“Shut the fuck up!” Foster yelled, his voice echoing off the sparse walls. “Just shut up!”
He pushed up from the couch. On unsteady feet, he made his way down the hall to his bedroom, bouncing from wall to wall. Man, he wished the apartment would stop tilting. That’s what he got for living in government housing.
You’re too good to live here.
“I know.”
He pushed through his bedroom door and flopped down onto the bed, throwing one forearm over his eyes. Instantly the image of the pretty woman from the news appeared. Her shiny hair and beautiful face teased him. He hardened as he thought about her long lashes and unusually colored eyes. They were like a cat, green but with a hint of yellow.
Like a demon’s. She’s evil.
If she’s the devil, then take him to hell.
God what he wouldn’t give to fuck her. He could almost feel her lips around his dick. He’d fuck her mouth good. Then he’d bend her over the closest table to teach her who was her master.
You are the master. You have the power. Over her. Over life and death.
Images of the woman and what he would like to do to her danced before his closed eyes. His fingers fumbled with his jeans, releasing the button. The sound of the zipper pulling down made him lick his lips. His cock sprang free into his waiting hand.
Chapter 14
Maggie watched the press approaching the front of her school. There wasn’t a friendly face in the bunch. The lights from the cameras blinked like Rudolph’s nose, telling her they were already recording her every move . . .
Her heart sped up, and her throat constricted. She wiped her sweaty palms down the sides of her pants, hoping no one noticed. Her mouth went dry, not the best thing to have happen when about to speak.
She couldn’t do this. She just knew she would freeze up on camera. Some spokesperson she’d turn out to be.
Her legs began to tremble. She knew the reporters could see her shake.
Were they leering at her? Did they know her fear was consuming her?
The tremors moved north until her entire body shook. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. No sound, not even a squeak.
Maggie cleared her throat and tried again. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said clearly. Ah-ha success! “I want—I want . . .”
What did she want? Her mind went blank, totally, utterly blank.
Having spent the entire day memorizing what the District wanted her to say, now, just as she began the recitation, it disappeared. Vanished from her mind like a magician’s trick.
The realization that she stood before the taping cameras and did not have a clue what to say took her knees out from under her. She went down, her skirt flying up around her ears.
Maggie’s cheeks heated with a flush. Her arms scrambled to lower her skirt, but it wouldn’t go down. The material covered her mouth and nose. It tightened around her head, suffocated her. She struggled to breathe. Each inhale drew material instead of air into her mouth.
Her chest constricted, fought for oxygen. Then the jerking started. Her body began to convulse with its need for air.
As nightmares went, this may not be the worst one she’d ever had, but it certainly could be considered the most embarrassing. At least she would pass out soon if her lungs did not get some air. Then she’d wake up safe and sound in her bedroom.
The rational thought did little to calm down the heart that beat a furious rhythm in her chest. She continued to fight for air until her brain hurt and her legs went numb.
Darkness tunneled in and took what little light came through the material over her face. This was it. Her suffering would end soon.
When the material of her skirt suddenly left her mouth, Maggie drew in a deep breath of air. Oxygen coursed through her blood, bringing a rush of adrenaline to flood her cells.
She felt herself gathered into a set of strong arms. A man she realized, his masculine scent surrounding her when he stood. His biceps flexed when they took her weight. Too weak to wrap her arms around his neck, she let them dangle and simply lay against the broad chest of the man carrying her.
Her eyes still closed, she concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. She didn’t care where he took her as long as the way led away from the cameras and the reporters.
The sound of running water opened her eyes.
She looked about and found herself in a Victorian style bath. Pink and brown velvet wallpaper covered the walls, with its flocked lace pattern. A toilet designed with a high tank and a pull chain sat against one wall. Beside it, an antique sink stood on its pedestal, matching the toilet in porcelain white.
Across from the pair, a white claw-footed tub, large enough to fit two, sat under a huge oval mirror in a gilded frame. The water ran in the tub from the showerhead positioned above, the sound soft and soothing like a gentle summer rain.
She noticed, though the water flowed steadily, the tub did not fill. Maggie dismissed the oddity by assuming the drain must be open. Steam rose to fill the room, creating a humid haze that settled over her skin.
Maggie looked up at into the eyes of the man holding her, not surprised to find Zane looking at her, his azure eyes searching hers. Her heart continued to beat quickly in her chest, though she could not be sure whether it was from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins or from seeing Zane.
“Are you all right?” Zane sat down at the vanity, and nestled her on his lap.
Her nightmare just turned into a dream. “I’m fine.” Now.
Her dream man quirked one brow and gave her a look that said he did not believe her.
“Okay,” she confessed, “I’m not entirely fine, but I will be now that you are here.”
His chest swelled at her side as his arms tightened around her in a warm hug. He rested his chin on top of her head. “I hate when you have bad dreams.”
“Me too.”
“What did those TV reporters want with you?”
It felt so right in his arms. She allowed his strength to surround her. It comforted her, gave her the courage to accept the nightmare might truly be over. A contented sigh left her lips.
