

Weaver of

Dreams

Brenda Sparks
Weaver of Dreams

COPYRIGHT © 2013

by Brenda Sparks

Cover Design by DWAdler Media at DW-Adler.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or

reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written

permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations

embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places

and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or

are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

business establishments, locales, or persons living or dead is

entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition

DEDICATION

To my amazing husband and son who make every day a dream.

Chapter 1

Maggie awoke to the sound of her strangled scream, her heart pounding a furious rhythm in her chest. Her lungs strained with the effort to take in air as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Tiny pinpricks danced along her skin thanks to the adrenaline racing through her blood. She cleared her throat, swallowing the cry which threatened to escape again.

She hated the nightmares that plagued her since her childhood. Doctors, and there had been many, called them night terrors, sleep terrors, incubus attacks, parasomnia, or pavor nocturnus. One specialist after another treated her, each calling the bad dreams by a different name, but as the saying went, 'a rose by any other name'—was still a nightmare.

One doctor in particular taught her how to take control of her dreams, shape them, change them from negative to positive. He called it conscious dreaming, and Maggie embraced the idea, practicing his techniques faithfully. But while she found the technique easy to apply during pleasant dreams, it was much more difficult to do with her nightmares. Laying there in the darkness, memories of her nightmare pushed in on her.

Blood-red eyes emerged from the shadows. Maggie turned on her heels, willing her legs to carry her as fast as they could away from those terrifying eyes. Her feet pounded on the squishy, moss-covered ground. Wet slime squished between her toes as she pushed through the thick underbrush of the forest. A howl echoed in the night, and Maggie turned to look over her shoulder as a shiver raced down her spine.

Her balance thrown off by the turn of her head, Maggie went down. The soft moss provided little padding when she bounced on the hard ground. She rolled over and discovered sets of eyes surrounded her. Those chilling, petrifying, red eyes. Six mouths all bared their large, pointed fangs and growled in unison. Saliva dripped from huge teeth. They closed in around her in one cohesive unit, slowly, as if they were of one mind, wanting to savor the kill.

The stinging bite of claws digging into her flesh raced up her leg to lodge deep in her brain. She attempted a scream, but no sound emerged from her open mouth. Pain wound around her ankle, taking her thoughts away from the peculiarity.

Maggie reached down and rubbed her ankle, still feeling the sharp sting of the claws that filleted her flesh in the dream. She rolled over and turned on the lamp beside her bed, then threw back the covers and stared at her leg. Nothing. Not a mark, nor a scratch. But it seemed so real, the scoring of her flesh, the pain still throbbing in the nonexistent furrows down her leg.

That was the way of her dreams. Her body seemed to have a memory of the physical sensations she experienced in her nightmares, causing her to continue to feel the agony after she woke.

Maggie reached back down, and rubbed her leg as the ache finally began to ebb. She let out a heavy sigh. This time the agony lasted longer than usual, as though something enjoyed her torture, made it last longer after each session.

The majority of the specialists assured her parents she would outgrow the nightmares. They couldn't have been more wrong. Her dreams became worse as she aged, and now that she was thirty-three they came almost nightly.

God how she wished the nightmares would end, or at least that she had someone who would hold her afterward. She ran her hand over the empty pillow beside her. How very empty the bed looked next to her. She signed.

No use lamenting about what wasn't. Maggie threw herself back down onto the bed. Her hair cascaded over the pillow as she covered her face with the back of her hand. She focused on her breath. In slowly through her nose, out to a count of ten through her mouth—just like her therapist taught her.

Calm. Peace. Tranquility. She repeated her silent mantra, trying to regain control of her body.

It had been a dream, she assured herself. Just a dream. As her heartbeat returned to normal, she pulled her hand from her eyes and turned to look at her alarm clock.

"3:12 a.m.—the demon hour," she murmured. "Why am I not surprised?"

She rolled over and turned out the light before snuggling under the covers. After pounding her pillow in frustration, Maggie laid her head down. Pulling the blanket and sheet up to her chin, she struggled to get comfortable. Her legs scissored back and forth under the sheets, searching for a cool spot, until she gave up.

The alarm would go off in less than two hours, and she needed some rest. Stilling her limbs, she closed her eyes, hoping to sleep.

Six sets of crimson eyes floated before her lids. Images of long, sharp teeth in dripping mouths flooded sent a fresh wave of terror through her.

Maggie's eyes flew open. Her heart once more raced in her chest. Like so many other nights, she knew sleep would not come. And considering the day that lay ahead, Maggie could use the mental boost a good night's sleep would have given her. She faced a meeting with the attorney litigating the lawsuit brought against the school, and she needed to be coached, since as the school's guidance counselor, she would be testifying on behalf of the school in court.

"So much for getting any sleep."

She unfolded from the bed and headed for the shower to wash the dried perspiration from her body.

****

Zane glided over the tall grass, letting the tips brush the bottom of his energy as he floated through the warm air with ease. A pleasant sensation, the grass felt like something between a tickle and a massage as he went. Like all Dream Weavers, in this dimension he was pure energy that took the shape of a ball of light.

His essence flowed over the land, and he could not help but admire the scenery while he passed. He noted the way the purple and burgundy flowers mixed with the royal blue florae to form colorful waves in the tall emerald-colored grass. Appreciating their beauty as he passed, he flowed through a copse of harlequin-patterned trees with black and white diamond-shaped leaves. The splendor of the nature around him went undisturbed until the breeze blew, sending the plants swaying in a gentle rhythm that made the shiny leaves of the trees sparkle.

A tingling sensation stopped him. He recognized the feeling, had been exposed to this before; a long time ago, during his training to become a Peacemaker. This was the steady pulsing created by negative energy.

Dream Weavers fed from the emotions of humans and negative reactions such as fear and anger fed them in a way unequaled by positive emotions. However, they discovered those negative emotions were addictive, causing those of their kind who fed on them to become unstable. After only a few feedings, the Weavers developed an insatiable appetite for the negative feelings, abusing the human hosts they fed from.

His essence bobbed with anticipation. It had been decades since any of their kind defied their laws, especially the First Law which prohibited negative feedings. Their society considered it their most valued law, one meant to be obeyed above all others. As a Peacemaker, he was tasked with policing his fellow Dream Weavers, making sure they followed the laws set forth by the Ruling Council.

He needed to inform the Council one of the Weavers had turned rogue immediately.

Zane floated down the trail laid by a trickling stream, listening to the soft sound of the water as it rippled over the bedrock. His thoughts concentrated on the negative energy, trying to discern its origin. Focused on tracing the energy, only the sound of a familiar female voice pulled him from his thoughts in time to avoid running into the energy before him.

"Zane, how are you this day?"

How was he? Worried, excited, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. "I must address the Council," he proclaimed moving forward, with Gracyn keeping pace beside him.

"Why? What troubles you?"

"I sensed a rogue. I felt the touch of dark energy."

Their kind dubbed those addicted to negative emotions Dream Stalkers, so named because they would stalk humans in their dreams, giving them nightmares, producing such strong fear and dread the humans would literally go insane—most choosing to commit suicide rather than live with the continual terror. The rogues haunted humans, visiting the same ones night after night to scavenge their emotions.

"That cannot be! I have sensed nothing."

Zane had known Gracyn all his life. As his mentor, she personally trained him in the way to police their kind, teaching him the arts of strategy and battle. It surprised him she had not sensed the negativity herself. But then she no longer hunted, not since she'd joined the Ruling Council.

"The thread is very faint, Gracyn."

"The Ruling Council must be told of this immediately."

"I was on my way there."

"They are not in session."

Of course they weren't. Zane should have realized that as soon as Gracyn appeared. Zane paused, and Gracyn's energy settled in front of him. "I need to speak with them. They must be told."

"Of course," his mentor assured him. "I'll summon them and inform them you need to address the Council. But it will take a little time for all of us to gather."

"In the meantime, I will try again to follow the thread, see if I can find the rogue while he is feeding."

After watching Gracyn float away, Zane concentrated once more on the slight thread, followed it until he'd located the source in the human domain. With a thought Zane opened a portal from his world. The air before him swirled in a colorful vortex pushing outward into the human dimension. He moved forward, peering through the opening.

Humans had no idea Dream Weavers used what they called mirrors as portals. The reflective glass was a perfect cover to hide what lay within. Looking from the human world, people only saw reflections of themselves and their surroundings. But from the other side the vortex was an entryway from the Dream Weaver world. A threshold he used to enter or see into the human dimension.

This night he opted to use it as a window, remaining in his dimension while his eyes scanned the room. He needed to be sure not to alert the Dream Stalker. The negative emotions from the human's dream flowed through the portal. They coated his energy, wrapped around him like tentacles.

He'd never experienced such strong emotions. They weighed heavily upon his energy, surrounding him. Enticing him. But he pulled back, grateful for once that the only way he could absorb the strong emotions would be to push through into the human dimension and take human form.

His gaze swept the modest bathroom. The walls were painted apartment white, blue towels hung from a bar across from the mirror. He looked down on a utilitarian sink and white counter top.

Zane was just about to push through the portal and take his corporeal form when movement from the corner of the room caught his eye. He froze, waiting.

Was this the source of the negative emotions? The Dream Stalker?

Before him appeared a person wrapped in a white towel. The person stood facing away from the mirror, but Zane knew two things. One, there was no doubt this was a woman. The way the towel hugged her slight curves, conforming to her toned body told him that. And two, this was not one of his kind. He'd have sensed another Dream Weaver immediately which meant she had to be human.

With her back to the mirror, she reached up to remove the turban-style towel from her head and vigorously rubbed her hair. Reddish-blonde strands flowed down over her shoulders when she placed the towel on the rack next to the blue ones. Her layered locks swayed as she walked out the door.

Zane sent his senses through the portal, searching for any trace of the Weaver who had been there. A residual presence of a Dream Weaver left no doubt one of his kind had been in the home. But the stalker was gone. He would not be catching him in the act tonight.

Discouraged, Zane was about to close the portal when the woman reappeared, dressed in a business suit that fit her perfectly. It was not too tight or revealing but complemented her lithe figure, molding to her slight curves and breasts. Something he didn't care to examine too closely made him keep the portal open when she stopped in front of the mirror.

She was beautiful. Her green eyes contained just a hint of yellow, making them different enough to be interesting. Her heart-shaped face, dusted with a hint of freckles, had been blessed with smooth, pale skin. A tiny straight nose led to full pouty lips.

Mesmerized by the movement of her fingers through her hair, Zane watched her pull her hair into a French braid. She worked the strawberry-blonde tresses until just a few small wisps hung to frame her face, then twisted before the bathroom mirror, giving herself a long look. Apparently satisfied, she took her makeup case from the drawer.

She poured some flesh-colored liquid into the palm of her hand and began to slather it on until she'd covered all her freckles. Zane found that a shame. He rather liked the tiny dots, thought them adorable really. Some eye shadow, a little mascara to make her long lashes even thicker, and her incredible eyes sparkled.

A man could get lost in those amazing eyes. For the first time, Zane felt desire while in his energy form. He'd felt lust before, recognized the sensation from some of the shared dreams with the humans, but never had he experienced the sensation while in the Dream Weaver world. He found it a heady experience and was nearly undone when the woman pursed her full lips into a delicate O shape to apply her red lipstick.

Only the fact she chose that second to speak, kept Zane from coming through the portal. "You can do this."

Her voice sounded like satin and slid over his energy in a gentle caress. She leaned forward, using straight arms to brace her weight on the counter. Her eyes searched the mirror, landing on him, pinning him with her beautiful stare. No, he reminded himself. Not him. She couldn't be looking at him. She must be scrutinizing her reflection, but it seemed like she spoke directly to him.

"Maybe I should call in sick." A sardonic chuckle burst from her lips. "Yeah, right. He would know I lied. Probably fire me."

She pulled the skin under one beautiful eye. "Just look at those bags. Mark will know I haven't been sleeping."

Who was this Mark? A co-worker, a boss . . . a lover. Not knowing disturbed Zane more than he wanted to admit.

A tired sigh blew through her lips. "I can do this. I have to do this."

An unexplainable need to comfort her filled him. He wanted to push through the portal, take his human form, and envelop her in his muscular arms, cradle her head against his shoulder, whisper words of encouragement, before he dealt with this Mark fellow.

She gave a wide yawn and made her way out of the room. With her out of sight, Zane came back to his senses. Never had he experienced a draw like the one coming from the woman. Her essence pulled at him, enticed him to go to her. Which was no doubt how the stalker had discovered her.

If her pull felt this strong while awake, he could only imagine what it would be like when she slept. Great Spirits help him, for the first time he understood how a Weaver might become addicted to a human. He had to go address the Council, inform them what he'd found. They would not be pleased. Zane reluctantly pulled back fully into his dimension, closing the portal behind him.
Chapter 2

The human woman's dreams were vivid and provided a delicious source of energy. The Dream Stalker barely needed to influence them at all, thanks to her natural tendency toward nightmares. He'd only needed to steer them a little, add a few malevolent details here and there. Her mind did the rest.

It had been so easy. A set of blood-red eyes added by him, and she'd created the six wolves that chased her. A well-placed root from him while her head was turned, and she tripped to find herself surrounded by wolves. With little interference from him, the human's nightmare generated such fear it became a tangible force in her bedroom, surrounding his corporeal form with its feeding energy.

The emotions her dreams elicited were strong, raw . . . addictive.

If he had lips in this dimension, he would be licking them. He still rode the high her fear created as he fed on it.

Nothing compared to the sensation he got when he consumed negative human emotions. They made it worth taking the human form required to enter the mortal dimension to feed. The negative emotions caused his blood to surge, his heart to sprint. Endorphins flooded his brain, giving him a potent high that could not be matched by anything in this dimension.

With no physical body, there were no endorphins or physical rush, just the lingering impression of utopia in his mind. He floated in the air, bobbing at a frantic pace thanks to the rush of the feed. Excited, elated, he could take on the universe. Nothing in the world, his or the human's, compared to this, and he loved it!

Like a blanket, the balmy air flowed around his energy, welcomed him with its warmth. His world appeared extra vibrant, a resplendent cornucopia of color and constant light.

He pushed through the air, not caring in which direction he went. Feeling alive, excited, he just needed to move.

Now!

****

The meadow where the Ruling Council gathered lay ahead. Zane noted the balls of light that were the Dream Weavers who made up the Council. Their energies hovered in the clearing, forming a large circle. He arrived quickly, then floated into the middle.

"Salutations and blessings," he greeted, demonstrating his respect for the council members that was their due.

"And the same to you Peacemaker," the High Chancellor responded. "Gracyn has informed us you have news but neglected to share just what it was. I assume it is important to have summoned us all."

"I discovered a Dream Weaver who has defied our First Law," Zane informed them.

"Are you sure?" a male asked from behind him. "It has been so long since any have dared to defy us."

"Unfortunately, I am all too sure. I sensed the disturbance in our world." Zane turned toward the male. "However, I have yet to discern the individual responsible."

"But you will, Peacemaker. Your skills are unsurpassed," his mentor informed him.

Gracyn believed in him. After all she'd trained him herself.

"We have every confidence you can find the Dream Stalker," she continued, "exorcise him from the world while he takes human form."

"When he is vulnerable," Zane murmured.

"You must find the offender, Peacemaker," the booming voice of the High Chancellor demanded.

"I intend to do just that."

"Our society cannot tolerate any violation of our laws."

"I agree, High Chancellor," Zane turned toward the male to make his vow with an authoritative voice. "I pledge to the Council my loyalty, my fidelity to my purpose. I will seek out and destroy the rogue."

"Thank you, Zane," Gracyn's soft voice said from beside him. "I know you will do your duty to the Council."

"Do you have any further news?" One of the members asked.

"Not at this time."

"Then you are dismissed. Go in good stead," the High Chancellor released him.

Zane did not hesitate to leave the circle when two of the beings parted to give him space. He floated through the air, his mind racing. It had been a long time since his services were needed by the Ruling Council.

Most of their kind was quite content to feed off the positive emotions produced by humans when they dreamed. Love and happiness sustained the Dream Weavers, keeping their energy charged so they could move freely about their dimension in their energy forms. Of course, it required they visit the human dimension more often to recharge, but it was worth the slight inconvenience.

"Halt, Zane."

Lost in his thoughts, Zane almost glided into his friend. Only the sound of Jolan's voice brought him to his senses.

"What did the Council want of you?"

Should he inform his friend of what transpired during the council meeting? The Council had not forbid him from discussing the matter. After all, Jolan might be able to help him. Although not a Peacemaker, his hunting skills were excellent.

"You will have much difficulty believing this, my old friend, but I have discovered one of our kind is feeding on negative emotions."

"I can't believe one of us is a Dream Stalker." Jolan's voice sounded low with the whispered accusation. "You truly believe one of our fellow Dream Weavers turned into a stalker?"

