Weaver of Dreams

by Sparks, Brenda

  Perfect, she already dreamed. Like bringing a calf to the slaughter, he would slip into her dream and twist it until she gave him what he so desperately needed.

  He pushed through the portal, emerging into the human world fully corporeal. The physical sensations rushed through him. What had been tiny needles in his energy form now were knives stabbing at his flesh. Imaginary bugs crawled over his skin. The sensation so great, his eyes dropped down to peruse his flesh. His hand brushed at the illusory insects, nails dug into his skin to ease the burning, itchy sensation.

  The stalker couldn’t get enough of the negative energy. The amount of emotion he needed to feed on increased with each visit, demanding that he feed longer each time to achieve the same euphoria. And he knew that each nightmare drove the human further toward the edge of reality and tolerance, until soon she would fall over the precipice into darkness.

  But he would go insane if the physical feeling continued much longer. And between the two of them, he only cared about himself. Luckily, he knew how to ease his suffering. Knew how to make the beasties disappear.

  Amnon approached the bed on silent feet. How innocent she looked in sleep. So peaceful. A shame he needed to shatter her peace in order to find some for himself. But such was the way of life, he supposed.

  He sat on the bed. The mattress sank a little under his weight and the human stirred. Laying his hand on her forehead, he sent his magick out through his palm. It bathed her face in a white light as she stilled.

  He closed his eyes in concentration, and pushed into her mind.

  She dreamt of a tree house, tucked up in a tree in the middle of a rainforest. The air surrounding them felt hot and sticky. The heavy humidity clung to his skin. Not exactly his kind of place, but he would make due for it was much easier to go with what the humans already dreamed than to completely change their direction. Changing a dream took time and energy and he couldn’t afford to waste either. . .

  He watched through the window of her tree house, as she went about her day. She swept the floor. Such a mundane task. Why did she even bother?

  Her reddish hair swayed in time to the movement of her arms. A slight sweat broke out on her forehead. What kind of a woman dreamed of doing household chores? You would think she might dream something more fun.

  He didn’t care, though. Soon she would have more fun than she could handle.

  She began to whistle, the tune light and childlike. A lullaby, perhaps. The melody grated on his frayed nerves, combining with the stabbing sensations and crawling bugs to irritate his brain. His head began to pound.

  The stalker took a moment to clear his mind of the uncomfortable physical sensations and focused his attention on the surrounding forest. One by one a dozen large jaguars appeared on the thick jungle ground before him. He elongated their teeth, made them too large for their mouths. Forced to hang open to accommodate the extended teeth, the beasts’ mouths showed their fangs in a prominent display. The saliva dripping from their lips made an especially grotesque addition, he decided. It was similar to what he had done with the wolves the other night, but hey, when something worked you stuck with it. Right?

  Not to mention that in his condition, he didn’t have the mental energy to come up with anything new right now. He just needed to create fear within her quickly so he’d get the fix he’d come for.

  He sent the wild beasts up the tree. The lead cat’s mighty roar echoed off the surrounding trees.

  Nice touch. A sadistic smile took his face.

  The sound drew the attention of the woman. She glanced out the door of the home. The look of terror that marred her expression sent hope surging through his blood. Here it came. The moment he longed for. Anticipation crawled along his flesh.

  Her fear hit him with enough force it rocked his body when she let out a scream. He watched from below as she turned to flee. Running through the small, hut-like home, she jumped from the dwelling with a mighty leap only possible in dreams.

  Impressive, he thought, watching the jump. Most humans would have let physical parameters limit their dreams. But not her. She was different, special, which happened to be one of the reasons he found her so addictive. She took her dreams where others dared not and in doing so provided unlimited potential for him to use.

  He sensed her mental energy pushing back at him. Was she attempting to change the dream?

  Ahead of her a vine appeared. She leapt, her hand catching the vine near its base. Momentum swung her to the next tree.

  Clever girl. She manipulated the dream world, put some distance between her and the pursuing jaguars. He sensed her fear ebb slightly when she looked down over her shoulders and saw the black beasts now were several feet below on the other tree.

  Oh, that will not do.

  He sent the cats leaping after her. One at a time, they jumped onto the woman’s tree and scrambled up after her. Amnon made sure the beasts snarled and growled to show their displeasure at having to give chase.

  Her fear increased as she continued to climb. Being in her mind, he sensed what she felt, knew her thoughts.

  The woman experienced the hot breath of the lead cat on her leg. She heard the growls from below, knew they closed in. She risked a look down. The move cost her dearly, and brought a smile to his lips.

  She lost her grip. Her feet came off of the branch beneath them. The sudden weight of her body pulled her hand from the branch above. She fell, her arms flailing wildly, looking for purchase. He made sure none could be found, by removing the limbs from the tree. Her fear increased as she fell, feeding him, giving him more power with the rush of emotion that poured over him in delicious waves.

  He opened the ground below, and made a large fissure, which glowed red like the boughs of hell. Screams came from the crevice, low mournful cries that combined with demonic howls to create a terrifying symphony. She flipped in midair to face the opening below, and got a good look at what awaited her.

  Her strangled scream sounded like a concerto to his ears. He drank the yell in along with the emotions that accompanied it. Great Spirits above, how that rush felt good! Nothing compared to this, in this dimension or in his. Complete utopia. Utter contentment and happiness. The euphoric rush made him feel invincible, strong. He loved that sensation and needed more. Much, much more.