“I had to give a press conference. My boss forced me to do it.”
“And,” he prompted.
“And it didn’t go well.”
“In the real world or in this dream.”
Surprised, she pushed away from his chest to meet his concerned stare. “You know this is a dream?”
“Of course. You do too, Maggie.”
“Yeah, but usually the people I conjure for my dreams have no clue they aren’t real.”
She pinned him with a suspicious glare. “How is it you know this isn’t real?”
He gathered her back against his chest, tucking her head against his shoulder, as though he could no longer bear to look her in the eyes.
“Tell me about the real press conference,” he requested in a blatant attempt to distract her.
His hand brushed up and down her back in a soothing rhythm causing her to melt against him. If he wanted her distracted, he picked the perfect way to do it. “It went okay I guess.”
“I’m sure you didn’t collapse in a heap with your skirt up around your head,” he correctly surmised.
Maggie giggled. “No.”
“I love the sound of your laugh. You don’t do that nearly enough, sweetheart.”
He rocked her ever so gently, the movement barely noticeable, like a wave created by a gentle breeze on a river. “So the press conference went well.”
“I wouldn’t say that. My nerves took over and showed on camera. When I watched the news tonight my voice didn’t sound right. I sounded like a shaky elf.”
“I’m sure no one else thought so.”
“Mark did. He call
ed to tell me so.”
Maggie felt Zane stiffen. The rocking stopped, as his arms tightened around her. “Who is this Mark and where can I find him.”
Maggie chuckled. “My hero. Going to avenge my honor are you?”
Zane’s arms loosened slightly. “I would love to be your hero, Maggie. I am yours to command. What do you wish me to do? Shall I fight a dragon? Destroy this Mark? You name it and it is done.”
Too bad this man wasn’t real. She could use a real-life hero to help her fight her battles. And she knew several battles lay ahead. The worst had yet to come. She could feel it in her bones. Trouble was on the way.
Maggie looked over at the claw-footed tub. What she wouldn’t give to have a long, hot bath. The tub instantly filled with steaming water.
“Your wish is my command.” Zane rose with her cradled in his arms. He lowered her slowly to the floor. Her body slid down his in a sensuously slow slide. Maggie could feel every hard muscle on the man through his clothes. Her hands grasped his biceps to anchor her in place as a rush of desire coursed through her.
Her eyes drank him in. Tonight he wore a pristine dark gray dress shirt, opened at the collar to reveal a tantalizing bit of tanned flesh. The cut of his tailored dress slacks fit nicely over his hips and thighs. Dark gray, like his shirt, his pants led down to classic dress shoes.
He looked like a bank executive come home after a day at the office and Maggie loved the thought of playing his loving wife. He looked good enough to eat and based on the gleam in his eyes, he felt the same way about her.
She saw the passion glisten in the depths of his eyes. His long lashes could not hide his feelings for her as he looked down at her with possession and desire so stark it burned over her, heating her skin.
Warmth spread throughout her, pooled low in her belly. Her lust rose. Before she realized the thought was in her mind, she stood on her tiptoes and locked lips with her dream man.
Their lips met in a hard, passionate kiss. His mouth opened to hers, allowed her entry into his scalding cavern of fire and heat.
Pleasure rolled through her, sending her soaring into the heavens. It coursed through her blood, warming her, sending a gush of hot moisture to her most sensitive spot. Her body pulsed, her core throbbing in time to her increasing heartbeat.
His tongue pushed into her mouth, took control of their kiss. He explored her mouth thoroughly, tasting her kiss.
She opened her mouth further, begging for a deeper exploration. He obliged, his tongue teasing and dancing, as she pushed aching breasts against his chest.
His hand slid down her arm, to find her thigh with rough fingers. He wrapped his hand behind her knee and pulled her leg up to his waist, bringing her sensitive core up against the hard evidence of his own arousal.
He ground against her, his thick shaft pushing deliciously against her feminine channel through their clothes. Maggie groaned mindlessly. His kisses were addictive. Her mind thickened in a fog, hazy with passion. She burned alive under his touch.
He bit at her lower lip. The slight sting sent lightning sizzling through her belly, and a fresh gush of cream rushing low. His lips feathered tiny kisses down her jaw to her neck. Teeth nipped at her delicate skin. In that moment, his behavior—more rakish than gentlemanly—sent a thrill through her. He seemed to lose control. His kisses became more demanding.
And Maggie loved it.
Knowing he acted as out of control as she felt, made her feel powerful, wanton. She ground her core against him, demanding release. Begging for it.
A soft keening sound could be heard. From him? From her? She couldn’t tell. She no longer knew where he ended and she began.
He pulled her leg tighter against his body, thrusting his hips against her. If not for the barrier of their clothes, she could have him exactly as she really wanted him. Inside her.
With each thrust of his hips, he rubbed her sensitive nub through the material. The sinuous sensation sent pleasure sizzling through her, pushed her over the precipice.