"I'm afraid so, Jolan." Zane glided around his friend's energy and moved forward, knowing Jolan would follow as he continued to speak. "And it is up to me to take care of the problem, permanently."

"Do you not wish to try to reform him? Break his addiction?"

"The High Council will allow no tolerance for his addiction, no second chance." Zane slowed his glide, allowing his companion to come up beside him before he continued. "There is no reforming those who become addicted to negative emotions. They are lost to us from the first time they feed on the fear. Since our energy can't be extinguished in this world, I'll have to find him when he takes human form to feed, when he is susceptible to injury just as any other human."

After several long moments, Jolan broke the contemplative silence by asking, "Do you know who the Dream Stalker is?"

"Not yet. But I will ferret him out."

"How will you do that?"

"I have a way."
Chapter 3

Maggie pushed through the door to the school board building, her steady strides taking her to the office at the end of the hall. She stopped for a moment and took a deep breath to gather her wits as she stared at the placard on the door. MARK CARVER, SPECIAL EDUCATION DIRECTOR, she read to herself when she knocked on the closed door and waited to be bid entry.

"Come in," a male voice said from behind the door.

A twist of her wrist opened the door, and Maggie squared her shoulders when she pushed through.

"Hello," Mark greeted from behind the oak desk. "Sit down, please."

She couldn't help but find him handsome with his strong jaw and hazel eyes. His long lashes brushed against his glasses, before he reached a manly hand up to take them off, placing them on his desk. Their eyes met.

Maggie's knees went weak. She carefully hid her surprise, wondering how this man still had this effect on her. They'd broken up over a year ago for Pete's sake. She was over him.

Really, she was.

But there were times, like today, when her lack of sleep and foggy mind got in the way of her better judgment, and she almost wished they were still a couple. He had been a perfect gentleman with her most of the time, at least in the beginning.

And that had been part of the trouble.

Mark had been too gentlemanly. He'd treated her with old world manners, which at first had been sweet and endearing. Eventually, however, she wanted their relationship to go to the next level, become more intimate, and that was when the trouble started.

Unfortunately for Maggie, their professional relationship had continued. Just after their breakup, Mark had been promoted into a position which made him her boss.

Nope, this wasn't awkward at all. Yeah, right!

Maggie did as commanded, sitting in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk.

"Have you met Jennifer Lawler?" Her ex gestured to the woman sitting next to her in the other chair.

Maggie extended her hand. "No, I haven't had the pleasure. Nice to meet you, Ms. Lawler."

"Jennifer, this is Margret O'Connell, Maggie for short," Mark completed the introductions.

She shook Jennifer's hand with a firm shake, a little longer than traditionally the norm, giving Maggie time to get a good look at her. She supposed the woman would be considered attractive, even with her brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her chocolate colored eyes shone with intelligence and cunning that would scare a jackal. Though a petite woman, the look on her face held a combination of tenacity and determination that made her seem larger than life.

The woman had the reputation as a hotshot lawyer, brought in from another state by the school district to litigate cases like the one she found herself currently embroiled in. A lawyer named Lawler—perfect.

"I hope you haven't waited long," Maggie offered in apology for being five minutes late.

"A while," the lawyer replied curtly, giving her a sly look from the corner of her eye.

"We should get started." Mark leaned back in his padded chair and flashed a big smile at the lawyer, showing several of his perfect, white teeth. "What's your plan of action, Ms. Lawler?"

"First, I want to see the student's file."

Maggie dug a thin, orange folder from her briefcase and handed it to the woman. "Here it is."

"This is it?"

Maggie nodded her head. "Uh-huh. Greg doesn't have a very large file because there wasn't much we needed to do."

Jennifer opened the file and took her time to peruse the paperwork within. After several long minutes, her eyes rose to pin Mark with a pointed stare. "You have a case. The burden of proof will be on the parents, because they are the ones who filed for Due Process."

"So what's the next step?" Mark asked.

The pretty lawyer, straightened under his gaze. "I should meet with all the district personnel involved with Greg Burton. Speak with them, you know, to find out their side of the story."

"I can tell you their side," Maggie offered. "Greg is clearly not demonstrating a need for special education. He is doing well in his classes. His grades are all A's and B's. His teachers say he is very quiet but well behaved."

Mark leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk, sending his delicious cologne wafting over Maggie while he spoke. "The Burtons want him eligible for a special education program, because he will then be eligible for a state scholarship which they can use to send him to a private school."

"They actually said that?" Ms. Lawler asked.

"Yes, during one of the many meetings we had with the family this school year." Maggie informed her.

Ms. Lawler nodded and turned in Maggie's direction, making her shift uncomfortably under the attorney's hard stare. The intense look in the woman's eyes unnerved her. No wonder her reputation for winning cases was renowned. The witnesses probably took one look into those penetrating eyes and broke under the pressure. "You are the school's guidance counselor, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And you have counseled this student?"

"Only because the parents claimed he had an emotional-behavioral disability. According to their account, about a month ago he became moody and aggressive at home."

"Did you find him to be emotionally disturbed?"

"No. I found him to be a well-adjusted child. He seemed open and honest during our sessions."

"Any history of behavior issues at school?"

"No."

"Any history of poor grades or trouble with the other students?"

"No. He is a perfect student. Near the top of his class." Perspiration dot Maggie's forehead.

She didn't appreciate the lawyer grilling her. This seemed a little too much like being on trial.

Ms. Lawler glanced back down at the file in her lap, giving Maggie an appreciated reprieve from the intense eye contact. "I'll need a copy of everything in here," she informed Mark as she looked up at him.

"I'll have my secretary make the copies. I can bring them to you when we meet later today to go over the court documents for the case."

When Ms. Lawler handed the file to Maggie's ex, she did not miss the way their fingers brushed when they transferred the file. She glanced at the woman's face and noted the slight smile that lifted one corner of her mouth.

"You don't need her anymore today, do you Jennifer?"

The name rolled off his tongue like a physical caress. If these two weren't already a couple, they would be soon. You'd think he would have learned his lesson about getting involved with someone he needed to work with.

Maggie most certainly had.

"We'll let you know when we need you again, Maggie," Mark informed her, using a condescending tone that sounded clipped.

Maggie knew a dismissal when she heard one. She stood to take her leave, grateful to be able to put some space between her and that aggravating man.
Chapter 4

Tiny needles punctured the stalker's body, causing sharp stings of burning pain. The fiery sensation beat against his mind, pulsed with a relentless agony that was pure, unadulterated torture.

He understood logically that nothing actually hurt him. In energy form, he was just a ball of glowing luminosity. No body. No flesh to be stung. But it didn't ease the sensations plaguing him.

He pulsed up and down, needing to move. Anxiety crept into his mind, making him glide forward trying to outrun the prickly sensation. Faster, faster he went in an attempt to escape the uneasy feeling pursuing him.

It was for naught. Only one thing would ease this discomfort. Only one person.

He needed to feed the craving. He needed . . . What did the humans call it?

A fix.

A perfect term, really. Those humans certainly turned a phrase. A fix was exactly what it was. Feedings fixed these sensations. Took them away. Replaced them with blissful peace and contentment.

Without a doubt, he needed a fix and knew exactly where to find one.

He opened a portal with his mind, causing the vortex to swirl in front of him. He peered into the gateway, made sure in his haste he'd opened to the correct place in the human world.

There she lay in bed. Relief poured over him in waves, enough to drown a small measure of the pain. Her face turned in his direction, and he observed her eyes dart back and forth under their closed lids.

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 he feed longer each time to achieve the same euphoria. Each nightmare drove the human further toward the edge of psychosis, until soon she would fall over the precipice into darkness, but that was of no consequence.

He would go insane if the physical torture 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.

When 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 before 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 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. . .

Through the window of her tree house, he observed 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. 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 in his condition, he didn't have the mental energy to come up with anything new right now. He simply 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. Terror marred her expression. Hope surged 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. 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 glanced down over her shoulders and saw the black beasts 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, realized 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, 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 the rush felt good! Complete utopia. Utter contentment and happiness. The euphoric rush made him feel invincible, strong. He loved the 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 tuned 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 then 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, 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 bobbed slightly.

"What's that supposed to mean? You know I have never failed in my duty."

"Yet."

What was she implying? 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 hovered 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 topic is closed, Peacemaker."

The harshness of her tone, coupled with the use of his title, informed Zane the discussion had ended. He knew better than to press his luck. Instead he'd bide his time, wait for the right moment then demand answers. However, today was not the day to do so. 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 moved beside 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 sensed 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 lay 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 moved, 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 those 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 man who sat beside the person. The soft white light emanating from his outstretched arm confirmed what he was. The negative emotions in the room made Zane's stomach turn. They were rancid, grotesque. This was the 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. 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. A TV sat on one corner, and what appeared to be a jewelry box sat on the other. He turned around and discovered 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 appeared 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 crumpled into a pile at the end of the bed. Rumpled sheets completed the pile of cloth. The woman's 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. 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 while a 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 male 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 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. A hard face stared back, 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 in on 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.

"Regret is not what I feel for you. Pity maybe. Definitely contempt. But not regret."

Amnon's expression lost some of its smugness. His eyes searched the room, obviously seeking escape. The time for talking was over.

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

His opponent dodged left, and Zane's hand brushed the collar of Amnon's shirt. His fingers gripped the material then 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 might 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 released 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 mask 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 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 must escape before she fully awoke. 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.
Chapter 5

Maggie pushed herself into a seated position on the 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 were achy, like she'd just been through an extensive workout at the gym. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of one hand and looked down to discover her sheets lay in a crumpled pile at the end of her bed. She had been experiencing 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.

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 the moist skin. She needed a shower, but a cup of coffee was the first order of business.

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 pot 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 maker to complete its cycle, she pulled the pot from the heating element and poured 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. 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 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 lawyer 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 the message.

Correction, messages, she thought when the automated voice informed her she'd missed two calls. She twisted the cord around her finger while 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. Was he upset? Would she get the polite Mark or the jerky Mark today? It was difficult to tell from such a brief message. 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 remembered 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 the pencil container on her desk and tapped the end of it on a stack of papers needing 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–"

"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.
Chapter 6

When she arrived at the school board office twenty minutes later, Maggie marched through the halls with purposeful strides, anger festering as she made her way through the maze of cubicles.

Expecting to be greeted by his secretary, Liz, Maggie's brows lifted in surprised when she found an empty desk. Must be off making copies, she assumed, and she made her way to the door of Mark's office. It was closed but not locked, Maggie discovered when she turned the knob and let herself in unannounced.

Mark looked awful cozy. He sat on the edge of his desk, his legs stretched out in front of him on either side of the chair in which Jennifer Lawler sat. The two of them shared a chuckle, and Maggie couldn't help but wonder what they laughed about.

She cleared her throat, drawing the couple's attention. In unison, their heads turned her way. Mark had the good sense to look embarrassed. He straightened then dodged behind his desk. If Maggie hadn't been suspicious of hanky panky between the two of them before, she knew it to be true now. Apparently, her ex hadn't learned it wasn't good to mix business with pleasure.

"Maggie, you got here quicker than I expected."

"Obviously, Mark." Maggie let the door close behind her.

He gestured toward the vacant chair in front of the desk with the wave of his hand. "Sit down."

"I'd rather stand." Actually, she'd rather leave.

"This is going to take a while. Sit." The tone in his voice brooked no argument.

That couldn't be a good sign, Maggie decided, when she took a seat. She crossed her legs, noticing her black heels looked rather old and matronly compared to the lawyer's red stiletto pumps.

"Ms. O'Connell," the lawyer began, "I don't know if you have seen the news today or not."

"If you are referring to the coverage of the suit, I've seen it." Three times.

Mark rolled the sleeves of his salmon-colored dress shirt up and loosened his tie. "So you heard the news is only telling one side of the story."

Maggie nodded. "They claimed the District had no comment."

"We can't allow that to continue, can we, Mark?" Jennifer cocked her head.

"We most certainly cannot. The District's side must be shared. Don't you agree, Maggie?"

Maggie shifted uncomfortably under Mark's gaze. "I think we should be able to tell our side."

"I couldn't agree more." Mark leaned forward and rested his bare forearms on his desk. "Jennifer and I were just discussing we should hold a press conference to get our side of things out there for the public."

The lawyer shifted her legs, crossing them at the ankles demurely. "I can prepare a statement," she offered.

Mark nodded his head vigorously in agreement. "It needs to be something good, something that will put the public on our side."

"But we can't give away the defense I plan on presenting. We wouldn't want to give the parent's attorney an advantage."

"We need to contact the press soon . . ."

The sound of Mark's voice faded into the background as Maggie's mind drifted from the conversation. Obviously they didn't need her to participate. They pitched the conversation back and forth like two baseball players warming up before a game. He'd speak, she'd speak, each murmured excitedly as the ideas flowed.

Minutes turned into tortuous hours during which Maggie endured watching Mark posture under Jennifer's scrutiny and Jennifer bat her long eyelashes at Mark. Um-hmm, there was definitely something going on between the two of them.

When a delivery boy brought lunch, Maggie hoped she might get a reprieve and be able to go back to her school to get some work done.

"I guess we're done. I'll leave."

"Hold on." Mark removed two salads from the paper delivery bag. He handed one to Jennifer and pushed the other across his desk in Maggie's direction. "Here, I ordered for all of us. We're not done."

Maggie took the garden salad with balsamic dressing—Mark's favorite, not hers. Why did that not surprised her?

Jennifer opened the container for her salad. "My favorite."

Again, not surprised, thought Maggie.

She choked down her salad while Jennifer and Mark continued discussing strategy for both the lawsuit and the press conference. It wasn't until they began to discuss who might be the District spokesperson that Maggie joined the conversation.

"Mark, will you be giving the statement to the press?" Maggie inquired before she took another bite of salad.

"I thought you would be the perfect person to give it."

Lettuce flew from her mouth in shock.

"You can't be serious," Maggie informed him, wiping the half-chewed lettuce off the desk.

Jennifer turned her way. "But you must. You represent the school. You were the one who attended all the meetings. You are the face of the school as its guidance counselor."

"Find another face." Maggie wiped her mouth with her napkin and threw away the remainder of her salad, suddenly finding her appetite gone.

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 crossed his arms over his chest.

"You really must do it," the lawyer insisted. "Maggie, you are the best person for the job."

Mark shifted forward. "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 she hadn't been there when they needed her. And those who 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—"

"Ms. O'Connell, I recommend you lower your voice," the lawyer interjected, cutting off the remainder of Maggie's tirade. "There is nothing to discuss. We 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 which 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. 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 appeared 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. 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, then 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. 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 like the kind who enjoyed the feel of the air after a good rain. Zane could almost imagine the expression 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 sense 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 which 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. 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. 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 held 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 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 appeared 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 delicate aroma 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 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.

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

Was she ticklish?

He did not have time to explore the thought. She 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 spoke 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 the 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.

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. He took 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 in this dimension. His true self was the energy he became in the Dream Weaver world. 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 seemed 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 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. Suddenly she 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 gazed 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 looks like a Maggie, he thought.

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, allowing the shadows to fall away from his body. Dawn would soon arrive. 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 should 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 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 when 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.
Chapter 9

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. A sea of emerald-green rolling waves spread out before her. She realized in amazement the waves were actually tall grass swaying in the light breeze. Flowers in dark hues of royal blues, purples, and burgundy dotted the landscape.

She glanced around in disbelief. The colors appeared 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 seemed too quiet. Only the sound of her legs pushing through the grass reached her ears. Her eyes roamed the colorful countryside, registering the lack of animals or birds.

Hmmmm. 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 rich, delicious color coated the landscape. 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 rolled up sleeves afforded Maggie a nice view of his sturdy forearms and large hands.

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

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

The sight of the 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 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 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 while 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 bored into her soul, strip her 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 nervously twisted the material of her flowing dress between her fingers and thumb.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she lied before 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 was 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.

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. She didn't miss the way his gaze tracked the movement. He bent his head slowly, stopping so close 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 gladly sank 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 the 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, and her digits ducked under to 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 followed the lines of his abs then headed south. Just as they reached the top of his jeans, he broke the kiss.

Zane's hands grasped hers through his shirt. His breath left his lungs in hard exhales which 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 . . .
Chapter 10

Zane struggled to regain his breath. She had done that to him—taken his breath away.

Kissing her stirred a passion in him he never experienced before.

His intention had been simple. Drive her lust and desire for him to a point her emotions fed his physical body on the bed in her room . . .

But one kiss—that amazing passionate kiss—changed his intention. The moment their lips met, his mind screamed, mine!

Feelings of possession and desire mixed, forcing him closer to her. His hand fisted in her hair, but he found it wasn't enough. He needed more of her, so he pulled her body against his.

