way to the living room, she plopped down on her recliner. With a click of the remote, her TV filled the room with light and sound. The newscaster droned on about the events of the previous evening as she took another delectable sip of her coffee. The cup still cradled between her hands, Maggie settled back on the couch to catch up on the latest news.

“. . . and so the suspects were taken to jail and booked,” the news anchor informed her. “Now to you, Connie.”

A perky little blonde appeared on screen.

She was far too energetic for this time of the morning for Maggie’s tastes. The guidance counselor grabbed the remote to change the channel, but the information from the pretty correspondence’s mouth stayed her finger over the button.

“. . . Officials from the school district have no comment at this time, stating it is an ongoing case. However, this reporter has learned the School District brought in a top rate attorney to litigate the lawsuit. Your tax dollars hard at work, ladies and gentleman. Back to you in the studio, Jim.”

With Jim’s voice droning on in the background, Maggie’s temper fumed. She should have suspected the media would put a negative spin on the litigation. Of course they hadn’t mentioned how ridiculous the claims of the parents were. Instead they’d focused on how much the District spent to fight this ludicrous lawsuit.

The media was a powerful thing. It won elections, convicted people in the court of public opinion and Maggie knew just how judgmental they could be. They swayed public opinion with a single broadcast by presenting just one side of a story.

She'd done everything right in regards to the young man at her high school. The school had gone by the book for the student. He performed well at school.

They couldn’t do what the parents asked—make him eligible for special education—when he didn’t meet the criteria. It would be lying and Maggie had too many scruples to do that. But did the report mention any of that?

No.

The news broadcast made the District look bad. Mark wouldn’t like this. Hopefully he missed the newscast.

Maggie changed the channel. Her heart dropped to her toes when she realized this station too discussed the pending case. Just like the previous one, the newscaster only presented the family’s side of the issue. Turning to a third station, she discovered in record time that the family had gotten to all three of the major stations in the viewing area.

No way Mark would miss this much coverage. He and the pretty lawyer he hired would need to do some PR for the District. Their side of the story needed to be told.

After taking the last sip of her coffee, Maggie put the emptied cup down on the coffee table. She yawned, not bothering to hide it behind her hand as her arms stretched overhead. She needed that shower now. It would give her a chance to calm down and she could try to wash away the dread sinking into her bones.

An hour and fifteen minutes later she walked into her office at school. The sight of the flashing red light on her phone indicated a voicemail waited for her. Dread filled her. Sliding into the chair behind her desk, she punched in the code to retrieve her message.

Correction,
messages
, she thought when the automated voice told her she’d missed two calls. She twisted the cord around her finger as the first one played.

“Ms. O’Connell. This is Ms. Lawler. I need to speak to you. Please call me at . . .” Maggie jotted down the number and listened for the next message.

“Maggie, it’s Mark. Call me.”

She noted the grim tone in his voice. It was difficult to tell from such a brief message. Was he upset? Would she get the polite Mark or the jerky Mark today? She never knew which side of his personality would emerge when they were together. Sometimes, like the last time they met, he was pleasant enough. But at other times, he could be moody and impossible to get along with.

Her ex hadn’t left a number—didn’t need to. She still knew his numbers by heart, even if she hated to admit it.

She took a deep breath and punched in the number to Mark’s office. His secretary answered. “Good morning, Mr. Carver’s office.”

“Hi Liz, it’s Maggie.”

“Oh hi, Maggie. How are you?”

Stressed out. Exhausted. Worried.
“Fine. And you?”

“Just fine. What can I do for you?”

Maggie pulled a pen from her pencil container on her desk and tapped the end of it on a stack of papers that needed her attention. “Mark asked me to call him.”

“He’s with the attorney just now. I’ll leave him a message.”

Maggie’s leg bounced with nervous energy under her desk. “I think you better check with him first. I have a feeling they are probably discussing the reason he asked me to call.”

“Okay. Hold on, I’ll check with him.”

Maggie waited, listening to the music play on the phone. Just as she started to hum along, the sound of Mark’s voice cut off the music mid-song. “Maggie?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I need you in my office, now.”

“But I have–” The sound of her boss’s voice cut off her protest.

“Now, Maggie.”

“Yes,
sir
.” Maggie did not keep the sarcastic tone from her voice. “It’s not like I have anything to do today. The kids who are scheduled to see me and the paperwork I need to complete can all wait. I’ll have my imaginary secretary cancel all my appointments and I’ll rush on over.”

“You do that,” Mark commanded, disconnecting their call.

Maggie muttered to herself about her boss being an ass as she walked out her office door.