Her stomach twisted, knotted with despair as she contemplated going in front of the cameras. Maggie’s palms started to sweat. She wiped them on her napkin, and imagined what having several cameras pointed at her would be like, their red lights flashing to indicate they recorded every word she stuttered.
“I don’t want to find another face. We think you are the most logical choice,” Mark informed her, as his arms crossed over his chest.
“You really must do it,” the lawyer insisted. “Maggie, you are the best person for the job.”
“Think of the children.”
Did he really just go there? All she ever thought about were the children. Most of the time she’d sat here, she’d been lamenting about how many counseling opportunities she missed. Teenagers could be funny about things like that. They were apt to take it personally that she hadn’t been there when they needed her. And those that did most likely wouldn’t come to her the next time they needed to talk to someone.
Think of the children, Maggie repeated Mark’s words in her mind, her anger increased exponentially. How dare he!
“Now listen here, Mark . . .” The lawyer cut off the remainder of her tirade.
“Ms. O’Connell, I recommend you lower your voice. There is nothing to discuss. Mark and I have already decided you will be the one who will read the prepared statement to the press. Now let’s get to work on your statement.”
Chapter 7
Her shoes were the first thing Maggie kicked off when she arrived home. She hated wearing heels. They made her feet hurt, especially when she had to walk the long distance from the parking lot to the school building. Today she'd made the trip many times thanks to Mark’s summons.
Damn them. She didn’t want to be the face of the District. She didn’t do public speaking. That was more Mark’s style.
Was Mark trying to drive her to quit? He knew she didn’t like speaking in front of a crowd. In fact, he’d been there the last time she had given an in-service to a group of teachers. Her legs shook so bad one of the teachers asked her if she was okay. Her mouth went dry and when she took a sip of water to wet her parched throat, her hand shook so much the liquid spilled down her white blouse, and made the material see-through. It easily qualified as the most embarrassing moment of her life—or would be until she went on camera.
She threw her purse down on the kitchen table with more force than necessary.
They had detained her in Mark’s office all day, keeping her from doing important duties, like talking to students and helping them with their class choices for next year. Man, she would be glad when this ended and she could get back to doing her job. Maggie almost welcomed the court date at this point. At least then it would be over. Win or lose. She didn’t care. She just wanted the whole thing over and done with.
Everything hurt, her feet, her throat. Bone tired, not only from the lack of sleep, but also from all the stress at work. Maggie yawned, stretching her arms out to her sides. Her limbs felt heavy. Hell, even her eyes felt leaden. She needed energy. Maybe something to eat would help.
She opened the refrigerator door to find . . . nothing. Crap. She forgot she needed to go grocery shopping on the way home.
Oh well, she felt too tired to cook anyway. All she really wanted was a long, hot bath and some sleep. She could definitely use some rest before being paraded before the cameras tomorrow. She didn’t want to look like a sleep-deprived zombie.
Her stomach growled. “I know you’re hungry.” She patted her tummy. “But there is nothing here except some stale crackers and peanut butter. And I’m not that desperate.”
Maybe if she went to sleep on an empty stomach, the nightmares would stay away. Worth a shot. She stripped the clothes from her body as she wandered down the hall, muttering insults about her boss and the slutty lawyer he was probably banging.
Zane flowed through the air. Back and forth he sailed, zigging and zagging, hoping the motion might help him focus. His frustration soared. Frustration directed at himself for underestimating his opponent. Frustration for allowing the human to see him.
But most of all, she frustrated him.
Thoughts of the woman plagued him, making it impossible to concentrate enough to locate Amnon. Oh, how he tried. The Great Spirits help him, he had tried, but every time he concentrated, images of the woman would form in his mind’s eye.
He saw the smooth skin of her supple thigh peek out from under her gown. Remembered the rise and fall of her breasts, the way they tantalized him as they jiggled with each rapid breath. His mind replayed the way she looked when she turned her pretty face his way.
Ugh! Thoughts of her buzzed in his mind, made concentrating difficult.