The sensuous feel of her soft curves pressed against him made his body harden. The sensation pushed all thoughts from his mind until only she remained. He hungered for her. Wanted her painfully.

The feel of her fingers trailing over his stomach brought him to his senses.

When her fingers touch the waistband of his jean, it brought awareness back to him that had been long gone moments before. He broke the kiss, knowing if it continued, he would have her naked and writhing beneath him in seconds. And while that had been his original intention, he now found that before he knew her physically, he wanted to know her personally.

Shock flooded his mind as he realized he needed to get to know Maggie as a woman, a person, and not just a sexual conquest—although that too had its appeal. He never before experienced the desire to get to know a human, other than what he needed to learn about them to manipulate their dreams.

But with Maggie, he wanted to know everything about her. Her favorite book, the places she often went. What was her family like? Did she have many friends? He must know everything.

"Sweetheart, you are killing me," Zane whispered, struggling for breath.

Her expression broke his heart. He wanted to kiss the look away, and it took all his well-honed self-control not to do so. What did he do to bring that look to her sweet face?

He grabbed her into a tight hug and wrapped his arms around her back as he rested his chin on the top of her soft hair. "What is wrong?"

She tried to push away from him, but he refused to allow it. He needed to touch her, needed to be near her. Zane felt desperate to soothe her, but had no clue what upset her.

"Let me go," she commanded.

He refused to move, waiting her out. He remained perfectly still, holding her until her body once more leaned into his. When her arms wrapped around his waist, he relaxed for the first time since their kiss. She seemed attracted to him, felt at ease around him, no matter what contrary words might come from her lips. The knowledge gave him the courage to speak.

"Tell me what's wrong, Maggie. What upset you?"

A heavy sigh left her lips, sending a rush of warm air though his shirt to tease his skin. "I'd rather not."

"Why?"

"You'll think me crazy."

He allowed her a small measure of space so he could look down into her beautiful eyes.

"Well then, I'll be in good company, because, sweetheart, you are driving me crazy."

"Then why did you pull back from our kiss just as it got interesting?"

"Interesting? It got a helluva lot more than interesting."

"Then why did you pull back? Did I do something wrong?"

His arms tightened around her, and he laid a cheek on her head. So that explained the hurt look. She thought he'd rejected her. She couldn't be more wrong.

"Maggie, you did nothing wrong. In fact, I pulled back because you did everything right."

"Mind explaining that, stud."

He chuckled at her incredulous tone. Feisty and a bit brazen, she intrigued him.

"I want you, Maggie. I want to lay you down in this meadow, rip the clothes from your beautiful body, and have my way with you." She trembled in his arms. "But I will not disrespect you that way. You deserve better than a quick tryst. You deserve an honorable man who will woo you. And I respect you enough to give you that."

She pulled her head from his chest and looked up at him with searching eyes. "You want to woo me?"

A smile raised one corner of his mouth. "Woo you. Romance you."

Love you. The words sounded in his mind before he could stop them.

Love was not an emotion he could be allowed to have with a human. There was no future for the two of them. They were from two different worlds, and she could not live in his. Once he assured her safety, he would go back to his dimension never to see her again.

No, they couldn't have something like love. But it did not stop him from wanting to see her happy.

The smile which softened her features made his heart sing. "Well then, romance away."

"Your wish is my command." Zane placed his arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side. "Come with me, milady."

Zane slowed his pace to match her small strides. Their bodies pushed through the tall grass and flowers. His eyes tracked her hand as it passed over the vegetation in a gentle caress while they made their way through the meadow.

"Do you like this world?" Zane asked.

"Yes. This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen."

"Thank you." He had tried very hard to make it an exact replica of his dimension. Each tree and flower, every blade of grass was an exact copy of his home. He'd been almost desperate to share his world with her, and his chest expanded with pride at her pleasure with his home.

When their gazes locked, her chartreuse eyes pulled at his soul. He could get lost in those eyes. Their cat-like color intrigued him, as did she. Never had he seen eyes quite that color before.

"Did you say, 'thank you'?" she asked.

An inquisitive look took her pretty face, and Zane knew immediately she'd caught his mistake.

Maggie took in the expanse around them with a sweep of her arm. "So you made all this?"

He found no reason to lie to her. This was a dream. When she awoke, she would assume everything here had been a figment of her imagination. Here he could be completely honest, knowing if she remembered any of this upon waking, she would dismiss it as fantasy.

"I did. It is an exact replica of my world."

"Your world?" She stopped and affected a curious look. "Are you an alien?"

"In a way I suppose, in that I am a person from another place and very different people."

"We definitely aren't on earth."

"True," he replied cryptically, judging her acceptance of what he told her. She seemed open to his explanations, but too much information might push her rational mind to take her from the dream.

He didn't want her to leave, selfishly wanted a little more time with her. He still didn't know enough about her. Zane reluctantly admitted he might never know enough about her, at least not to satisfy his curiosity.

"So where are we?"

He saw no harm in telling her. It's not like he'd reveal anything about his people, just the name of his dimension. "The Dream Weaver dimension." He studied her while she processed the information. Her reddish brows furrowed over her intriguing eyes.

"What's that?" Maggie asked and began their forward momentum again.

"A place of great beauty."

"Obviously." Her head turned from side-to-side while she took in the beauty around them. "I've never seen a place so beautiful. It's like a painting."

Zane nodded. "I especially enjoy the waterfalls."

He instantly made a waterfall appear to the right of them. Colors in the water swirled, orange and yellow butted up to shades of red. Blues faded into purples. The colors ran in orderly lines over the falls to crash down into a kaleidoscope of hues below. A large smile took Maggie's face, her joy reaching her eyes, as she watched the colors swirl at the base of the falls.

"This place is remarkable." She ran toward the water with her arms outstretched.

Zane jogged behind her. Quickly catching up, he scooped her off her feet by wrapping an arm around her waist. He easily held her slight weight against his frame. The feel of her backside pressing against his front sent a fresh rush of lust through him.

He forced the desire aside, wanting no distraction from the wonder of sharing this moment with her.

Her arms folded over his as Maggie laid her head back on his shoulder and went still. "I don't believe my eyes. Zane, did you do this?"

He allowed her feet to touch the ground, relishing the feel of her body as it slid down his and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. "I confess I may have had a hand in it."

"For a figment of my imagination, you are full of surprises."

"You have no idea, sweetheart."

Maggie turned in his arms. "Nice work, Blue Eyes."

Zane arched one questioning brow. "Blue Eyes?"

Her hand reached up to cup his cheek. "You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen."

"Thank you."

His heart expanded in his chest as he took her hand in his and led her by the water's edge. He sat, tugging her down beside him. After rolling his jeans up to his knees, he dipped his feet in the cool water.

The calm water lapped at his legs, while Maggie followed his lead. She hiked up her dress, giving Zane a nice view of her thighs, and dipped her feet in the water. She giggled when the water tickled her legs.

The sound played over him like a tender caress. He wanted to hear that laugh often. He'd never tire of the joyous sound.

Her happiness fed his corporeal body back in the real world. It produced a warmth that flowed over him, manifesting in a sensation similar to sinking into a hot bath here in the dream.

Suddenly something circled his legs. It felt rough, scaly, and just little slimy. He glanced down to see several large coy-like fish swimming in the river.

He pulled his legs from the water in shock. There were no animals in his world, so he had not created the fish.

His eyes darted to the woman sitting next to him. She must have made them. Usually humans were quite content to allow him to manipulate the dreams, but not her.

She added to the dreamscape he created. Changed it, made it better. Maggie kept surprising him, and he must admit he enjoyed discovering each new thing about her.

A laugh from Maggie drew his attention. Zane quirked one brow high on his forehead. "And just what's so funny?"

"You. Such a big man to be scared of a few little fishes," Maggie teased.

"I should show you just how big I am, little girl." Zane leaned in, intending to kiss the smile from her face, when she suddenly disappeared.

Zane looked around and instantly realized she must have awakened. Fearing what might have drawn her from her sleeping state, he sent his consciousness back to his physical body. He would have only a few seconds at most before Maggie awoke enough to become aware of him in her room . . .

Zane rose from her bed and backed against the nearest wall. He pulled the shadows around him to cloak his presence, then searched the room for any disturbance. His eyes found nothing unusual. No sign of Amnon or anything that might have pulled her from their dream.

Maggie stirred in her bed. A low moan pushed through her lips. She brought her leg up, so her hands circled around her calf.

She seemed injured. Did Amnon attack, then disappear through the mirror before Zane could pull back to his body? The desire to help her pushed hard at Zane. It was risky to move about in her room, while she was awake, but he needed to find out what pained her. Silently, he shifted around her bed to get a better look.

"Dammit." Maggie rolled onto her back, her fingers massaging her leg. "Damned muscle spasm."

Relief flooded his being. Amnon had not attacked. In fact, as Zane glanced around the room, he found no sign of the Dream Stalker.

He watched her, remembering the color of her eyes. Color now muted by the shadows covering her face. They looked so beautiful against her reddish hair, especially when she looked up at him with her passion shining in their depths. They really were the most distinctive color and their uniqueness seemed perfect for her.

Maggie looked in his direction. Zane held his breath, knowing a moment of concern. Could she see him?

He took a breath only when he realized she glanced at the alarm clock near her bed.

"No point in trying to go back to sleep now," she murmured.

Maggie got out of bed and limped from the room.

He wanted to comfort her, massage the pain from her leg, but he could not be with her here in the human world, not unless she was sleeping. She would never know him in the flesh. The future didn't exist for them. And no matter how strong the urge to do otherwise might be, he needed to take advantage of this opportunity to port out of the room.

He crossed the room to the vanity and sent a little magick at the reflective glass to turn it into a conduit home. Taking one last look around the room to be satisfied all looked fine, his eyes came to rest on the pattern only his vision could see above her bed. The magick he wove on the wall remained intact. If she experienced a nightmare, he would know and be able to come running. That knowledge alone allowed him to leave.

He nodded once in satisfaction and stepped through the portal.
Chapter 11

Maggie stared at the wall of her office. A nice office, it boasted a window that looked out over the courtyard. A color of her choosing painted the walls in a soft blue. She'd picked the color because of the calming effect it seemed to have on the students when they arrived at her door agitated.

Inspirational posters decorated the walls in simple silver frames. A kitten dangling from a tree limb by two paws told students to "Hang in there." An empty basketball court reminded them "You'll always miss 100% of the shots you don't take." A beautiful picture of a star-lit night over a still river informed the reader "Ideas are like stars; you will not succeed in touching them with your hands. Believe in them and follow them and you will achieve your goals."

Maggie had chosen each picture specifically with the students in mind. The basketball poster aimed to inspire the jocks. She intended the kitten to speak to the girls and thought the night scene, with its dark colors, would draw the attention of even the difficult to reach Goth kids.

Maggie leaned back in her chair and sighed. She could use a little inspiration about now. Sometimes this job got to her, especially the paperwork. It never ended. She always had a stack on her desk.

Her eyes glanced to the pile of papers on the left. Things needed her attention. Grades were coming due, special education paperwork needed to be completed, but she wasn't in the mood to do any of it.

Maggie blew a long sigh through her lips and reached for the paper at the top of the stack. The sound of a knock on her door stilled her hand.

"Come in," she called, grateful for the reprieve from the forms.

A young lady, dressed in blue jeans and a red sweater, pushed through the door. After carefully closing it behind her, she approached Maggie's desk.

"Hi," Maggie greeted. "What's your name?"

"Kelly Clark."

"Hi, Kelly. I'm Miss O'Connell."

"I know." Kelly's eyes darted around Maggie's office and paused on the picture of the kitten.

"Hang in there," Kelly read. "I have a friend who needs that advice."

"Do you want to sit down and tell me about it?" Maggie gestured to the blue padded chairs in front of her desk. When Kelly sat, Maggie made her way around her desk to sit in the other blue chair, knowing it would help make the girl feel more comfortable.

"What brought you to my office?"

"My friend. She . . ."

When the student did not complete her sentence, Maggie gave her a moment to collect her thoughts then prompted, "Your friend . . ."

Kelly paused, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "I have a friend who may be in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"She thinks she's pregnant."

Maggie's heart sank to her toes. There were a few girls around campus with baby bumps. In fact, teen pregnancy happened to be so common these days, each high school in the District had a daycare where the teen moms could leave their children while they attended classes. But Maggie understood it meant a lifetime of difficulty for the students who chose to keep their children, no matter how commonplace it became.

"What is your friend's name? I'd like to talk to her."

Panic widened the young girl's violet eyes. "I can't tell you her name."

"Kelly, don't you think it would be good for your friend to have a grownup to talk to about this? She's going to need to talk to someone at some point. She can't do this alone."

"But she has her friends to help her."

"What about her parents?"

The girl's gaze dropped to the floor. "They won't understand. They think she is still a virgin. They will be furious. She can't tell them."

Maggie laid her hand over Kelly's where it rested on the arm of her chair. "Every teenager thinks their parents won't understand, but most do. All of us were teenagers once. We remember what it was like, Kelly, even if we are now old."

"But her parents will kill her if they find out."

"Sweetie, I promise you this kind of secret will come out. Eventually the baby will grow large enough for your friend to start showing. You can't hide a baby forever."

Kelly pulled her hand out from Maggie's and folded her hands protectively over her stomach making Maggie suspect Kelly's "friend" might be her. Maggie felt sorry for the girl. She obviously hoped to keep her secret from her parents, but Maggie couldn't let that happen.

"I tell you what; let me call your mother. We can bring her here and tell her about the baby together. I'll be here to support you."

Kelly's gaze locked with Maggie's. "Why would you call my mother?"

"Because she needs to know, Kelly. You can't keep your pregnancy a secret from your parents. You need them. They can help you get through this."

Tears gathered in the girl's eyes confirming Maggie's supposition. "How did you know I was talking about me?"

"The same way your parents will eventually figure it out. You need to go ahead and tell them."

"No, they wouldn't understand."

"They might understand better than you think," Maggie offered.

"They will kill me."

"What if we told them together? I could be with you to help you tell them."

Kelly's gray eyes grew wide, and a tear streaked down her cheek. "No. You can't call them."

"I think they need to know."

"But they can't."

"Kelly, even if you keep the pregnancy a secret, you will give birth. You can't keep this from your parents. The sooner they know, the sooner they can accept what happened." Maggie handed the girl a tissue. "You need to see an obstetrician many times before the baby is born if you want a healthy child. Have you been to an obstetrician yet?"

"What's that?"

Maggie struggled to keep the emotions from her face. This poor child didn't even know an obstetrician delivered babies. Obviously she had not been to an ob/gyn.

"It's a doctor who delivers babies. You need to see one if you plan on having the baby."

Kelly took a deep breath as if to give her courage before she spoke. "Can you take me to the baby doctor?"

Maggie couldn't have been more shocked. She'd do a lot of things for the students at this school, but taking a pregnant teen to the doctor in order for her to avoid telling her parents about the pregnancy wasn't one of them. "I can't do that, Kelly. But what I can do is call your mother so we can talk to her together."

"And you'll help me tell her?"

"Of course I will. I'll be right here the whole time."

Kelly nodded, and wrung the tissue in her lap. "Fine. Call her."

Relief surged through Maggie, and she fought the smile of triumph that threatened to curve her lips as she picked up the phone.

****

The long conversation with Mrs. Clark was full of emotion and turmoil, but Maggie believed they could work through this. As Kelly and her mother left her office, she wondered who the baby's father was. His name hadn't come up when they were talking. But she hoped he would be involved.

Maggie leaned back in her chair, and her gaze slid across her desk to the looming stack of paperwork on the corner. She needed to go through the list of students to be sure none of the federally mandatory three-year reevaluations for special education went over due.

No sooner did she start the process of compiling a list of the coming due re-evaluations then her mind began to wander to the man of her dreams. Her core warmed as her mind's eye conjured his handsome looks and toned body. Her face flushed with excitement when she pictured the way he sauntered across the meadow. He was a fantasy, in literally every way.

Not only was he incredibly good looking but his personality seemed perfect—exactly what she would want in a real man. He'd acted playful, funny, as well as, charming and sweet. He was too good to be real.

Which of course was exactly what he was—not real.

A heavy sigh escaped. Too bad it had only been a dream, but at least it wasn't a nightmare. For the first time in months she had slept through the night. If it hadn't been for the stupid leg cramp, she might have even slept until her alarm went off.

"I wonder if I'll dream of him again tonight," Maggie murmured to herself.

"How sweet. You still dream of me."

Maggie's head jerked up and turned toward the office door to discover Mark standing there in all his boss-like glory. What the heck would be so important it brought Mark Carver to her office?
Chapter 12

Mark's smug look made Maggie want to gag. She decided instead to wipe the arrogance from his face.

