Weaver of Dreams (6 page)

Zane emerged through the portal, his corporeal form clothed for combat in black fatigues and boots. To prevent from disturbing the sleeping beauty in the bed, he kept his steps light as he crossed the small room in two large strides to stand beside her.

As if drawn to him by some unseen force, she rolled toward him, and her fingers slid along the soft pillowcase next to her, looking for all the world as though she reached for her lover. Her hand came to rest on the mattress directly in front of him.

Did she somehow know he was here?

Impossible. Humans were unaware of their kind. Dream Weavers were able to come and go without detection. It was what allowed them to come and harvest energy night after night. She couldn’t possibly know he stood beside her.

And yet . . .

The sound of her soft sigh broke his train of thought. His eyes fell to her lips—full, plump lips that parted slightly, as if in wait for a lover’s kiss.

What made her sigh? Did she dream? If so, who did she dream of?

His muscles tensed beneath his fatigues. Zane’s hands bunch into fists, straining the skin on the backs of his hands. He felt edgy. His jaw clenched tight, teeth gnashed against one another.

He fought the urge to slide into her dream. It was none of his business who she dreamed of. He’d come here for one reason—to kill the Dream Stalker—and he needed to stay alert, hyper vigilant in order to get the jump on Amnon.

The stalker was not a stupid male, but instead smart and cunning. Zane knew the male from their dimension. They enjoyed each other’s company from time to time, since they had a mutual friend. While he could no longer call Amnon a comrade, Zane held a healthy respect for him. Or did, until he'd attacked the human woman in her sleep, like a tarantula crawling silently in the night to inject its victim with venom.

Now, Zane felt nothing but contempt and disgust toward the male. Amnon would be strong from the negative emotions, possibly stronger than Zane. Add that to the stalker’s cunning and he would make a savage foe. Zane knew he would need to outsmart Amnon to win their coming battle. Brawn alone would not be enough.

He forced his eyes away from the woman’s tempting lips to survey the room. Everything seemed the same as it had been the previous night, with one exception. Garments lay piled on the floor.

Zane moved on silent feet, to pick the clothes up from the floor. The scent of her perfume flooded his senses. Delicate, sweet. He took a deep inhale of the delicious aroma, let the smell fill his lungs.

His body tightened. Desire coursed through his veins.

Dammit
! Zane threw the shirt down. He should be focusing on finding the right place to wait for his opponent, not inhaling the scent of the human. Properly chastised, he forced his eyes to peruse the room.

After gliding over the simple furnishings, they came to rest on the form lying on the bed. One of the woman’s legs now peeked out from under her quilted comforter. Her dainty foot flexed slightly in her sleep to draw his attention. His eyes tracked over the muscle of her calf to her thigh.

Temptation
, a little voice in his head whispered.

The voice was right. The Great Spirits help him, but that was exactly what she was. Pure temptation. His feet carried him back to the side of her bed. Before his mind registered his intention, his hand stroked the smooth skin of her calf.

He felt the warmth of her skin under the pads of his fingers. They moved up her leg in a slow glide, allowing him time to savor the softness of her skin. Her knee bent slightly when his fingers flowed behind it.

Was she ticklish?

He did not have time to explore the thought. She moved under his hand, rolled over onto her back. The movement brought his hand closer to the top of her thigh. Only a few inches lay between his thumb and the juncture of her legs.

A soft mewing sound pushed from her throat. His entire being tensed at the sexy sound. She moved, pulling the covers up under her chin as if to hide, but the action exposed more than it hid.

Zane now had a tantalizing view of her panties. They peeked out from under the sheet, teasing him.

Taunting him.

He swallowed hard and forced his eyes from the temptation. His gaze traveled up her flat stomach to find the rounded mounds of her breasts. They thrust in the air with each of her steady breaths. Her nipples pushed against the material of her gown in invitation.

Zane fisted his hands at his sides to keep from succumbing to the temptation her breasts presented. His eyes rose to her graceful neck. As though she felt his hungry stare, she turned her head in his direction.

Time stopped.