The little pop of warmth came suddenly and Maggie shuddered in his arms. But even as the first ripples faded, Zane’s lips worshipped her neck with kisses, ratcheting her body higher still. His lips barely touched her flesh. The feather-light caresses made her core clench hard, drawing the last of her release from her.
She sagged against him, allowed his strength to hold her up as her thighs quivered. Lordy that man could kiss. If his kisses felt like heaven, she could only imagine what making love would be like.
“Aren’t dreams great?” she asked in a breathy voice, her head lolling to one side to give him better access to her neck as his fingers began popping the buttons on her blouse.
Zane smile against her skin. “You have no idea just how great they can be, sweetheart, but I intend to show you.”
Chapter 15
Hunger beat at the Dream Stalker, pain twisting his energy. He hurt—the agony worse than last time. The ache grew inside until he thought it would drive him insane.
Only a day since he fed, he needed more. Emotions would take the pain from him, let him think again. Dark emotions. He needed fear and hate. They would sustain him, ease the craving that caused his pain.
A fresh wave of agony rolled through him, twisting him, turning him inside out. He could not help the scream that ripped from his being. It echoed off the harlequin patterned trees. If there were any animals in this dimension, they would be running for safety.
His energy bobbed back and forth. Amnon found he could not be still, the pain would not allow it. He needed to move, constantly move. Movement helped to ease the agony. A little—so very little.
The stalker switched his side-to-side movement to up and down instead, hoping the shift in momentum might help.
It didn’t.
He roared when a wave of pain tore through him. The desire to feed consumed his thoughts. He needed a ripe source and he knew just which human female could give him what he needed.
With a thought he opened a portal to her room and sent his energy through. His head materialized first on the other side and his eyes immediately found her sleeping form in her bed.
Curse the Great Spirits above!
She wasn’t alone. That damned Peacemaker sat next to her on the bed, his hand on her forehead. Bathed in the soft light from Zane’s hand, her face looked like the picture of happiness.
Emotions filled the room. Love. Lust. The sweet perfume of it filled his nose, threatened to suffocate him. He gagged.
With his eyes closed, the Peacemaker seemed unaware that Amnon opened the portal in the room. Maybe he should sneak into the room and take Zane’s head from his shoulders. But with what? From his previous visits, Amnon knew the woman’s home did not contain any weapons.
He could attack Zane, perhaps best him in a fight. He’d almost won the last time they battled. As another wave of pain washed through his mind, Amnon shook his head.
He couldn’t take on the Peacemaker in his condition. Maybe if he fed, his body strengthened by negative emotions, he could beat him, but not like this. With his thoughts distracted by the pain, the stalker knew he would not win in an altercation with the Weaver in his current state.
Pulling his head from her room, he once again became a ball of energy, as he reentered his dimension.
Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!
What to do? He could not access his primary source of emotions tonight. His energy swept from side-to-side as he thought things through.
If he couldn’t have the woman, another source would have to do. A backup. Another human he routinely visited. Unfortunately, the backup was more accustomed to the nightmares. His human mind obviously created terrible images and pain on a routine basis, without the help of manipulation from one like Amnon. He could tell by the way the man reacted to the images he created. Un
like the woman, whose fear increased easily by his additions, it took more effort in the nightmares of the man to elicit the same amount of fear and hatred.
Amnon kept his visits to the male less frequent because it took so much more effort, but he had yet to feed tonight, and with the woman otherwise occupied, he would have to make do. The male’s emotions were not quite as pure as the woman, but he would do as a backup. And, as the human saying went, something was better than nothing.
The increasing pain made Amnon desperate for some relief.
He pushed through the agony to open another portal and stepped through, emerging on the other side in his corporeal form. His eyes locked on his prey.
Amnon stalked toward the unsuspecting man. Prickly heat raced through him, causing sweat to bead on his forehead. His skin itched and burned, heart pounded. Adrenaline coursed through his blood bringing a hyper-alertness that played with his senses.
He noticed a sound. A steady beat of noise. What was that sound?
Footsteps?
Amnon waited, still as stone. His eyes searched the room for any sign of his enemy.
Could it be the Peacemaker? Had Zane somehow found him here?
No, he realized with much relief. It was only the sound of water dripping in the bathroom.
Amnon chastised himself for his paranoia, chalked it up to the influence of the human in the room. He’d never been in a more paranoid mind. The diagnosed schizophrenic suffered from the most twisted dreams, which Amnon discovered were based on the human’s real life for the most part.
He looked down on the pathetic man.
The human lay on his back, one hand fisted around his limp sex. The stench of stale booze emanated from his pores, the aroma of which burned Amnon’s nose when he sank down onto the bed. The mattress sagged under his weight to emphasize its ragged condition.
His hand hovered over the bastard’s head. Closing his eyes in concentration, Amnon sent his energy into the mind of the human. Only his desperation to ease his pain, allowed him the ability to focus on the man enough to enter his dream. He opened his mind’s eye to the dream.
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