"Dream of you? I don't think so, Mark. I can assure you I no longer dream of you or your thinning hair." She perused his hairline with her eyes, knowing he secretly fretted about it.

He let it slip once that losing his hair was his only real fear. Maybe that was the reason for his poor libido when they'd been together. Perhaps he thought himself unattractive because he was going bald. It would certainly explain his lack of interest in having sex.

"Low blow, Mags," he taunted by saying his nickname for her in a sing-songy voice.

Maggie's hands fisted in pique under her desk. She hated when he called her that, and he knew it. "You lost the right to call me by that name when we broke up."

"You mean when I broke it off," Mark corrected, closing the door behind him after he entered her office.

He traversed the small room and took a seat on the corner of her desk. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking every bit the intimidating boss.

He isn't playing any games today.

Mark could be a real bastard when pissed. She would do well to back off and let him say what he came to say. But then she'd never been one to back down from a fight. Which may have been one of the reasons he called off their relationship.

Maggie leaned back in her chair, overlapping her arms to mimic his stance. "As I remember it, we came to a mutual agreement on ending our relationship."

"Relationship?" A rude scoff came from his throat. "More like me always trying to satisfy you and you never being appeased."

"Excuse me? As I remember it, I always tried to be good enough for you; sexy enough for you, and you never seemed to appreciate the effort."

Mark's look of disdain twisted his features. "I would have appreciated the effort, Mags, if it had been enough."

"You have made it perfectly clear you don't find me attractive, Mark. We don't need to go there again."

The look of shock on his face would have been almost comical if she was not so hurt.

"Not attractive? I never said that. Never. I find you a very attractive woman."

"Liar. You found me so attractive you never wanted to have sex," Maggie accused.

"Just because I wasn't in the mood, didn't mean I wasn't attracted to you. For God's sake, I never would have dated you if I didn't find you attractive."

The sincerity in his voice took some of the bite from her anger. She was so tired of this fight. Tired of dealing with this infuriating man. She just wanted him gone so she could be left in peace.

"Why did you come today, Mark?"

He braced his hands on her desk. "Jennifer arranged for a press conference this afternoon."

"Great. Who's going on camera?" She knew what his answer would be, knew her pleas yesterday would go unanswered but hope that it might just be someone other than her made her cross her fingers discreetly in her lap. Maybe, just maybe, she got through to them in his office, and he decided to let someone else speak for the District.

"You," her ex informed her.

Of course! Annnnd her anger came back in full force. "No way!"

"Yes way." Mark pinned her with an intense stare, obviously trying to intimidate her into accepting this.

"Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen. Get someone else."

"Jennifer says it should be you."

"Tell Jennifer to do it herself."

"She thinks it will be better received by the public if it comes from the school guidance counselor rather than the District's attorney."

"I actually can see her point," Maggie conceded. "But I'm not doing it."

"Yes, you are. The press will be here at four."

"That's after school."

"Exactly. The kids and teachers should be gone, so the press won't be able to get any sound bites from anyone except you."

Butterflies the size of birds fluttered in Maggie's stomach. She couldn't do this. She just didn't do public speaking.

The few times she tried talking publicly in the past, she shook so bad her teeth chattered. Wouldn't that make a lovely sound bite for the Six O'clock News?

Wonder how Miss Jennifer Lawler would like that?

"I can't do this." Maggie hoped her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

"You can, and you will, Mags. The District needs you. The school, the students need you."

Way to play on her love of the students. The jerk still knew exactly how to get to her. Loyal to her school and the students who attended, she always said she'd do anything for them, and she meant it.

"Maggie, if you give the press conference, our side of the issue will be believed. Just think how good the school with look once the public knows the truth of the situation."

She had to admit, the secretary mentioned earlier the front office got several calls from parents looking to withdraw their children. The principal seemed sure the negative press led to the sudden calls. If too many students withdrew, they might lose teachers and staff.

A forceful sigh blew out between her clenched teeth. "What should I say?"

A superior look took Mark's face—she really hated that look. "I knew you would do it," her ex declared, clapping his hands together.

"I'm only doing this for the school. Not you, Mark."

"Fine, fine." He stood and withdrew a piece of folded paper from the pocket of his suit jacket. "Here, Jennifer wrote this up last night after dinner."

Did she even want to ask how he knew when Jennifer Lawler wrote it?

Nope.

"Memorize what is written, and say exactly those words during the press conference."

Maggie took the proffered paper and opened it. She gave the statement a quick read-through while Mark stared down at her silently. Her eyes met his as she spoke. "This is our official line?"

"It's the truth."

"Yeah, but it doesn't say much. What if the reporters ask questions?"

"You say no further comment and walk away."

"Easier said than done," Maggie muttered.

"But that's what you will do. Understand, Maggie?" Mark's eyebrows narrowed menacingly over his hazel eyes. "Don't get diarrhea of the mouth. Just say the approved statement, then stop the press conference."

"If you are so worried about me messing things up, why don't you find someone else to say this?" Maggie shook the paper in his direction, wishing he sat close enough so she could hit him with it.

"It needs to be you, the innocent, pretty guidance counselor."

Only he could make a compliment sound like an insult. "You're a real bastard. You know that, Mark?"

He turned heading for her office door. "I might be. But at least I get things done."

With one hand on the doorknob, he stopped to look back at her over his shoulder. "Oh and Mags, don't mess up. I'd hate for the school to look for another guidance counselor this late in the school year."

The threat came through loud and clear—mess up and she could start looking for another job. Got it. Thanks a bunch. Her nerves were much calmer now.

Her stomach tightened and breakfast threatened to make a second appearance as Mark left her office. When he disappeared from sight, she walked over and slammed the door behind him.

She leaned against the door, trying to compose herself. It didn't work. Her hands trembled as she sat back behind her desk. Perspiration dotted her brow while her stomach tightened further. She re-read the prepared statement, the words blurring from her trembling.

"I don't know how I am ever going to get through this," she mumbled, staring sightlessly down at the shaking paper in her hand.
Chapter 13

Foster grabbed a beer from his fridge—the seventh of the night—muttering under his breath about how they just didn't get the job done any longer. Used to be enough beer quieted the voices in his head, but now it just made them louder. The bottle of pills sitting next to the stove caught his attention after he turned.

"Maybe I should take my meds." He shrugged. "The doctor says they help."

You don't need them, the voices in his head whispered. You're fine.

The pills didn't really work. Not like the alcohol did . . . Used to.

He staggered into the living room and plopped down on the torn couch with too much force. His beer sloshed over the lip of the can, wetting his hand and leg.

"Dammit to hell." He wiped the frothy liquid from his jeans.

Yes, dammit all to hell, the voices taunted him. Damn you to hell.

"No. No you don't," Foster yelled back. "I don't want to hear it!"

He grabbed the remote from the dusty coffee table and pushed the power button. With a click, the TV came to life, sending a loud scream into the room. Realizing a horror flick played, he quickly changed the channel to the local news. The news wouldn't be bloody, wouldn't have anyone screaming at him.

He didn't need to see any more horror. His dreams lately had been more than enough. They were terrifying. Bloody images and those creepy people filled his dreams. He wished he never needed to go to sleep ever again.

Sleep is good. We want more blood. More guts.

He hadn't slept more than a few minutes at a time in years. Horrific nightmares plagued him. Grotesque images of death filled his dreams as a recurring theme.

Sweet, bloody death.

Sweat soaked sheets remained on his bed. He saw no reason to change them. He would just soak them again tonight once he lost his battle to stay awake.

Sleep. Go to sleep. Dream for us.

"Stop it!" he screamed. "Shut up."

He turned the TV volume up, hoping to drown out the voices. A pretty woman with reddish hair appeared on screen. Below her image the caption read MARGRET O'CONNELL—EVANS HIGH SCHOOL GUIDANCE COUNSELOR.

Evan had been his step-daddy's name. He hated the abusive son of a bitch. Mean as a rattlesnake and as strong as a silver back gorilla, the bastard was a zoo all by himself.

An animal who deserved to die.

Foster chuckled. "Oh, yeah. He died all right. I saw to that."

With an axe and a baseball bat. They are still in your closet. Trophies of your success.

"I need to clean them."

Pretty red stains. Leave them.

The sound of the woman's high voice drew Foster's attention.

". . . and so upon careful review of the student's file, the District investigators found no wrong doing on behalf of school personnel." The pretty woman's tongue darted out to wet her lips before she continued. "While it is regrettable the student was not found eligible for a program that would allow him to access the state's scholarship to attend a private school, we cannot falsify test results or eligibility paperwork. It would be unethical for the school to do so. Thank you. I have no further comment."

Foster watched with regret as the lead anchor came back on screen throwing the broadcast to the sportscaster. He could care less about the scores for the hometown college team or the National League, but he supposed anything must be better than watching the damned horror movie on the other channel. Too bad the interview hadn't been longer. He wouldn't mind watching that woman some more.

Foster took a long pull from his beer. The counselor was a pretty little thing. Her lips looked so kissable. Her mouth was the perfect shape to bring a man pleasure.

You want to fuck her.

Oh, yeah. The voices knew what they were talking about on that score.

He bet she would feel good with her legs wrapped around his waist. She could be the schoolteacher to his naughty schoolboy—might even spank him.

Spank her. HARD. She would enjoy the pain.

Pain could be good. He learned it firsthand.

Foster put his beer down on the table and rolled up his sleeve. He looked down at the circular scars which dotted his forearms. He earned those cigarette burns—Evan assured him of that.

They were his personal war wounds. They proved he survived, to win the war.

Won the war by killing the general.

Yeah, he'd killed Evan good. He came home from school one day to find Evan beating on his mama. She cowered in the corner with him standing over her raining blows down on her face. Her blood sprayed out, hit Foster's shoe. Seeing Mama's blood enraged the voices. Until that afternoon, they had only demanded he hurt animals and insects.

But we wanted more. Your mama needed to be avenged.

He ran to his room and grabbed his baseball bat out of the closet. Foster whacked his step-daddy upside his head so hard he dropped to the floor.

It felt so good.

He beat the monster unconscious, over and over.

Like a Whack-a-Mole game.

His smashed head oozed blood onto the carpet.

Pretty, pretty blood.

"Not as pretty as the little guidance counselor," Foster murmured.

He ran a hand over his scruffy beard, enjoying the rough feel of his whiskers before he grabbed the beer from the table. Chugging the remainder of the cold liquid, he slammed the emptied can back down on the table. His body heated as the alcohol warmed his stomach, gave him a slight rush.

Finally! The buzz had arrived.

Not as good as the buzz from a fresh kill.

His cock pushed painfully against the zipper of his jeans making his thoughts return to the pretty guidance counselor.

She would be prettier lying before you with her head severed from her neck.

Dead? But she hadn't done anything.

She is keeping the boy from getting his scholarship.

But she just followed the law.

She should do what is right, even if it's against the law. Like you did getting rid of your step-daddy.

He wished they would shut up. That was different.

Is it? Or is she just a bully, keeping a boy down like Evan did to you?

"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. Her throat constricted. She wiped sweaty palms down the sides of her pants, hoping no one noticed. Her swallowed hard. A dry mouth was not the best thing to have happen when about to speak.

She couldn't do this. She would freeze on camera. Some spokesperson she'd turn out to be.

Her legs began to tremble. The reporters would see her shake.

Were they leering at her? Did they know fear consumed 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 vanished from her mind like a magician's trick.

The realization 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, skirt flying up around her ears.

Maggie's cheeks heated with a flush. Her arms scrambled to lower the 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 convulsed 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.

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 space 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, stood 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 which 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 searched hers. Her heart continued to beat quickly in her chest, though she could not be sure whether 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?"

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. The soothing rhythm made 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 called to tell me so."

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 several battles lay ahead. The worst had yet to come. She felt 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 felt 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, the slacks 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 the loving wife. He looked good enough to eat, and based on the gleam in his eyes, he felt the same way about her.

Passion glisten in the depths of his eyes. His long lashes did not hide his feelings for her as he gazed down on her with possession and desire so stark it burned over her, heating her skin.

Warmth spread through 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 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 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. 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 the man could kiss. If his kisses were like heaven, just 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 which caused his pain.

A fresh wave of agony rolled through him, twisting him, turning him inside out. A scream 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. 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 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 realized 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 knew by the way the man reacted to the images he created. Unlike 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.

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 schizophrenic suffered from the most twisted dreams, which Amnon discovered were based on the human's real life for the most part.

He gazed 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 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.

In a few minutes, his surroundings cleared.

Amnon noted how, unlike most humans whose dreamscape contained vivid color, this man only dreamed in black and white ghostly images . . .

He pushed through a door that opened into a landscape of gray, melting structures. Wavy apartment buildings stood next to a spooky house which eerily resembled a rundown version of a home from a gothic horror movie. A black tree with bare branches sat in the Salvatore Dali-style town square. As a crow flew by, the tree reached out a limb and snatched the bird from the air. The bird flapped its wings in an effort to escape but to no avail. The tree brought the bird down to its trunk. A knot opened wide and the branch stuffed the bird inside, swallowing it whole.

Amnon stalked down the crooked road through the center of the eerie town, looking for the human. He wouldn't have to do much to change this dream. The man's mind did an excellent job of making the scene look like something out of a slasher film.

The Dream Stalker peeked in the windows as he made his way through the town square. In one he saw a butcher shop, with a slaughtered pig hanging in front of the window. Through another, he could just make out the form of a man, dressed in black leather and carrying a chain saw. In the next building, blood covering its windows obscured the view inside. Everywhere he looked, Amnon found depravity and wickedness. Unfortunately, this dream lacked one thing—the human he sought.

Where was he?

"Foster," Amnon called in his most nefarious voice. "Come out. Come out wherever you are."

A sound of a twig breaking turned his head left. His body followed the noise, his feet taking him toward the sound.

He made his way between two of the melting apartment buildings and emerged through the dark alley to find a meadow. Two horses grazed in the swaying gray grass. Their heads rose as he approached. The pair turned to pin him with their malicious stares.

A little color. Their eyes turned red and the lids pulled down at angles, giving the horses an evil appearance. The two white horses turned in unison to look at one another, dismissing Amnon as no threat.

Pain from his corporeal body flooded his mind, bringing agony with it to disrupt him in the dream. Amnon moaned in response, the sound low, mournful.

One of the horses snorted Amnon's way. Puffs of white smoke blew from his flared nostrils. The other horse took advantage of his opponent's distraction and charged.

The sound of hooves clacking and pain-filled whinnies filled the air as the two muscular animals fought. Their front legs pounded against each other in a flurry of white. Each time a hoof connected with flesh, a distinct thud filled the night air.

"Beautiful, aren't they."

Amnon turned toward the familiar voice. "I've seen better."

Foster emerged from the shadows. "They'll fight to the death, you know. They always do."

"They don't scare you," Amnon surmised based on the lack of emotion coming from the man.

Foster gave an insouciant shrug of his shoulders. "Not really."

Well that wouldn't do. Amnon's pain increased. If he didn't get his fix soon, he might lose his concentration, and their connection would be lost. He needed to ramp this dream up and quick.

He took control, added a being onto the back of one of the horses. He gave the beastly rider long horns on the sides of its head. Its face remained human, except for his nose which could be likened to a pig's. Thickly muscled, he held a mace ominously in one large, gloved hand.

Swinging the mace above his giant horns, the rider turned the demonic horse and advanced on Foster. The human gave a shout than began to run.

Ahhhhh. The delicious fear blanketed Amnon with its soothing balm. He allowed it to wash over him and ease his pain. Each minute that passed, Amnon felt better, stronger. His breathing eased. His heart slowed to a more normal pace. The crawling of his skin lessened.

While he watched the beast run down his victim, his strength returned, but it wasn't enough. He needed more. Craved more.

He again changed the dream, creating a graveyard in front of the fleeing human.

Light gray skeletons clung to the overly large crosses as if seeking salvation. In unison their heads turned in Foster's direction, watching him flee from the beast chasing him.

With a wave of his hand, the beast and horse disappeared. Amnon watched Foster slow his steps. Amnon approached the man, needing to steer the dream in a more dramatic route.

Amnon laid his hand heavily on the human's shoulder. The man's leg buckled a little under the weight. "Like it?" he asked, indicating the scene with a sweep of his arm.

"I've seen better," the human repeated the stalker's earlier words.

That insolent bastard needed to learn to be respectful and teaching respect just happened to be a specialized talent of his.

Amnon dove into the man's memories, plucked from them his worst nightmare. With a wicked smile, the stalker created a haze up ahead. Foster's eyes widen in recognition as the form emerged from the shadows.

"Evan."

"That's right, Foster. Your loving stepfather is here."

The human's shoulder stiffened under the pads of his finger. His revulsion rolled over Amnon in a heady sensation he absorbed down to the marrow of his corporeal bones. The stalker fed off the hate, letting it strengthen him. Utterly delectable, like soaring high above the clouds, it freed him. Made him feel invincible.