His gaze roamed her beautiful face, took in the delicate features. Beautiful was too mundane a word for her. No word in any of the languages he knew could describe her accurately. The elegant line of her jaw led to a tiny chin which held a small cleft nestled there, begging for a kiss.

Above the dimple lay her slightly parted lips with her tongue barely visible between them. Like her dainty chin, they too begged for a kiss. Great Spirits, why did his mind keep straying to kissing her?

He forced his eyes away from her temping lips to her nose. Straight and small, just perfect for her face. Her almond shaped eyes were closed. They darted beneath the protection of her lids, telling him he had surmised correctly, she dreamt.

Her light hair fell away from her face, to pool on the pillow below. It flowed out in waves that reminded him of the beautiful waters of his home. One of his hands opened to take a strand between his fingers and thumb. Smooth and silky, he let the strands slide between his digits and fall back onto her pillow.

Zane could not help but wonder what it would feel like surrounding his head as she sat astride his waist, and rode him to her release.

The thought staggered him, and he forced himself to take a step away from her bed. He had never desired another in his physical state.

In the shared dreams with humans, he created lust, passion. It fed the people emotionally, made them feel happy and content, which in turn fed his energy. But never had he entertained the thought of physically doing the intimate act in the human dimension.

His physical body was just a vessel, a necessity while in this dimension. His true self was the energy he became in the Dream Weaver dimension. Just a means to an end, this form allowed his kind to obtain the energy they needed to survive—a tool and nothing more.

But tonight, in her presence, it felt like more. Much, much more.

Zane’s body hardened further. The effort it took not to touch the woman in the bed made his corded muscles knot beneath his flesh. His skin felt tight, taunt, nails dug into the palms of his clenched fists. The feelings within his body were uncomfortable, made him tense, jittery.

He closed his eyes, and took in a deep, steadying breath. Some space would help him regain composure, his control. He had a job to do. An important job. As the Peacemaker, the chosen one, he would not, could not, allow anything or anyone to distract him from his appointed task.

With purposeful strides, he moved around the bed, and headed for the darkest corner of her room. His back against the wall, he used his Dream Weaver abilities to wrap himself in shadows. He pulled them tighter, wrapped layer after layer until he could be sure he would not be seen, then he settled back to wait.

Zane hoped his opponent would come soon. A good fight would give him exactly what he needed to focus his thoughts. His gaze flicked to the woman one last time, before resting on the mirror of her vanity.

He planned the altercation in his mind, running through different scenarios while he waited. And waited.

His gaze went to the alarm clock by her head. 3:00. Any minute now Amnon would come through and Zane couldn’t wait, for as soon as he destroyed the Dream Stalker, he would be able to go back to his dimension. And he would be glad to put space between him and his temptation.

Movement on the bed drew his gaze to the woman. She stirred, rolling onto her side and suddenly pushed up into a seated position with a sigh.

“Once again, I can’t sleep,” she murmured as she rose from the bed, and straightened the short nightgown about her.

Her voice sounded like music, soft and soothing. It flowed over him, touched him in places he didn’t know existed. Rough with sleep, it sounded incredibly sexy.

Zane watched her exit the bedroom, and listened to her feet pad down the hall. Though tempted to follow her, he remained against the wall, wrapping the shadows tighter around himself. He could not risk her seeing him.

She came back after a minute or two with a glass of water in her hand. The woman stopped mid stride, and looked in his direction. Zane’s heart raced when her eyes squinted in concentration. Did she see him?

Impossible
. No human could see him cloaked. And yet, she looked directly at him. He pushed back tighter against the wall.

The woman shook her head and took a sip of her water. “You’re losing it, Maggie. Seeing things that aren’t there.”

Maggie—Finally he knew her name. A beautiful name to go with her beautiful face. She looked like a Maggie, he thought as he watched her from the shadows.

She downed the rest of her water in one long gulp and placed the emptied glass on the bedside table, then climbed back into bed. Maggie snuggled under the covers, drawing them around her, taking her delectable body from his view.

He stood stone still, wondering why this particular human seemed so different. She drew him like a moth to a flame. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she saw through his shadows, something no human should be able to do.

The clock read 3:48 and still no sign of Amnon. Although with the woman awake, he probably would not show.