  He created spikes at the bottom of the fissure and knew the minute she realized they were there by the way her scream suddenly changed pitch. Forcing her to watch the large spikes grow in size as she careened toward them, he slowed her descent, needing to increase her terror of what lay ahead. She might see them coming, but she didn’t know just how much he could make them hurt.

  An evil grin played on his lips. . .

  Zane glided through the air, letting the grass brush the bottom of his energy ball as he went. He tuned into the energy coming from everything in his world. Each thing in the dimension gave off an energy signature and, like all Dream Weavers, Zane could tune it in or out depending on the circumstance. Every emerald blade of grass, each vibrant petal on a flower, produced a unique energy current. One of the reasons he’d been chosen as the Peacemaker was the fact he seemed to be a little more sensitive to energy than most of his kind.

  He could focus in on the smallest energy signature; follow it to its source. And Zane planned on using his ability to find the Dream Stalker, but first he needed to go to a special place.

  Just over the crest of the next hill, a magical place waited for him, a place that focused the energy of his world. There he could concentrate and sort through energy like nowhere else.

  As he crested the ridge, he discovered Gracyn waiting for him. Surprised to see her, he floated down to meet her.

  “What are you doing here?” Zane asked his mentor.

  “I came to find you to see if you require any assistance locating the stalker.”

>   “I don’t,” Zane assured her. “I have no reason to doubt my ability to do my duties and neither do you.”

  “Don’t I?” Gracyn’s energy began to bob slightly up and down.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You know I have never failed in my duty.”

  “Yet.”

  What was she trying to imply? Zane had never given her any reason to doubt him. He’d always performed his duty well, found and took out the stalkers. There wasn’t a single one that had ever gotten away from him.

  “Never,” Zane declared, angrily. “I have never failed and I won’t start now.”

  “Be careful making so bold a statement. The Great Spirits will hear and may choose to make an example of you.”

  “Gracyn, you mentored me all these past centuries. You know the kind of male I am. You never doubted me before. Why do you do so now?”

  Her energy floated closer to his. Her warmth blanketed him like a soothing balm. “I do not doubt you, Zane. I have complete faith that you will take care of the Dream Stalker.”

  “Then what did you mean by ‘yet’ and ‘be careful’?”

  “Nothing. Put my statements from your thoughts.”

  “I . . .”

  The rest of Zane’s statement was stopped by Gracyn’s next sentence. “The topic is closed, Peacemaker.”

  The harshness of her tone, coupled with the use of his title, told Zane the discussion was over. He knew better than to press his luck. Instead he would bide his time, wait for the right moment, then demand his answers. However, today was not the day to do so. For some reason Gracyn did not want to share her concerns and in truth that suited him just fine. Other things demanded his attention. Important things, like locating the trail of negative energy so he could find the stalker.

  “If you will excuse me, I need to begin my meditation to locate the stalker.”

  “That is why I am here,” Gracyn said, moving next to him.

  They came to rest in the middle of a circle of four large rocks. North, south, east, west, each rock sat in a direction signifying an element. The one in the north was flame red, and represented fire. The cobalt blue rock in the south represented water. To the east sat a rock the color of dark chocolate which represented the earth and across from it, facing west, a rock the color of silvery-white represented air.

  “Now pour your energy out into the circle, Zane. Empty yourself, create a blank vessel.”

  Zane concentrated on the sound of Gracyn’s voice. The soft cadence focused his mind. He let his energy go. It flowed out searching, seeking, leaving him empty inside. His essence rolled over the land and mixed with the energy there. Each leaf on the trees, every drop of water in the nearby stream, emitted an energy that poured through him.

  The energies of his people flowed within him. Happiness, love, desire, passion. He felt the emotions they fed on. They were enjoyable, pleasant.

  Zane pushed further, sent his thoughts out to search the furthest regions of his consciousness. There.

  It was the barest thread of darkness. A negative strand of emotions. He touched it with his mind. The strand felt oily, unctuous. Though he loathed doing so, he grabbed hold of the mental filament, sending his mind along it to determine where it led.

  He concentrated harder and found the source. It was tethered in the human world and that meant only one thing—the Dream Stalker was feeding.

  Zane came back into himself with such speed it staggered his energy, sending him into Gracyn.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Did you find what you sought?” Gracyn asked, giving him room.

  “I know where the stalker is. He is in the human world feeding.”

  “Go then, Peacemaker. The Great Spirits be with you.”

  Zane immediately opened a portal and stepped through, his energy coalescing into human form as he emerged through the mirror into the room. The form he chose was large. At six foot five, he was taller than most men. His broad shoulders led to muscular arms. His chest and abs were well defined, and tapered to a narrow waist. Beefy legs completed the powerfully built body. The Dream Weaver’s human form was built for fighting, thanks to the centuries he’d spent learning the art of the battle.

  It had been a long time since his skills were needed, but he kept them honed just in case. And today ‘just in case’ had come to pass. His eyes swept around the small room, taking in the scene before him. They first fell on the human lying upon the bed, then rose to the form of the man who sat beside the person. He was one of his kind—Zane could tell by the soft white light emanating from his outstretched arm. The negative emotions in the room were rancid, grotesque. This was a Dream Stalker and Zane had been fortunate enough to find him still consuming her emotions.

  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 ne
ver 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.