He could do anything. Be anything.

The human started to slip away from the dream. "Oh no, you don't." Amnon exerted his will over the man's mind to keep him locked in the nightmare.

He held the man still as the image of his stepfather advanced. Foster struggled, but the stalker held him fast, forcing him to confront the object of his hate.

Wanting to push the man over the edge, he brought forth another image he had found in the forefront of his recollections—an image of someone he, too, knew.

Color painted the scene. Brown grass covered the graves of the dead. The skeletons turned a ghostly white as they began to laugh in unison, taunting Foster when his stepfather came to a stop right in front of him. Ash-gray mausoleums pushed up through the ground making a sound akin to a combination of scraping rocks and concrete. Amnon melted the soupy haze, lowered it down to hover an inch above the ground in order to assure Foster an unobstructed view of what came next.

From the left, the sound of concrete scraping against itself drew everyone's attention. A red granite mausoleum stood, slightly taller than the rest, with the image of three skulls etched into the granite above the door. The hinges of the door creaked their protest as a woman emerged from the mausoleum. Her long strawberry-blonde hair flowed around her shoulders with each step. The candle she carried in her hands lit her pretty face from below. The light played off the yellow flecks in her eyes turning the green to the color of puke.

Her feet never touched the ground as she moved. She glided over the rough terrain and came to a stop next to Evan.

"Hi, sweet cheeks." The burly man taunted Foster by using the nickname he once called Foster's mother to address the woman. "You come to watch?"

The woman leaned in and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on Evan's thin lips. "You know there is nothing I like better than watching." Her head turned around backwards on her shoulders so she looked into Foster's eyes. "Unless it's participating."

A shiver raced through Foster when her eyes began to glow, and she licked her lips.

Evan put a cigarette to his lips and lit the end. The smoke curled around his head. "Ready?" he asked the woman around the cig. He took a long drag, making the cherry flare an angry red.

She pulled the cigarette from his lips and turned to face Foster. An evil grin curled her lips as she began to walk toward Amnon's prey. "I couldn't be any more ready."

Her announcement sent fear racing down Foster's spine. Fear Amnon absorbed wearing a cruel smile . . .
Chapter 16

Zane sat behind Maggie in the porcelain tub. Creating a soapy washcloth, he gently worked tiny circles over Maggie's body. He started on her lower back, traveling north and over her shoulders, before working his way to her bosom . . .

Paying careful attention to each breast, he worked up a thick lather, enjoying the sight of her tight nipples peeking through the suds. His hand fell to her leg, rubbed circles down her inner thigh with the cloth before switching to her other leg and working his way up.

He made the washcloth disappear and drew Maggie back into the shelter of his body. Her back rested against his chest, his legs framed her thin body. Her heart-shaped bottom rested against his groin, which hardened from the delicious feel of her flesh. He knew she felt the length of him pressing against her when she gave a contented sigh and rested her head against his shoulder.

In the mirror that hung next to the tub, he watched her face. Her long lashes formed dark crescents where they rested against her cheeks. Slightly parted, her plump lips tempted him. A fine sheen, caused by the steam from the water, glossed her pale skin, making it glow. Her hair fell to one side, exposing her slender neck. It begged for a kiss, and Zane could do no other than give into the temptation.

He brought his lips to her nape. His tongue flicked out to taste the tender spot. She was sweet, like honey with a hint of salt. And just like eating a salty-sweet snack, Zane knew one nibble would never be enough of her.

His lips closed over her flesh, and he suckled at her tasty throat, eliciting a low moan from her that vibrated against his mouth. She tilted her head further to the side, giving him better access.

His mouth kissed a trail up her neck. After tracing her delicate ear with the tip of his tongue, he took the lobe between his lips, pulling it into the warmth of his mouth.

His hands worked their way over her breasts, kneading the small globes as his mouth trailed back to her neck. Her hands found his thigh and squeezed them until the bite of her nails stung his flesh.

Zane slid one hand toward the juncture of her legs. He circled her belly button with one finger before trailing lower, to run his fingers through the thatch of curls that hid her most feminine place.

She opened her thighs for him, welcoming his touch as her legs pinned his to the sides of the tub. His fingers slid into her velvet folds. She rocked against his hand, sending the water lapping over their bodies. It sloshed over the sides of the tub as Zane moved his other hand from her breast to cup her chin.

He tilted her head back and took her lips in a passionate kiss. His fingers worked her below in time to the thrusts of his tongue. The duel sensation sent her over the precipice and solicited a soft mewling sound he swallowed with his kiss.

He released her, helping her to turn around and straddle his hips. He reached between their bodies, taking hold of his shaft and positioned it at her entrance. His eyes closed when she leaned forward. Just as their lips touch, he thrust his hips to sheath himself in her core.

Cold air flowed over his face, chest and the tip of his manhood. Zane's eyes flew open. Maggie was nowhere in sight . . .

He silently muttered a string of vile curses and pulled from her mind. The sound of an alarm clock filled the bedroom, making her stir. Zane quickly rose from the bed and sent his magick to open a portal. He went through just as Maggie rolled over, and her hand smacked the clock beside her bed.

Back in his energy form, Zane sent a silent prayer up to the Great Spirits that he no longer had a physical body. If he had been corporeal, he would be in a world of hurt from the unsatisfying dream. If he hadn't wasted most of the night looking for Amnon, he could have had more time with Maggie.

Amnon.

Just thinking the name pissed him off.

"Back so soon." Jolan floated up to Zane.

"Unfortunately."

"I thought you sensed a nightmare. Did you not find the stalker?"

"No. Amnon was not there, only the woman."

"Amnon? Is that the stalker's name."

Zane realized his gaffe. Lost in thoughts of Maggie, he'd accidently revealed the identity of the Dream Stalker. Bad form, he chastised himself. He knew better than to give away anything.

Zane trusted Jolan. In the hundreds of years they had known each other, Jolan had never given Zane a reason to doubt his loyalty. But even a trusted friend could be turned by addiction.

Well, too late now. Jolan had immediately picked up on the stalker's name. No point in denying it.

"Amnon is the Dream Stalker," Zane confirmed, his energy gliding forward with Jolan's following close behind. "Do you know him?"

"No. I can't say I ever met a Weaver named Amnon."

A small blessing, as long as Jolan told the truth. Zane settled in the grass next to his favorite meditation spot. Jolan's energy floated down between him and the falls. A gentle breeze blew over them, making the water ripple.

"If you will excuse me, Jolan, I wish to be alone. I need to meditate."

"Of course. Forgive my intrusion."

"Please don't think me rude. Normally I enjoy your company, but I find myself unsettled and wish to focus my thoughts."

"I understand, Zane, you have a duty to perform. I will leave you to it."

Zane watched Jolan's light shrink until, at last, it disappeared completely. He shut down his vision, closing out the world, and tried to clear his mind.

Thoughts of Amnon crowded in, keeping away his inner peace. The stalker may not have been terrorizing Maggie this night, but he had in the past. The sweet woman did not deserve his torture. No one deserved such torture.

Anger pulsed through his energy making him feel edgy, irritated.

Jolan's parting words resonated in Zane's mind. You have a duty to perform.

His friend's observation rang true. Zane did have a duty to perform. He needed to find and dispose of the stalker. Instead he had wasted precious hours this night sharing a dream with Maggie. How could he let himself be distracted so?

No one kept him from his duty in the past. When he realized her nightmare had not been created by Amnon, he should have ported back to this dimension to search for the stalker's energy trail. But he'd stayed there, taking control of her dream to comfort her.

He chose her over finding Amnon. Unacceptable. Zane gave himself a mental shake. Why did he allow himself to be distracted? He needed to perform his duty to his people, not rescue a human from her bad dream.

Well, whatever caused such a lack of judgment he would not continue to allow the distraction from his duty.

Zane forced the thoughts of the woman from his mind and sent his energy flowing out over the land. The energy of the plants, the emotions of the other Dream Weavers flowed through him. He pushed further, searching for the unique energy he knew to be Amnon.

Ah, there, the familiar thread of darkness. Zane's mind grabbed onto the oily thread and sent his mental energy along the fragment of negative energy to find where it led.

At the end, Zane knew Amnon waited for the justice he would bring. He needed to follow it, not lose it before . . .

The thread snap. He gathered his energy back into himself and quickly opened a portal to the place he sensed Amnon.

He emerged through a cracked mirror into a bathroom dressed in black fatigues and a black turtleneck shirt. When he jumped down from the dirty vanity, his feet landed silently on the tattered floor mat below. On muted feet, he made his way through the open door and into the bedroom, where the repugnant aroma of stale beer and sweat, mixed with the pungent stench of negative emotions.

This must be the right place. The negative emotions still hung in the air. They flowed into him, touching him with their oleaginous tentacles. His gut twisted in response to the noxious feeling.

His eyes searched the room. Sparsely furnished, a bed sat by itself in the middle of the room surrounded by bare walls. A lamp stood like a sentinel next to the door, its shade tipped at an angle. And Amnon?

The stalker was nowhere to be found.

Zane made a quick pass through the tiny home, checking the kitchen and what passed for a living room before making his way back down the hall to reenter the human's bedroom.

The person rolled onto his back, and Zane saw his face for the first time. A heavy beard grew on his chin. Perspiration matted his greasy hair to his head. The toes of one foot stuck out from his sheet, exposing his overgrown toenails. The man did not carry enough meat on his bones, evidenced by the too-sharp cheekbones and sunken eyes. Clearly the man did not take care of himself.

Having no reason to stay, since Amnon could not be found, Zane crossed the room in three purposeful strides and entered the tiny bath. The toilet drew his attention when it made a flushing sound. Nothing to note, except the stains of human waste.

Zane sent his magick into the mirror and flowed through, grateful to be leaving the disgusting home behind.
Chapter 17

Amnon glided through the air at a furious pace. Foster's pain and fear had been a delicious combination with his powerful hate. The intoxicating mixture fed his corporeal muscles, his tissue and sinew . . . his very soul. The euphoria was tantamount to the strength that coursed through his body. They were one in the same, pure ecstasy. He felt wired, antsy, a good kind of antsy—like being excited and filled with anticipation.

He still flew on the high. Literally, now that he once again soared in his own dimension, free from the confines of being mortal.

He could live forever as energy. Here nothing could stop him. He was truly invincible.

Like a god!

He soared higher, reaching for the sky. It bathed his sight in a swirl of colors. Yellow clouds bled into orange and pinks ones. They swirled around a blue spot spiraling outward to look like a multicolored cornucopia. The emerald waves of grass roll beneath him.

The air rush around him, so cold at this height, it almost burned. He increased his own energy to compensate. He would allow nothing to ruin this high.

He pushed ahead, gliding over the nearest mountain. The tip of which brushed him as he passed. Capped with purple snow, it chilled him further.

He found this height exhilarating but too cold. Amnon started to feel a little uncomfortable, even with his energy increased to compensate. Much longer at this altitude and he would end up frozen.

Deciding not to allow anything to ruin his high, he dove down into the valley. It welcomed him into its multicolored arms. Amnon landed in the grass, and the colors bled over him. Rich hues of the most vibrant blues and reds mixed as he moved between the flowers to create a purple paint which covered his being.

Somewhere deep within his mind, he realized this could not be real. The colors of his world, while brilliant enough to be from a painting, were not paint. They did not bleed, but with the human male's emotions coursing through him, his mind created a wonderful hallucination, trying to trick him into believing the impossible sights before him.

If he'd been in his human form, he would have smiled at the sight.

He felt alive, exalted. Like the king of the world.

And really, why shouldn't he be?

He would be a fabulous king. The first thing he would do . . . rescind First Law, so all his subjects could experience this type of ecstasy. The second thing . . .

His mind took only a minute to come up with the next item on his royal agenda. Destroy the Peacemaker.

And wouldn't you know but maybe he didn't need to be king to do that. After all, when they fought in the human dimension he kicked Zane's ass. He believed himself to be stronger, smarter and much faster than the Peacemaker.

If he remembered correctly—and of course he did—he almost won their struggle. Why after a good feeding, like the one he indulged in tonight, he could take on Zane and easily win.

A plan formed in the stalker's mind. He would visit the woman.

Maggie was it?

Yes. He would visit Maggie. Her emotions were much easier to solicit than Foster's. Unlike the male, the woman's dreams tended to be relatively mild and meek, making them all the more horrific when he manipulated them into nightmares.

Amnon could almost taste her emotions now. He would induce the most horrific dream he could think of and feed. Gorge himself on her emotions until he could take no more. When the Peacemaker showed up to stop him—and he would, the stalker was sure of it—Amnon would kill him while in corporeal form.

He'd created the perfect plan. Nothing could go wrong.

****

Foster popped the tab of his beer can and guzzled the frothy liquid down in one long drink. It warmed his stomach when it settled there.

"The breakfast of champions," he muttered to himself, removing a second beer from his fridge.

Taking the cold can with him to the living room, he sat down on his worn couch and turned on the morning news. He popped the top of the fresh beer and took a long draw. Man, it sure tasted good going down. The bubbling tingled all the way to the pit of his stomach. His stomach rumbled, obviously happy with his choice of breakfast, Foster decided, closing his eyes to savor the taste.

The sound of a woman's voice opened his eyes. Oh, yeah, the TV was on. A little boob tube was exactly what he needed to make his morning ritual complete.

Foster took a swig of his beer and nearly spit the amber liquid across the room when an all too familiar face appeared on the screen.

". . . We cannot falsify test results or eligibility paperwork. It would be unethical for the school to do so. Thank you. I have no further comment."

There she was again. Why did the news always replay things from the night before? Couldn't they come up with fresh news over night?

The strawberry-blonde's image disappeared from the screen, replaced by the lead anchor. As the guy droned on about some deadly accident that shut down the interstate, Foster's mind took him back to the nightmare he experienced last night.

The woman from the TV had been there.

With Evan, the voices supplied.

She punished him. She must have thought he was a naughty boy.

She's the naughty one. Punish her.

Evan had held him down while she burned his flesh with a cigarette.

The bitch!

He'd done nothing wrong, only walked into the cemetery, then they attacked him.

Forster took another sip of his beer.

They must die!

"Evan is already dead. I killed him," Foster confessed before taking another sip.

She isn't.

"Isn't what?"

Deeeeead!

"I shouldn't kill her."

You shhhhhould.

"No. It would be wrong." He looked down at the can in his hand and watched the tiny sweat beads dripping down the silver canister like tiny drops of blood down a shiny axe.

She isn't real. She is just a character from TV . . . from your dreams.

"She hurt me."

Yessssss. She deserves to die for what she did to you.

Maybe he should put her out of his misery. If she disappeared, she would not haunt his dreams.

Kill her. Be rid of her.

How could he find her? He took another swallow of his liquid breakfast.

Her high school. Evan's High.

Where else would she be but with Evan?

Rage raced through his blood making it boil. That bitch with her pretty little face and freckled nose, probably sat with Evan right now planning on how they would next punish him.

He tried to be a good boy, he really did, but sometimes the voices were just . . . right. Evan had tried to beat the crazy out of him. At least he said that some of the times he used a belt on Foster's hide. Man, Evan's thick belt stung something fierce. The bite of the leather had been almost worse than the bastard's fists. Almost. Of course Evan's favorite form of torture had been the cigarettes. Just like the woman used on him last night.

She hurt him. The voices were right. They said she deserved to die. Sometimes he just needed to listen to them.

Lissssten now.

Foster threw his beer can across the room at the TV. The can hit hard and bounced onto the floor, bleeding its contents onto his tattered rug.

Foster shrugged. Who cared? It would be just one more stain.

He pushed from the couch, the voices within cheering him on.
Chapter 18

Maggie sat in her office at school, staring sightlessly out the window. She'd become a local celebrity. Throughout the morning, people stopped her to mention the press conference. The principal and the faculty praised her. The students teased her. Apparently fame earned her a page on one of the social networking sites. One of the girls said it was titled, "The No Comment Counselor" and someone had posted the video of her talking.

Nothing like being known as the No Comment Counselor. Now none of the kids would probably ever want to talk to her again.

Great. Just great. Yet another mess to ruin her life thanks to Mark and his fabulous ideas. That stupid lawyer wasn't any better. Maggie felt sure Jennifer Lawler had been the one to decide she should be the spokesperson.

Maggie pushed from behind her desk and paced the room. Her feet quickly ate up the small amount of carpet.

Mark had messed up her life once again. It wasn't enough he'd made her feel ugly and unwanted as a woman. He had to ruin her self-esteem about her job too.

She'd always loved her job as a guidance counselor. Working with the students to fix their problems and helping students who would otherwise not go to college get accepted was one of the highlights of her position with the District.

Now with her new celebrity, she doubted any student would seek her help.