Zane silently waited until she fell back asleep. Noting the time, he uncloaked the shadows, allowing them to fall away from his body. Dawn would soon arrive and no doubt the woman would be waking. Amnon had lost his chance to feed this night.

Zane wondered whether the stalker had chosen another human or simply gone without. Their kind could go days without reenergizing, but in his experience those who had gone to the negative side usually didn’t choose to go long between feedings. Probably because they needed the rush the negative emotions provided, the warrior surmised.

He needed to go home, but his mind screamed in protest. How could he leave her unprotected? What if Amnon lay in wait just hoping he would leave? The stalker might come here, attack her in her sleep, and Zane would not know unless he happened to be searching for Amnon.

He couldn’t leave her unprotected. Luckily, he could do one thing, a little magick, which would help keep her safe. He moved to the end of the bed and raised his right arm.

Zane sent his magick out from the tip of one finger. It bathed the room in a soft white light when the beam landed on the wall above her slatted headboard. He drew a large circle on the wall, a little larger than the sides of her bed. Next he created a complicated pattern inside the circle. He wove the strands into an intricate web. The room brightened slightly as the image he drew became more complex with each pass of his arm.

When he finished, the image glowing on the wall above her head looked very similar to what Native Americans called a dream catcher.
Somewhat appropriate
,
since my magick acts as a type of alarm.

If she experienced a nightmare, it would alert him, whether he was in his dimension or hers. Should he feel a disturbance, he would then port to her room, hopefully catch Amnon in the act and take him unaware.

A satisfied smile curved his lips. This would provide a little protection, similar to a house alarm. And he would be the law enforcement to come if it went off.

Zane scrubbed a weary hand down his face, pulling the skin tight. It took energy to be cloaked for so long and work his magick. He needed to feed. A mischievous smile raised the corners of his lips as his eyes found the woman on the bed.

And how lucky for him, a source just happened to be sleeping not more than three feet away. After the nightmare she endured the previous night, she deserved a pleasant dream, and he knew just where he would take her in the dream.

Eyes closed, Maggie had the sensation of floating on a cloud of down feathers. They surrounded her body, caressing it with silken, velvety kisses . . .

Her eyes opened slowly, and registered the vibrant colors around her. She focused on a flower, the color so opulent she struggled to give it a name. Periwinkle? Cerulean?

She plucked the fragile bloom, and brought it to her nose, its sweet perfume flooded her senses. The delicate aroma smelled like a subtle combination of magnolia and—she took another deep inhale of the delicious scent—jasmine.

Maggie pushed into a seated position and took in the world around her. A sea of emerald-green rolling waves spread out before her. She realized in amazement that the waves were actually tall grass swaying in the light breeze. Flowers in dark hues of royal blues, purples, and burgundy dotted the landscape to dance with the waves of green.

She glanced around in disbelief. The colors seemed too vivid, too bright. Resembling a Monet painting, the colors blended together as the breeze tossed them about. They twirled and mixed in ever changing patterns which danced before her eyes.

Maggie looked up and discovered she sat under a large tree. The black and white harlequin pattern of the diamond-shaped leaves brought a smile to her face. This world reminded her of Wonderland. A Mad Hatter and a Cheshire cat would make it exactly like what she imagined when she read the book.

She stood and allowed the tall grass to flow around her legs. It tickled her exposed knees. Gazing down, she realized she wore a pretty sundress, with tiny spaghetti straps, which matched the yellow flowers on the white dress. She wiggled her bare toes, made the ground squish between them. It surprised Maggie that instead of being slimy or gross, the soil caressed her digits like tiny feathers flowing between her toes. It almost tickled, but yet not quite enough to make her laugh.

The place amazed her. Every moment here brought a new experience of sight and texture. Maggie couldn’t imagine a more perfect place. So peaceful. Her heart felt light, joyful, and a smile played on her face.

Maggie straightened her arms out from her sides and walked through the field. Her fingertips brushed the soft blades of grass and flowers as she made her way over the land, their softness did not escape her notice.