He flowed through the air, pushed his energy as fast as it would go, in an attempt to outrun the thoughts of the human. Faster and faster he raced, over the soft grass. He dove down in between the emerald blades, concentrating on the feel of the florae flowing over his energy. It rolled over his circular form like tiny fingers rubbing his body. Tiny, female fingers.
Once again his mind returned to her. Never before had a human affected him this way. In fact, he never gave a human a second thought when back in his home dimension. But for some reason he could not get her out of his mind.
“Hey,” called Jolan, flying up to intercept him. “What’s the hurry?”
Zane didn’t have a clue how long his friend might have been there. He’d been too lost in his thoughts of the woman.
Zane slowed his momentum, allowed his friend to keep pace. “I’m searching for the Dream Stalker.”
Not a complete lie.
“Were you able to locate the stalker?”
“I traced him to a human.”
“Man or woman?”
“Woman.” A beautiful, sexy woman.
“Isn’t it unusual for a Dream Stalker to be female?” Jolan questioned in a surprised tone.
Zane stopped, hovering in the air as realization settled over him. “Oh, you were referring to the stalker. He was male.”
“Who else did you think I spoke about?”
Of course Jolan would be talking about the stalker. Zane should have known that. Jolan would have no interest in the human. His only interest would be in their kind. Just as Zane’s should be, but wasn’t.
“Never mind,” Zane replied, as he floated forward.
Jolan quickly caught up and kept pace. “Do you know who the stalker is?”
“Yes.” Zane learned in his training it was better not to divulge too much information to others. One never knew who might be connected to whom.
“You won’t tell me his name, will you?”
“You know I cannot.”
They floated along in silence, headed for the area of their world where Zane felt most at peace. A feeling of relief washed over him when they reached the waterfall. The multicolored river flowed over the rocks, to create a tranquil whirling sound that soothed his soul. The colors of the water swirled in a vortex of patterns at the base of the falls. It mesmerized all who gazed into the eddy for long. Zane found it allowed him to focus when his troubled mind refused to cooperate.
Today he needed it more than ever.
He settled his energy over the kaleidoscope of colors, allowing the wet spray to drip through him—cool and clean, like a spring day after a rain.
He would love to share this with the woman from last night. She seemed the kind of woman who enjoyed the feel of the air after a good rain. Zane could almost imagine the look on her face when she saw the flowers with their unique shapes and patterns or the mountains that rose high with their dawn-like hues of pink, violet, and reds.
Too bad no human could survive in this dimension for he would like to bring her here. Let her experience the beauty. Watch her pretty face when she gazed upon his world.
“Do you know how to find the Dream Stalker?”
The sound of Jolan’s voice brought Zane out of his reverie. “I am having trouble locating him in this dimension,” Zane confessed.
“But you found him in the human dimension?”
“Yes. That was easy enough.” Since feeding produced a larger thread for me to follow.
“So go back to the human dimension.”
Zane stopped bobbing. Of course.
The Dream Stalker would most likely return to the same place to feed again. Too many nefarious visits and the woman’s mind could snap. Hopefully the nightmares Amnon elicited had not done her mind any damage.
Who knew how many times Amnon had already visited the poor woman. He would no doubt return to her when the craving became too great. And Zane would be waiting.
“Jolan, you are wise beyond your centuries.”
Jolan chuckled. “You sound anxious, old friend.”
“I am,” Zane admitted, though whether from anticipation of catching Amnon or from seeing the woman, he couldn’t be sure.
He wasted no time. With a thought, he created a portal into her bedroom and peeked through to check the scene. It may have been dark in the room, but he could see her. She lay in her bed with her back to him, the sheet and comforter pulled up over her body. Her side rose with her breaths. Slow and steady, told him she slept. Amnon was nowhere in sight.
Perfect. He would lie in wait, capture Amnon when he came through to feed.
Tonight Zane would succeed, by not underestimating his opponent again. He would protect the woman and erase the threat to her. It was his calling, his reason for being.
He was the Peacemaker. And tonight he would put his skills to good use.
Chapter 8
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.
Weaver of Dreams Page 5