The walls closed in. She needed some air. Needed to get out of here.

She grabbed her purse from the top drawer of the filing cabinet, slung the strap over her shoulder, and reached the door in two strides. Just turning the knob and opening the heavy door made things seem a little better.

Maggie took a deep breath and marched forward. Out of the guidance building and into the front office she trekked, heading straight for her principal's administrative assistant.

Peggy looked up at her. The lines at the corners of her eyes deepened from the genuine smile on her aged face. "Hi, Maggie. I saw you on TV this morning. You did great."

"Thanks."

"So when do you get to be on TV again?"

"Never. I hope." Maggie crossed her arms over her chest, watching as the elderly woman's brown eyes widened in surprise.

"Never? But you looked like a natural. The TV really loves you."

"Pbbbbbbbtttt!" She blew a very loud, juicy raspberry.

"You didn't like being on TV?" Peggy asked, not bothering to keep the incredulousness from her tone. "I'd love to be on TV."

"Great, then next time you can do it. I'm done. I hated it. I never want to be the spokesperson for the District ever again."

"You sound upset." Peggy tapped the tip of her pencil on her desk.

Maggie blew out a heavy sigh. "Just tired and cranky."

"You still not sleeping, hun?"

"No."

"I've got a friend who swears by her sleeping pills. You ever try some?"

Her only respite from the nightmares came in the form of a pill. In fact, a bottle of them sat on the counter at home, but she didn't like them.

"Yeah, but I'm not a fan. Too many people have incidents of sleep walking after taking them. Sleep driving, sleep working. I don't even want to think about what might happen if I try to do my job asleep."

Peggy chuckled. "I know what you mean. Working with teenagers keeps you on your toes. You have to be on top of your game."

Maggie smiled. "Exactly. But you know, I think I'll take the rest of the day off. I desperately need a mental health day."

"Okay. I'll debit your sick leave for the rest of today."

"Thanks, Peggy." Maggie turned to leave.

"Maggie?"

She turned back around to the administrative assistant at the sound of her name. "Uh-huh."

"I hope things get better, dear."

Maggie gave the woman a feeble smile. "Thanks. I'm sure they will." They couldn't get any worse.

"And try to get some sleep. Okay?"

"I will," Maggie promised and headed outside, knowing it would likely be a promise she'd break.

****

As Maggie sat in her assigned parking space, a dilapidated car with faded green paint pulled into the lot. The high school was located in an affluent area of their city. A Lexus or a BMW she would expect, but a green car so rusted through the interior was visible through the base of the driver's door—seemed strange.

Her eyes tracked the vehicle, watching it pull up to the front of the large high school. A man got out, dressed in a pair of raggedy jeans and a jacket. The hood of his gray hoodie obscured much of his face, but she noticed he sported a rough beard. It looked thick and heavier than the typical fashion, as though he couldn't be bothered to keep the thing trimmed.

His clothes appeared soiled. His jeans caked with grime and what may have been grease. Whatever it was, it looked oily. His awkward gate made for unsure steps, as if he sported a limp leg.

Maggie started her engine when the man grabbed the handle of the door to the front office. He stopped and turned in response to the purr of the engine. His eyes locked with hers. They looked cold. Distant.

Vacant was really the best way to describe them, she decided. Unease crept up her spine, prickles of concern blanketed her skin.

Maggie put the car in reverse and eased from her spot. As she drove away her eyes tried to find the man in her rear view mirror, but she did not see him. Like a phantom, he had disappeared from sight.

She turned and looked over her seat. His car still sat in front of the school, but where was he? Had he gone inside?

Of course. He must have gone inside the office once she pulled away. He probably only looked in her direction because he heard her car start. Maggie shook her head as she turned onto the road in front of the school grounds.

"You're becoming paranoid, Maggie," she chastised herself aloud. "I definitely need a little shopping therapy."

And she knew just where to start.

Sixteen miles later, she stood in one of her favorite stores at the mall. The clothes in there were expensive. While she might not be able to buy them on her meager salary, they couldn't stop her from trying a few on and fantasizing about owning them.

"Long time no see," Maggie called to her friend, as Leigh joined her.

Really, it had only been about two weeks since she'd seen her friend, but sometimes fourteen days could feel like a lifetime.

"Hey, stranger. How ya been?"

Leigh embraced her in a strong hug. Friends since high school, Maggie counted on Leigh for support. Maggie called her first when things got rough because her friend would be there.

"I'm fine, Leigh. How about you?"

"You don't look fine. You look tired."

The ladies entered the shop as Maggie spoke. "Yeah. What else is new?"

Leigh gave her a sympathetic nod, knowing all too well how the night terrors had plagued Maggie throughout her life. "So, I saw you on TV."

A groan pushed from Maggie's throat. "I don't want to talk about it. Why do you think I needed a little shopping therapy?"

Leigh smiled, and held up a dress in each hand. "Well, I think these are just what the doctor ordered. Take two and call me when you're ready."

Maggie smiled as she took the dresses to the changing room. Good old Leigh. She could always count on her friend. When she called, Leigh had dropped everything to meet her on the spur of the moment. Not every company bigwig would clear her schedule for a friend, but Leigh did. While she dressed, Maggie contemplated how fortunate she was to have a friend like her.

"Leigh, I'm dressed," she called, making her way to the full-length mirror next to the changing room.

"Look at you," Leigh exclaimed. "You look beautiful."

Maggie stood in front of three mirrors, turning from side-to-side to admire how the emerald sequin gown she wore hugged her curves. Smoothing her hands over her hips, she enjoyed the feel of the sparkly crystals under her fingers.

"The dark green of the gown complements your red hair," a salesclerk informed her.

Maggie spun before the mirror, watching the way the strapless gown hung on her body. The material flowed around her legs when she twirled, dusting the floor. A jeweled detail gathered the emerald-colored material under her bosom to create an empire waist which emphasized her breasts. This designer gown made her look good—even if she did say so herself.

"Nothing like couture to make a gal feel better about herself." Maggie's eyes briefly met Leigh's in the mirror.

"I couldn't agree more, Maggie."

If only she went places that called for this type of a dress. An inelegant snort of incredulity left her throat. If only she could afford this type of a dress. Maybe her dream man would become real and buy it for her.

A smile took her face at the absurdity of the thought. Maggie understood Zane wasn't real, but a girl could dream couldn't she?

And what dreams she had been having lately! Her nightmares seemed to be gone, replaced by sensual dreams about the handsome Zane.

Her body warmed at the thought of him. Maggie watched her cheeks blush in the mirror when memories of the dream from the previous night flooded her mind's eye.

In the dream, he had brought her pleasure unlike she'd ever experienced in the real world. She could still feel the water of the tub lapping over her skin in waves he created when he entered the tub to wash her. If only the dream hadn't ended before they'd made love. She would bet good money he would have been fantastic in bed. Unfortunately, her alarm clock going off pulled her from the dream before she could find out. Such a shame.

Holy crap, she had it bad for a guy who wasn't real.

"What's the look for, Maggie?"

"Huh?" Maggie's eyes met her friends in the mirror. Leigh sported a wide grin.

"What were you just now thinking?"

Images of the dream flashed in her mind's eye bringing another blush to Maggie's cheeks.

"Nothing."

"My butt it was nothing. Look at your cheeks. You better fess up. I want to know what has you so hot and bothered, woman."

Zane. The answer came unabated into her mind. An amazing man with azure blue eyes and a body to die for. An attentive man with a sweet personality. A dream man who wooed her in her dreams and won her heart.

She couldn't love him. Didn't love him, she assured herself. And Maggie wasn't about to admit to her friend what had brought the flush to her cheeks. Leigh would think her crazy.

Needing to distract her inquisitive friend, Maggie said, "I think I'll go try on the red number."

Leigh eyed her suspiciously for a moment, like she realized Maggie tried to sidetrack her. "All right. I bet it will look incredible with your eyes."

When she headed to the dressing room to change into the next dress, a spot of dark gray drew her gaze. Maggie glanced at the window of the shop. People walked by outside, going about their busy lives, oblivious to her or the shop.

It must have been her imagination. Before heading for the dressing room, she glanced over her shoulder at the image of herself in the mirror one last time. Her eyes were met by the reflection of a vacant stare.

It wasn't her imagination. The man in the gray hoodie stood outside, watching her. Maggie spun and grabbed the dress to raise the hem, before she took off for the door. Determination to confront the man quickened her steps.

"Miss. Miss, stop," the sales attendant called after her when she increased her speed.

Just as her fingers closed around the handle of the door to the shop, a hard hand landed on her bare shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?" a deep voice asked her.

Maggie looked up into the face of a big burly man, noting the security uniform he wore. "Outside. There's a man out there."

"Yeah, there are a lot of men out there, lady."

"No. You don't understand. This man is following me."

It may have been the desperation in her voice, but something convinced him to believe her for he demanded, "Stay here."

Relief poured through her when the security guard pulled open the door to the shop. "The guy's wearing a gray hoodie," she cried out as he walked through the door.

Leigh stopped beside her and peered out the glass pane in the door. "Someone is following you? Who in the hell would do such a thing?"

Now that she heard her friend's questions, she must admit maybe it was a little hard to believe. Who would want to follow her? She wasn't anyone special.

"I don't . . . I'm not sure what I saw," Maggie admitted, peeking out into the mall. "I thought I saw someone staring at me through the window."

"Why would you think he was following you?"

"I thought I saw the same guy at school earlier."

A few minutes later the security guard returned with a rather foul look on his face. "There is no one out there."

Maggie ran to the window, with Leigh in pursuit. Sure enough, she did not see the man in the gray hoodie. "Did you see where he went?"

"Lady, I don't know what you thought you saw, but there isn't anyone out there peering into the window. Hell, there isn't anyone out there in a gray hoodie."

"But I saw him." Maggie's voice sounded unsure, even to her.

"Sure you did." Maggie heard the disbelief in the guard's captious tone.

"Maybe your mind played a trick on you," Leigh offered, giving her hand a friendly squeeze.

Had she imagined the man in the gray hoodie?

God help her, maybe she really was losing her mind from the lack of sleep for all these months. A couple of good nights didn't make up for months of sleep deprivation. A prickle of unease crawled over her, making goose bumps pebble her flesh.

Had she imagined him at the high school too?

Oh Lord, maybe she really was cracking up.
Chapter 19

Leigh gave Maggie a hug, patting her back. "You sure you're going to be okay, Maggie?"

Maggie forced a weak smile and nodded. "Sure."

"I could cancel my dinner meeting, if you want. We could go to dinner instead or better yet, we could make a night of it and go to dinner then a movie."

She couldn't let her friend do that. "I already took you away from work earlier today to come shopping with me. I'll not let you cancel your plans for tonight."

"I don't mind."

"I know, but seriously. Go. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Now go silly."

Leigh appeared to weigh her options. "Okay," she finally acquiesced. "You take care of yourself. All right?"

"I always do." Maggie forced what she hoped would be a reassuring smile. The look on Leigh's face told her it wasn't.

"Go, Leigh," Maggie said when Leigh didn't move. "I'll be okay. I just need a good night's sleep."

Leigh gave her another hug. "Okay then. Call me soon."

"I will," Maggie promised, then watched Leigh head to her vehicle after a quick wave goodbye.

During the brisk walk out to her car, paranoia crept up Maggie's spine. As she climbed in and started the engine, her spidey senses went off making her heart beat hard against her ribs. She pulled from the parking space and headed for home. Knuckles going white, her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

She glanced into the rear view mirror. Behind her at the light sat a blue BMW. Behind that, a white sports car revved its engine—as if that would make the light change any faster.

Maggie tap her finger on the steering wheel. Why was this light taking so long? She just wanted to get home, behind the safety of her locked door.

The episode earlier left her rattled. She'd been sure the weirdo from the high school peered through the large window at the dress shop. She couldn't mistake those eyes, those haunted, dead eyes. Just thinking about them sent a shiver down her spine.

Her eyes darted from side-to-side, watched for any sign of the beat-up green car. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, her gaze returned once more to the rearview mirror.

"No way!"

She squinted, trying to focus harder. No. It couldn't be.

There, four cars back, sat a car with faded green paint. She couldn't see the sides to know if they were rusted through, but she'd bet her life it was the same car from earlier.

Fear settled in. Her heart pound faster in her chest. She wasn't crazy. She was being stalked.

Maggie glanced at the stoplight. Still red! Why wouldn't this light change?

She was at the head of the line. Once it turned green, she'd floor it.

Her eyes darted back to her mirror.

Wait, the green car had disappeared. Where did it go?

Maggie turned around in her seat to look. The blue BMW and white sports car were there as was the red minivan, but the green car was nowhere to be seen. She turned her head from side-to-side searching for any sign of the vehicle.

On the sidewalk, a mother carried a tow headed child. Across the street, a couple locked lips in a very public display of affection. Her eyes roamed the area, looked for anything unusual.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, she realized reluctantly, turning back around to sit in her seat.

She took a few deep, calming breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In. Out.

The sound of a horn behind her made her jump, and Maggie looked up at the light.

Green.

"At last!"

She punched the gas and experienced a moment of relief. Now that she was on the move, Maggie could relax a little. She simply wanted to get home—wanted to feel safe.

She'd been sure the green car had been behind her at the light. "Just as I was sure the guy in the gray hoodie had been staring at me through the store window before the security guard didn't find anyone," she reminded herself.

Could she be cracking up? Had she imagined the man and his car? If she had imagined him, she had done so on three separate occasions. That couldn't be a good sign in regards to her sanity.

Didn't she read somewhere people who were crazy didn't know they were crazy? Maggie hoped that was the case. If so, it was a good sign she thought she might be going crazy.

Okay, now that sounded insane.

Her thoughts jumbled in her mind, going round and round like clothes in a dryer. She needed to focus, but she'd lost the ability to focus months ago when she stopped sleeping through the night.

She really needed some sleep, she supposed. A few good nights of sleep would help. It would definitely keep her from seeing things.

If she was seeing things.

Having reached her driveway, Maggie exited her car, glancing over her shoulder as she did so. Yep, just as she hoped, no green car or man in a gray hoodie.

A relieved sigh escaped her lips.

The trip to her front door was a short one. Her legs went at a pace just slower than a run, sending her open coat flapping behind her as she went. Maggie clutched her purse to her chest and kept her eyes darting from side-to-side as she moved, while she fished her keys from the purse.

With a shaky hand she unlocked the door, and entered her home on swift feet. A quick kick of her foot behind her and the door closed with a solid thunk. She'd made it home safe and sound. Of course, it would be safer with the door locked.

She turned around to lock the deadbolt, but found her movement hindered. Panic flooded her body. Something had her coat.

As a scream left her throat, Maggie flung the jacket off her arms and ran at a full sprint into the kitchen. She riffled through the drawer until she found the largest butcher knife she owned.

Holding it in both hands, she stood still and listened. Waited.

Any second now something, someone would come around the corner after her.

She shifted her weight to the other foot. Her heart raced, whether from the run or from fear she wasn't sure which.

Her fingers clutched the knife, trepidation tightening her grip. The fat blade shook in her hands.

All was quiet. Too quiet.

Maggie didn't hear anything moving.

She put one foot in front of the other, slowly made her way out of the kitchen. Walking as quietly as she could, she headed for the door. Thank goodness she recently carpeted the wood floors so they no longer squeaked.

She turned the corner into her entryway. Surprise made her straighten her spine, and Maggie lowered the knife to her side.

Her coat hung suspended by its hem from the door. In her haste, she must have closed the damned thing in the door.

She laid the knife on the credenza, mentally chastising herself for the allowing her imagination to run away with her.

After removing the coat from the door, she closed and locked the thing forcefully. How could she have been so stupid? She'd panicked, like some scared little girl.

On her way back to the kitchen she grabbed the knife.

After tossing the jacket over one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table, Maggie put the knife down on the counter. Her stomach chose that moment to growl, and her hand splayed over the noise. Incredulity rolled her eyes when she realized she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

Maggie pulled a meal from the freezer and popped it in the microwave. When the timer dinged, she laid it on the table. Grabbing some silverware and a glass of wine, she sat down to eat.

Each bite tasted bland while she ruminated about her day. Had she imagined the stalker? She glanced out the kitchen window to be sure. Only her car and lawn were visible. No stalker. No rusty green car. Was her mind playing tricks on her?

She obviously imagined that something had grabbed her coat. Was it possible she also let her imagination run away with her at the shop and the stoplight?

Didn't sleep deprivation make you see things? She vaguely remembered seeing a TV show about how people who were sleep deprived suffered hallucinations. So maybe she was hallucinating. She definitely suffered from chronic sleeplessness.

Her fork stabbed the plastic plate, and she looked down to find her entire meal eaten. How had that happened? She didn't remember the meal at all.