Just one thing seemed odd about this beautiful place. The world appeared too quiet. Only the sound of her legs pushing through the grass could be heard. Her eyes roamed the colorful countryside, registering the lack of animals or birds. That’s odd.

It would have been eerie if not for the sound of the breeze blowing through the meadow. The wind sent her reddish locks around her face to cover her eyes. She instantly felt a little bereft, like a child being pulled from her favorite painting at a museum.

Maggie gathered her hair back and spun around to take in all the sights. This world looked remarkable, a feast for the eyes. Everywhere she looked she saw rich, delicious color. Each shade blended seamlessly into the next—with the exception of one.

Maggie narrowed her eyes, focused on the splash of white in the distance. It moved closer. The color separated from its surroundings until a form emerged.

A man sauntered toward her. Slowly he advanced. With each step he became clearer, more defined until Maggie made out the white oxford shirt he wore tucked into a pair of blue jeans that rode low on his narrow hips.

He continued his advance. His pace nonchalant, easy. With long strides, each surefooted step brought him closer until she distinguished the features of his face.

Quite handsome with his short, honey-colored hair, styled back from his face, his high forehead sat atop azure blue eyes. His long nose perfectly complemented the chiseled features of his face. His full, red lips drew her gaze to the confident smile he wore.

Her mind did not allow her to linger long on his facial features, before her eyes tracked down his body. Broad shoulders led to muscular arms. His sleeves were rolled up, affording Maggie a nice view of his sturdy forearms and large hands.

He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The material stretched just below his waist, emphasized the impressive treasure hidden behind the zipper.

Embarrassment dropped her eyes down to his thighs. They stood thick, defined. His large frame seemed muscular, but not overly so. His legs were long and his feet—bare?

The sight of his bare feet brought a smile to her face. This man appeared to be comfortable in his own skin. The minute she realized he went shoeless, she became instantly disarmed.

The man may be gorgeous, but he did not seem pretentious. He gave off a casual, laid-back vibe. And if the smile he wore was anything but genuine, Maggie would pinch herself awake.

“Hello,” he called, his voice deep and enchanting. The captivating tone sent a wave of desire through her blood, warming her from the inside out. This man was walking sex and he set her on fire with just a simple word.

“Hello yourself,” Maggie replied, with a bravado possible for her to muster only in a dream.

Knowing all this was a fantasy, made her feel free. She’d always been unusual in that way. Being fully aware of when she dreamt, she manipulated her dreams and shaped them as they went along, to an extent.

Apparently she was doing a fabulous job of that manipulation right now. This particular dream was the best she had conceived of to date, with the astounding scenery and a handsome man to boot. And Maggie intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

She crossed her arms over the cotton dress and waited as he approached her, enjoying the sight of his muscles flexing with each step.

Damn, he is a gorgeous hunk of man.

He stopped in front of her, and she craned her neck to look up into his striking face. His blue eyes captured hers. A girl could drown in those eyes.

They seemed to bore into her soul. She felt stripped naked, like he knew everything about her just from looking into her eyes. It made her uncomfortable, and she lost some of the bravado from earlier. Maggie looked away from his scrutinizing stare, and reached down to nervously twist the material of her flowing dress between her fingers and thumb.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she lied, picking a nearby flower.

A pregnant pause sat heavy between them, as if he was deciding whether or not to allow her response. He must have decided to play along, because he moved beside her.

Reaching a long arm down, he plucked a petite fuchsia flower from its stem and tucked the bloom behind her ear. The act seemed far too intimate for two strangers. She had some romantic dreams in the past, but this man seemed different—more like a lover than a stranger.

She felt drawn to him, instinctually knew being in his arms would feel like coming home. Maggie had the distinct impression he knew her, even though they had not yet exchanged names.

She could fix that.

“What is your name?” Maggie inquired as she looked up at her dream man.

“Zane.” He smiled again and her world tilted on its axis.

His hand circled her arm, steadying her swaying body. Like a hot brand, each finger sent a jolt of awareness through her. This potent man affected her in a way no real man ever had.

Oh please, let me stay asleep.

She really wanted to see where this dream headed. If just the touch of his fingers set her body on fire, she could only imagine what other parts of him would do to her.