Boy, she really needed some good rest. Maggie scrubbed a tired hand down her face, drawing the skin tight.

She glanced over at the clock on the microwave. 7:57 p.m. If she went to sleep now, she would get nine hours of sleep. That would surely help.

Wow, nine hours, what a concept. But knowing her, she would probably wake up after only a few hours of sleep.

Unless . . .

Maggie looked over on the counter. A bottle which promised a restful night's sleep, sat next to her vitamins.

She didn't like to take the sleeping pills, because she found it difficult to wake up the next morning, which explained why the bottle sat mostly full, despite the fact her doctor had prescribed them over a month ago. But a few nights, like tonight for instance, she just needed a good night's sleep, and they were a great way to get one.

She poured a glass of water and downed one of the pills.

Leaving the few dishes in the sink to deal with in the morning, she passed through the living room and trotted down the hall. After a quick shower, she dressed in her nightgown then crawled into bed.

Maggie settled under the sheets and drew them up under her chin. The languor of the drug and the lassitude from her warm shower combined with the feel of the cool sheets to pull her under. She would not need the TV to occupy her mind tonight. Sleep called to her, begging her to come into its open arms.

Grateful slumber had come, Maggie closed her eyes and allowed the blissful darkness to take her.

****

Amnon emerged from the portal into the woman's room. She lay in her bed with the covers pulled up to her chin, sleeping peacefully.

That is about to change. A wicked grin took his face.

He stalked toward the bed on silent feet. Alighting on the edge of the mattress, he reached his arm out before him. His magick emanated from his hand in a soft glow. Amnon felt the connection to her mind snap into place through his magick. He braced for the emotional feed, anticipating the magnificent sensation that would come as her emotions washed over him.

He took a deep breath . . . waited . . . waited.

Nothing came.

He sensed only blackness. A stark nothingness. She did not dream of anything.

Impossible!

Unless . . .

Amnon pushed into her mind, accessing her memories. He watched them play like a movie in reverse. She got ready for bed. She showered. She took a pill.

Hold up.

He paused on the memory of her holding a pill bottle in her hand, noted the name of the prescription. It was a sleeping pill. Had he really gotten so lucky?

He pulled from her mind. The soft light from his hand faded, leaving the room in darkness. After turning on the light next to her bed, the Dream Stalker pried open one of her eyes. It rolled back in her head. He opened the other eye, noting it too was nothing but white.

Oh this was just too good to be true.

He needed to be sure.

Amnon clapped his hands together next to her ear. She didn't stir.

Next he pulled one of her hands from underneath the comforter. Holding it high above the bed, he let it drop. It bounced when it hit, but the woman still did not move.

"This is perfect," he remarked aloud, rubbing his hands together. "The woman's out cold, and thanks to the sleeping pill, she'll stay that way no matter how horrible the dream I give her is. I can feed for hours on her fear and hatred, and there's nothing she can do to stop me.

"I'll be invincible!"

Looking down on her, he noted her eyes started to dash back and forth under her lids. Sending his magick out from his hand, Amnon pushed into her mind to find her dreaming of a dreamscape that looked bright, a vivid mix of colors very similar to his world. He couldn't help but wonder if Zane had been playing here, manipulating her dreams, because he knew he'd never shared his world with her.

The woman's happy thoughts as she danced through the meadow were not going to get him the strength he wanted, so Amnon took control and ruthlessly stripped most of the colors from the landscape. They bled down, changed to dark gray as they melted away.

A bed formed underneath her, rising from the melting colors to meet her. The stalker forced her onto the bed he created, mentally holding her on the mattress when she struggled to rise.

Her fear was like a tiny sip of water—refreshing, but he needed more.

Amnon watched Maggie struggle against invisible restraints, her arms and legs thrashing about. Careful to remain out of her sight behind the headboard, he watched her muscles strain in an ineffectual attempt to rise.

She gave it a valiant try, he thought. Valiant but futile. Her fear grew by small increments with each passing moment of her restraint, but it wasn't near enough.

Foster had been a feast, and this woman was barely a snack right. He needed more. Wanted more.

At Amnon's behest, a spectral figure, as large as the bed, appeared over the woman. It placed one skeletal hand on the headboard, the other on the baseboard, then leaned down over Maggie.

Amnon knew the moment she saw its hooded face, for she let out a scream that would have awakened the dead. Luckily for him, it didn't wake her.

Her eyes went wide with fright. Her mouth opened to scream again. This time, Amnon stopped the scream in her throat because he realized the inability to make a sound would add to her terror.

And it did, working just as he intended to send a delicious wave of fear his way. He took the energy into his body, letting it feed his muscles and energy. It felt like he was soaring. He felt marvelous, strong and virile. If he lived another thousand years, he would never get enough of this sensation.

The Dream Stalker morphed the specter, gave it big, sunken eyes. Its flesh melted from its face, leaving behind burnt muscle that puckered with deep hollow pockets. Its teeth, long and sharp, showed through some of the flesh.

The monster hovered above the woman, a hiss left its mouth purely for effect. Amnon forced her to watch as it slowly shifted its robed form. The black tattered robe flowed behind the figure when it settled over Maggie. It pressed against her then its mouth opened, and from the cavity came a white light.

"Wake up, Maggie. Wake up!" the woman cried aloud.

She tried to pull from the dream, but before the stalker could exercise his control over her mind, he discovered she couldn't withdraw due to the sleeping pills.

Amnon forced Maggie to believe the monster stole her soul, sucking it through the beam connecting their mouths. He added the stench of rotting flesh and the musty smell of buried earth for ambiance, then made the beast moan in pleasure.

As he hoped, the addition of sound combined with the putrid smell and disgusting vision to push her over the edge. With all five senses fully engaged in the dream, it started to become real to her.

The human tried to wake from the nightmare. She dug her nails into her hands until they bled, hoping the pain would wake her. But of course, she didn't wake.

Amnon smiled.

They would be able to keep this up all night. A quiver of exhilarating anticipation went through him.
Chapter 20

Zane sat on the edge of the water, watching the whirlpool of colors swirl at the base of the falls. He allowed the steady sound of the water to wash over him. His vision and hearing merged into a mesmerizing combination which consumed him.

He didn't notice when Jolan approached. It wasn't until the Dream Weaver spoke that Zane realized he floated next to him.

"Lost in thought, my friend?" Jolan's energy settled down beside Zane's, sinking into the short grass.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Thinking about Amnon?"

"Yes." And no.

He'd been thinking about Amnon, trying to figure out a way he might be able to track him in this dimension, but before long his thoughts turned to the beautiful woman with strawberry-blonde hair and freckles in the human world. Maggie—just thinking her name was like a soothing balm to calm his troubled mind.

His thoughts were never far from her. She had a way of pushing into his mind at all times. A flower reminded him of her eyes. He looked into the water and memory of the fish she created in their shared dream came to mind. She was everywhere.

And nowhere.

Being separated from her made him uncomfortable. He longed to be near her, touch her, if only in a dream.

"Have you found a way to track Amnon?" Jolan asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Not in this dimension," Zane admitted.

"The Council will not be pleased."

"I do not need the reminder."

The Ruling Council was not known for its patience or tolerance. They expected Zane to deal out their particular brand of justice with swift execution. They did not listen to arguments or excuses, and they would not be pleased Amnon still lived.

"You've spent a lot of time here, lately," Jolan observed.

"I've needed to focus."

"What distracts you?"

"Her."

"The human woman you told me about?"

A breeze blew over their energy, cool and crisp.

"Maggie," Zane supplied, wanting to hear the sound of her name. It slid over his energy in a silken caress, wrapping around him to hug him with its sweet sound. Amazing how two little syllables could bring such comfort and yet distress.

What was she doing? Sleeping? Eating? Had her day gone well? Zane hoped she was safe and well. For some reason, he needed her to be unharmed, which was just plain ridiculous, because his job was not to see to her safety.

"Why does she trouble you so?"

"I can't seem to keep her from my thoughts. Every moment she enters my mind to distract me from my tasks."

"You must focus on finding Amnon, Zane."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Zane needed no reminder. The sooner he found the Dream Stalker, the sooner Maggie would be safe.

"So let me help," Jolan offered. "Talk through the situation with me. I'll keep you focused on what is important."

"I . . ." Zane's words were stilled by the sudden burning within. Every nerve fired at once, sending an electrical charge through his energy that sparked and sizzled around him like a sun. The sensation meant only one thing, the dream catcher alarm had done its job.

Maggie was having a nightmare, and by the intensity of the inferno within him it was a ruthless one. Jolan said something Zane didn't quite register as he created a portal to her bedroom.

Stepping through the vortex dressed for combat in black turtleneck shirt, black combat pants, and a pair of shitkicker boots, Maggie's fear rammed into his body with such force he staggered. Zane grabbed the vanity to steady himself, his stomach twisting as vile emotions poured over him.

His eyes focused on the cause of the depraved emotions. Amnon's merciless smile gave him an exceptionally cruel look. Maggie lay in her bed, her face and covers drenched in sweat. She thrashed, fists pounded the air as if she tried to beat something off her. Bucking like a bronco trying to dismount its rider, her body bounced on the mattress.

He heard something crack. Her bed? Her bones? He couldn't tell which, but whatever it was the Dream Stalker was responsible.

The rage in him built, coursed through his muscles, bunching them under his skin. His blood rushed through his veins as much from the adrenaline as from his anger. The world narrowed around him. The thrill of the fight consumed him, and he welcomed it with open arms. The hatred for his opponent enveloped him, blocked all thoughts from his mind with the exception of making the stalker pay for what he did to Maggie.

He bound across the room in one leap. Zane grabbed onto the collar of Amnon's shirt and pulled hard, ripping him from the bed. His hand still on the Dream Stalker's collar, Zane spared a moment to glance down at Maggie, giving her an assessing stare. Though still asleep, fear continued to contort her features, and her body thrashed about.

The distraction was all his opponent needed. Amnon spun, catching Zane on his jaw with his fist. Zane's head snapped back, his body followed, causing him to lose his grip on Amnon's collar.

His jaw throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The bastard was strong. Stronger than he'd been the last time they fought. He must have fed off Maggie's terror. Zane needed to find an advantage of some kind. Strength alone might not be enough.

Zane didn't have long to continue his supposition before it was tested. Amnon tackled him about his waist, sending the pair to the floor. They came to rest with Zane on his back and the stalker on top. Amnon quickly moved into position, straddling Zane's waist. He rained blow after blow down on Zane's face.

Zane's head flew from one side to the other as the blows continued. Each one caused a fresh sensation of excruciating pain. His skin pulled tight from the bruising. The flesh under his eyes started to swell. He needed to do something to dislodge his opponent and fast before he went blind.

Taking a move from Maggie's playbook, he bucked like a prized bull. Amnon lost his balance and went head first into the carpet over Zane's head.

Zane rolled to his feet. From behind his opponent, Zane wrapped his arms around Amnon's waist and squeezed him in a fierce bear hug. Amnon threw his head back hard into Zane's nose. The room filled with the sound of crunching bone when his nose broke. He tasted the blood as it poured through his sinuses. Blood flowed down his lips, and he struggled to ignore the pain.

Amnon writhed in his grasp, twisting and turning, taking advantage of Zane's pain to break free of the hold. Horror widened Zane's swollen eyes as he watch Amnon head for the vanity.

He was running again. The coward.

No way would Zane allow him to escape a second time. This needed to end here. Tonight!

The muscles in Zane's thighs bunched as he prepared to jump. With a mighty leap, he landed in the middle of Amnon's back, taking him to the floor, just as the mirror began to morph into a portal.

The two men rolled through the door to Maggie's room. Each trying to gain the upper hand in their struggle. They fought like two large cats. Arms twisted, legs kicked out for any bits of muscle they could find.

Amnon's fist landed on Zane's broken nose sending a fresh rush of pain through him. Zane threw his head back. A roar of agony escaped from his lips. The resulting surge of adrenaline that coursed through him increased his strength.

He flipped his opponent and rose over the stalker, but his advantage was short lived. Soon he found himself back under Amnon. The two shifted the dominate position, each taking turns on top as they made their way down the hall.

When they reached the living room, they rolled apart. In unison, they rose to face each other in a fighting stance. Their hands fisted in front of their chests, their weight evenly distributed on the balls of their feet, they looked like a set of cage fighters.

Zane moved first to close the distance and threw a right hook that sent his opponent's head reeling on his neck. Amnon answered by throwing an uppercut to Zane's jaw. After his head righted, Zane turned and threw his leg in the air. The roundhouse kick landed squarely on Amnon's ribs. The warrior heard a most satisfactory crack when at least one of the stalker's ribs broke.

A pained expression took the Dream Stalkers face, twisting the features as his arm wrapped around his ribs. At least the injury would make it difficult to breathe, perhaps slow him down a little.

It didn't seem to deter Amnon, though. He sent a series of blows into Zane's stomach until he staggered backwards into the kitchen. Amnon caught him around the middle, and the pair crashed into the kitchen table. Luckily, the solid wood did not break under their combined weight.

They rolled from the table to the floor, Zane landing on top. He straddled the stalker, his fingers closing around the male's throat.

This was it. The moment he would send the Dream Stalker to his death.

His finger's tightened. Amnon clawed at his hands, desperate for air. The blood vessels in his eyes burst from the pressure around his throat. Zane watched the blood from Amnon's broken capillaries oozed over the whites of his eyes.

Suddenly Amnon jerked. The move so unexpected, Zane did not counter. Amnon's leg twisted up around Zane's neck and pulled, sending Zane backwards, and his grip pulled from Amnon's throat.

His neck pinned between the man's legs, Zane's airway constricted when Amnon bunched his thighs. His lungs burned, struggled for air. Pressure built behind his eyes, his body jerked from the lack of oxygen. When darkness started to close in, Zane realized if he went unconscious, the fight was over. Amnon would be able to feed off Maggie for the rest of her life.

The awareness sent a bolt of desperation through him. He could not afford to lose this battle. Not with Maggie in the balance.

Zane squinted his eyes, trying to stay the darkness. They focused on the leg just below his mouth. He bent his head and bit down into the fleshy thigh hard, earning a satisfying scream from the stalker.

The moment the legs released him, he pushed from between them and stood. His head swam in protest when oxygen rushed to his brain. Zane brought the heel of his boot down on the side of Amnon's leg, crushing his peroneal nerve. His opponent roared and bowed back in excruciating misery.

Knowing his adversary lay immobilized for the moment, Zane's gaze flew to the glint of a blade. Pushing off on the stalker's leg, he lunged for the sink and grabbed the large knife concealed within.

Amnon rose from the floor, limping toward Zane with a look of wrath that made him no longer appeared quite human. Just as he leaned forward to pounce, Zane thrust the knife forward. It plunged into Amnon's stomach, his own momentum driving it deeper within. Zane twisted the blade and drew it to the side, slashing the stalker across his stomach. A large fissure opened in the Dream Stalker's flesh, sending an arc of blood out to coat not just Zane but the cabinets and stove as well.

Amnon grabbed his gut and fell on his knees before Zane could wipe the blood from his face. A thick column of light poured from the stalker's wound. He fell on his back with a sorrowful moan. The wide, luminous beam touched the ceiling of the tiny kitchen. It bathed the room in light, and Zane narrowed his eyes against the brightness. A blinding flash poured from Amnon's flesh as his energy released into the cosmos. Zane threw his hand over his eyes to protect them from the nimbus of pure white light.

Like the beam of a high intensity laser, the concentration of the light from Amnon burned the retinas of Zane's eyes through his lids. The torture of which matched the agony in the rest of his body.

When he opened his lids, darkness greeted him, but he didn't panic. Experience told him he suffered temporary flash-blindness due to the harsh light. After a few moments, he began to see the familiar afterimages he'd come to expect. Blobs of color sharpened with each blink, restoring his focus as the pain slowly receded until finally his vision returned to normal.

He glanced around the kitchen. The table and chairs lay strewn about but luckily not broken. Amnon disintegrated when his energy released, so at least Zane did not need to dispose of the body.

He tossed the knife into the sink and ran it under water to wash the evidence of Amnon's death down the drain. Next he took a wet sponge to the blood spatter on the cabinets and stove, scrubbing them clean. Satisfied, he'd disposed of all evidence of Amnon, he righted the dinette set and straightened the items on the counter before leaving the room. The living room had fared much better than the kitchen. Only the coffee table needed to be straightened.

Zane retraced their steps, making sure he put everything back in its rightful place. He carefully erased all signs of their struggle. Even the pictures hanging in the hall were meticulously straightened.

As he made his way into the room where their epic battle begun, regret weighed heavy upon his shoulders. He did not regret he'd been forced to end the life of one of their own, for it could not be helped, but he regretted that Amnon had broken their First Law. Zane tried to take solace that he had done the only thing he could to put the stalker out of his misery. His was a heavy task, but it must be done.