Her thoughts were brazen, racy. Completely unlike her conscious self, but this was a dream after all. She could be free to think, to do things she would never do in the real world.

A blush heated her cheeks. His hand reached out and cupped her face. The pad of his thumb stroked over one cheek, as if trying to rub the rosy tint away.

“I love those,” he said. His finger traced a path from one cheek, over her nose, onto the other.

“What?”

“Your freckles.”

The bane of her existence, she despised the tiny spots she’d inherited from her mother and worked hard to cover them with makeup.

“Why?”

“They’re cute.”

Okay, now if Maggie had had any doubt she was dreaming before, that statement just proved she was. No one actually liked freckles. But if this Zane wanted to claim he did, then she’d go with it. She’d go with a lot of things in this dream as long as he was a part of them, she decided.

“They are not.”

He nodded his head. “They’re not only cute. I think they are sexy.”

A loud raspberry blew through her lips. “Yeah, right.”

“They are,” Zane assured her. “They make me want to kiss them.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on.”

“They do, Maggie.”

The sound of her name on his lips sent a tremor of awareness down her spine. Her name sounded sexy, wanton. His tone deepened when he spoke her name, sounded heavy with desire, curling her toes.

Her eyes flew to his to discover him staring at her lips. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and she didn’t miss the way his gaze tracked the movement. He bent his head slowly, stopping so close that his lips brushed hers as he spoke.

“I need to kiss you.” His hot breath ghosted over her skin. “Do you want me to kiss you, Maggie?”

The warmth of his body surrounded her, cocooning her in his masculine scent. It was a heady combination. A sensation she would gladly sink into. Her eyes closed of their own volition.

“Yes.” Her confession came out in a breathy sigh.

His lips descended onto hers, sending something akin to electricity coursing through her. His mouth moved gently, teasing, begging for permission to deepen the kiss. She opened for him.

He needed no further invitation. His tongue danced with hers in a sensual waltz. Each pass by his tongue a thorough examination, he left no part of her mouth unexplored.

Maggie reached out, needing to steady herself as his kiss began to overwhelm her senses. Her fingers found his shoulders to tether her to the earth. He swept her away to new heights. Who knew a kiss, just a kiss, could sweep you away? Nothing in the real world compared with this.

His hand found the back of her head, his fingers bunched in her hair. He angled her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss further. Their mouths became one, tongues darting back and forth until Maggie no longer knew where she stopped and he started.

She allowed the sensation to take her, reveled in his kiss. Zane moaned against her lips, the vibration sent a thrill through her. A soft keening sound pushed from her throat in response.

Letting go of her hair, his arms snaked around her back, and drew her to him. The hard planes of his muscular form pressed against her soft curves. The evidence of her effect on him pressed hard against her stomach. Maggie melded against him, luxuriating in the feel of him, the way he fit against her.

She sent a silent prayer to heaven, asking this dream be allowed to continue. Being the first positive dream she experienced in months, the thought it might end sent a sliver of fear through her, but the fear was quickly pushed aside by the desire Zane elicited when his hand moved down her back to cup her bottom.

Her spirit soared in pleasure. Her hands flowed over his shoulders, down to his lower back. His muscles flex under his shirt in response to her touch. They rippled under his flesh.

A desire to see those muscles struck her with a force akin to a gale wind. Her fingers found the material at his waistband. She pulled the offensive cloth from his jeans, so her digits could duck under and find his warm flesh.

Maggie ran the pads of her fingers over his smooth skin, tracing the lines of the muscles from his back around his ribs. When she reached the front of his body, her fingers traced the lines of his abs, and headed south. Just as they reached the top of his jeans, he broke their kiss.

Zane’s hands grasped hers through his shirt. His breath left his lungs in hard exhales that blew warmly on her face. His forehead rested against hers as he closed his eyes. He seemed to need a moment.

“You must stop, Maggie.”

Did he just reject her? Memories of Mark flooded her brain. He too had not wanted to be with her, touch her. What was wrong with her that, even in her dreams, she could not have a handsome man desire her?

This dream had just become a nightmare . . .