Being a Peacemaker came with a price, both mentally and physically, he acknowledged, straightening the items which fell over on Maggie's vanity during the struggle. The smell of her spilt perfume wafted in the air, tickling his broken nose. He inhaled deeply wanting to commit the scent to memory forever. The action brought a fresh sensation of misery to both his sinuses and his bruised ribs.

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. A battered and bruised man stared back. His clothes clung to his skin, wet with the blood—his own and his enemy's. Both eyes were red and swollen. Dried blood caked his knuckles and face. A deep shade of purple colored his jaw and the flash burn created by Amnon's death had made his eyes red.

With the adrenaline abating, he felt as bad as he looked. His energy spent, he needed to replenish his strength or he wouldn't have enough energy to work his magick on the portal back to his dimension.

Zane needed to feed and if it allowed him to have one last dream with Maggie, then so much the better. He turned toward the bed.
Chapter 21

Zane move closer to the bed and noted her body had stilled with the link to Amnon broken. She appeared contented, peaceful. The sight made his heart clench in his chest. Maggie's eyes moved erratically beneath the closed lids. She was still dreaming, but it seemed to be a pleasant dream. The thought pleased Zane more than it should.

A smile began to take his face but quickly disappeared when the slight movement of his mouth sent pain spearing through his split lip. He shouldn't have to expend too much energy to shape a positive dream and given his current physical condition that was a very good thing.

Feeling the tiredness in his bones, Zane lay beside her, stretching out the length of the bed. His eyes roamed Maggie's face. Bones stood out against the hollows of her cheeks. He ran a finger over the freckles on her tiny nose. It came to rest on her full lips. He traced them with the pad of his thumb, the bottom one opened in response.

Zane's stomach twisted in his gut from hunger. Hunger for energy? Hunger for her? He wasn't exactly sure which. Probably both, if he was to be honest with himself.

Her hair, damp with perspiration from her nightmare, stuck to her cheeks and neck at the most interesting angles. Zane pulled it away from her body, laying it out around her head on her pillow, making her look like she floated underwater.

That gave him an idea.

Zane laid his head on the pillow next to hers and rested his hand on her forehead. After closing his eyes in concentration, he pushed into her mind.

Instantly, clouds pillowed his feet. The soft cottony haze swirled around his legs, so thick it felt like tiny fingers caressing him. In the sky, violets and pinks mixed with just enough orange to indicate it was sunrise. The colors streaked across the sky swirling around each other in a striking dance. They appeared to melt into the water below. The reflection muted the colors, made them even more dreamlike and soft. As enticing as they were, they could not keep his attention from the form in the water . . .

Maggie floated on her back with her breasts thrusting out of the water. She held her arms straight out from her sides, so she resembled a T. Her thin form, bobbed with each rolling wave. Each time she crested, the ocean blessed Zane with a view of her shapely legs just visible beneath the water.

Most people would be swallowed by the large expanse of ocean but not Maggie. She floated larger than life, right in the middle. The rest of the dreamscape fell away, leaving only her.

With a thought, he appeared beside her, dressed only in a pair of swim trunks. The tepid water surrounded his body, its soothing rocking and warmth did nothing to help his lassitude. He needed to kick this dream up a notch so his physical form could feed on Maggie's emotional energy or his weariness might just pull him under—literally.

Zane created an island behind them with lush tropical palms and thick green foliage. Brightly colored seashells sprinkled the pristine, white sand on the shore. He made the sun crest just over the tops of the palms then added anthuriums, hibiscus, and orchids in an array of colors. As a final touch, he placed a few parrots in the trees to add another layer of color with their flamboyant feathers.

Satisfied, he took Maggie in his arms. She jerked against him in surprise, sending the water splashing over them. It dripped down her face, several drops pooling in the indention of her lips.

Zane bent toward her, licking at the tempting crevasse. Shock broke his intention of giving a kiss, and he pulled back to gaze down at the woman in his arms.

"The water is sweet," he announced, earning a giggle. The sound flowed over him, velvet-soft and gentle.

"I wondered how long it would take you to show up, Blue Eyes." Maggie looked up at him with trust in her eyes as she stilled in his arms. She trusted herself into his keeping, allowed his strength to keep her above the water. Her obvious conviction in his ability to keep her safe from harm humbled him.

"Miss me?" With a powerful kick of his leg, he pushed their bodies through the water toward the island.

"Always. Every time I go to sleep I hope you will come to me."

"And why's that?" His stomach knotted with hope while he waited for her reply.

"Because you are handsome." She ran a hand down his cheek. "And you are strong." Her hand traveled over his bicep.

"So you like my physical attributes."

She smiled, showing her perfect, little white teeth. "Afraid I only like you for your body?" she teased.

As they laughed in unison, she wrapped an arm around his neck. When they reached the shore, he carried her from the water, not yet ready to let her out of his arms.

"I'm glad you find me attractive, Maggie. Spirits know, I have the hots for you."

"Do you only like me for my body?" She ran her hand down her body in a grand sweep which took in her slight curves. "I'm sure my boyish figure really turns you on."

She didn't find her body attractive. The realization shocked him. How could she think he might not be attracted to her? Had he not told her how beautiful he found her?

Well, she'll believe me now, he decided. With the threat to her destroyed, this would be their last time together. If he left her with nothing else it would be with the knowledge of what she meant to him.

"I happen to find your body anything but boyish."

Lowering her feet to the sand, Zane watched the tiny droplets of water sluicing over her trim physique. His eyes tracked their sensual trail over her delicate form, watching her skin pebble with gooseflesh. His belly tightened, and his body throbbed in response to the erotic sight of her. Zane's heartbeat raced like a thoroughbred, galloping in his chest. The sight of her sent desire sizzling through his blood. His knees weakened.

Zane knelt before her in the sand. His hands circled each of her slim ankles. "Your ankles are delicate and petite."

He raised his hands, expanding over her calves to settle behind her knees. His fingers traced small circles on the tender skin, sending a shiver through her. Zane looked up at her, let his passion for her burn in his eyes. "Your legs are shapely, your skin so smooth it feels like silk beneath my fingers."

His hands ran up her outer thighs to capture her hips. "Your small curves entice me, especially when you move. I love the way your hips sway when you walk." He rolled her hips seductively between his palms. His thumbs traced her hipbones over her bikini bottom.

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her belly button. "Your flat tummy begs me to kiss it."

His hands slid up her ribs, following the lines of her body. The pads of two fingers brushed the sides of her breast through the material of her top. She trembled.

Good. He obviously affected her as much as she affected him. Touching her, perusing her body so slowly, tortured him. His body felt tight, uncomfortably so, but he refused to act in haste, wanting to be sure she understood just how much he worshiped her. This would not be a quickie on the beach. He intended to take his time, build her passion slowly. And if it resulted in him enjoying her body as much as the emotions she fed to him then all the better.

His hands cupped her breast, the small mounds not quite filling his palms. He lifted them, taking their slight weight into his hands as he gave them a gentle squeeze. Maggie arched into his touch. The bosom thrust into his hands. The movement brought her stomach closer to his face, and his tongue darted out to circle her belly button.

A small mewling sound left her throat. Her hand reached down to grab the back of his head, her fingers threading through his short hair. She held him to her as he kissed her stomach. "Now this is what I call a dream," she murmured.

Zane glanced up to find her gazing down at him. Her statement brought a question to his mind, taking from him his lustful intentions for a moment. He pulled his hands from her breasts and stood. "Come here," he commanded.

He took her hand, molding her fingers into the crook of his arm. His free hand captured her fingers, leading her toward the tropical forest. Maggie followed easily.

He liked the way she allowed him to lead. It pleased him she trusted herself into his care, as though she somehow knew he would never hurt her. After the nightmares she experienced, he found it unbelievable she trusted so willingly.

"Why do you trust me?" Zane asked, as they made their way through the thick foliage.

He fashioned a soft mat of moss for their bare feet. It created a path through the humid forest.

Maggie shrugged. "I just do."

Not good enough. He stopped their momentum. Capturing her shoulders between his hands, he turned her toward him.

"Tell me why," he demanded gently, searching her doe-eyed gaze. He didn't know why, but her answer mattered very much to him.

"I-I know you won't hurt me."

"How can you be sure? After all the nightmares you suffered, how do you know this dream won't morph into hell?"

"Because you are here." She ran the tips of her fingers over his bare chest. They traveled down to his waist then her arms encircled him in a loose hug. "I'm safe with you. I can see it in your eyes. You care about me."

And there it was, out in the open, exposed like a flasher at the World Cup. Dammit, she'd nailed it. Great Spirits help him, but he did care. He cared more than he should about this human woman.

Zane needed to know if it went both ways. "Do you care about me, Maggie?"

"Yes."

The honesty in her reply made his heart jump for joy. Zane believed her. Emotions danced in her eyes. They surrounded his soul. The depths of her feelings washed over him. Her powerful combination of love and lust fed him as they raised his libido.

His lips descended on hers in a passionate kiss. Zane's hands slid over her shoulder to her back, drew her to him. She melded against him, tightening her arms around his waist. He reveled in the feel of the fit of her body against his. Her soft planes were a welcoming contrast to the hardness of his form.

Maggie deepened their kiss. Their tongues danced between their mouths, each seeking dominance. She tasted him completely, leaving no crevasse untried and pushed herself closer, harder against him, as if she wanted to crawl inside.

She wantonly rubbed her pelvis against his groin in blatant invitation. His hand grabbed her bottom to push her closer. Harder she ground against him, sending a wave of desire through his blood so hot flames licked along his skin. Her passion devoured him, ignited a burning that consumed him in a conflagration of sensation.

"I want you, Maggie. I need to be inside you."

Her response came not in words but deed, as a hammock suddenly appeared between two of the palm trees.
Chapter 22

She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He smiled at the hammock she created watching it sway in the breeze. The Cheshire cat grin on her face told him she had purposely created it.

Zane quirked a brow. "Nice touch," he said, glancing at the hammock . . .

She graced him with a genuine, heart-stopping smile. "I thought so. What say we put it to good use?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

He laced her fingers in his and led her to the hammock. After conjuring a goose down pillow to run the length for her comfort, he eased her down.

Rose petals fell around them like a light rain. The smell of the magnolias surrounded them to combine with the heady scent of woman. Zane stood over her, his eyes drinking her in. One of her arms rested above her head, the other lay over her stomach. Her hair flowed out over the down pillow. The sunlight from above created highlights of blonde and red.

Her chartreuse eyes sparkled with passion. Her plump, ruby lips parted slightly, before her tongue darted out to moisten them. He tracked the movement with his eyes. It was the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

She was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. She looked like a goddess lying before him.

His fingers reached behind her neck. A quick tug released the strings of her bikini, but he left them dangling behind her back. His hands slid over her shoulders. The thick fingers of his hands traced the tops of both breasts as they made their way behind her back to find another set of strings. He gave them a quick tug.

Zane went slowly, wanting, needing to savor this time with her. He grasped the strings about her neck and pulled them away from her, dragging the bikini top down to expose her breasts.

Her nipples pebbled in greeting when the air hit them. Zane dropped the top to the ground and took one of the hard points between his finger and thumb. His mouth found the other tip while he gently twisted the first, making Maggie arch under the ministrations. Zane suckled at her bosom, took the creamy mound as deep as his mouth would allow. He drew in hard, his cheeks going concave, soliciting a moan from Maggie in response. The sound, a sexy, wanton melody, called to him.

His hand left her breast to roam down her curves. The bumps of each rib and the soft contours of her stomach passed below his fingers, before his hand found what he sought. His fingers closed around the material of her swimsuit and pulled it down her legs. She shifted to help him remove the offensive material, causing the hammock to swing slightly from side-to-side.

Zane dropped the bottoms and grabbed the hammock, her breast popping free from his mouth in the process. After steadying the hammock, he let his eyes roam her nakedness. Her cheeks flushed with her excitement. Her breath came in short ragged bursts which shook her breasts in the most delectable way. Her pounding heart drew his attention to her chest. It quickened under his gaze. His hardened sex jumped in appreciation, rubbing his sensitive skin against the material of his bathing suit.

His eyes went lower to discover the thatch of reddish-blonde curls at the juncture of her legs. Pushing through the course curls, his fingers found the soft folds of her inner core. He pushed one digit into her slick heat. Her legs opened for him, giving him an unobstructed view of her wet entrance which blossomed like the petals of a flower.

He inserted a second finger into her silken opening. As the palm of his hand cupped her mound, Maggie pushed against his touch. Her hands went to her breasts, squeezing her nipples into tight peaks. She was the picture of unabashed sexuality, a carnal being letting the feel of her body rule her, and it thrilled him to no end.

He leaned down so his breath would ghost over her ear as he spoke. "Do you like that?" He scissored his fingers.

"God, yes," she moaned.

"How about this?" His thumb found the sensitive nub hidden within her folds. Upon it he made tiny circles, feeling her ratchet higher.

A mewling cry left her lips, answering his question in a way far, far better than any word ever could. He captured it with his kiss, let the cry vibrate in his mouth as his tongue slid along hers. He rubbed faster, and she arched into him. The inner muscles of her thighs gripped his fingers when she flew over the edge. She shuddered as her climax washed over her.

In the real world, her deep joy and happiness flowed over him, filling him with its powerful energy. His corporeal body gained strength; it fed him here in the dream making him feel more virile.

Pulling his fingers from her inner warmth, he stood and hooked his fingers in the waistband of his swimsuit. In a quick movement, it lay down around his feet, and he stepped from it. When he rose back to standing, he was surprised to find Maggie sitting in the hammock, her legs dangling over the side.

Before he could ask her what she thought she was doing, her hand wrapped around the base of his shaft. She stroked him from base to tip and back. His body felt heavy with desire for her. Each stroke sent a sizzle of electricity to his toes, making them curl in the sandy ground.

Maggie lean forward and open her lips wide. When her hot, little mouth surrounded the head of his penis, he let out a sound something between a groan and a yell. Never in all the centuries of shared dreams where a woman had done this to him had anything been as good as the moist heat of her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around his length, licking at him while her hand continued to stroke.

Her mouth cradled his length, like a warm hug. The tip of her tongue darted in tiny flicks against the underside of his shaft. She worked up his length in a slow sinuous slide until finally reaching the tip. Her tongue curled about the bulbous head then slid over the top to part the slit.

Great Spirits above, he would embarrass himself like a schoolboy if she kept that up. Maybe going slow had not been such a great idea. Being aroused for such a long time threatened to take his self-control. If she continued much longer, he would spill into her mouth.

But he could not bring himself to make her stop. Not just yet. Especially when her tongue did the little flicking motion around the tip as it did now. His stomach tightened in response. She felt so good!

His hand fisted in her hair, holding her to him while his hips moved in time to her strokes, working his shaft in and out of her amazing mouth. Each thrust made his balls draw tighter, made the pressure build in his groin. He allowed her only one more, long draw before he pulled from her mouth, afraid his climax would come before he could sink into the moist heat of her core.

Using her hair to hold her head still while he took her lips, he poured his emotions into the kiss, tried to convey his desire and caring, his appreciation of Maggie.

His body pressed hers down onto the hammock. Zane settled his hips between her legs and positioned his tip at her entrance. He slipped home with one thrust. Buried to the hilt, her core felt even hotter, wetter than her mouth had been. She burned, scorching him in a fiery sheath.

Maggie moved first, her hips thrusting against his. The lush feel of sliding from her warm, velvet folds then thrusting back in, made his body taunt. He pumped a leisurely rhythm trying to slow time in an attempt to savor this, engrave each moment in his memory for all time.

Small keening sounds pushed from her throat with each deep thrust, driving him wild. It was a piquant sensation knowing he drove her toward another climax. He watched it build.

Maggie's breath left her chest in hard, short spurts. Her hands reached around him, her fingers tightening on his ass. She pushed him into her, silently demanding what she needed. Her cheeks blushed a beautiful shade of pink as her eyes closed.

Her orgasm hit with such force her back bowed off the pillow and hammock. His name left her lips in a whispered prayer. Her lovely eyes flew open, pinning him with their intense stare while her fingers dug into his flesh.

"I've got you," Zane assured, as her inner muscles gripped him.

He might have her, but who had him? The feel of her core tightening around him, nearly did him in. Not yet ready to stop, he ruthlessly fought down his building response.

She went boneless, yielding to him, melting under him. A deep, sonorous rumble came from his chest cavity. His hands slid around her sides and behind her back to the curve of her bottom. He lifted her hips, allowing for a deeper penetration. All the while, his lips worked between each breast taking his time to thoroughly lave each one.

The sound of her shallow breaths mixed with the sigh of the ocean. The delicious scent of her and the sweet aroma of the flowers around them combined into a sensual perfume. He quickened the pistoning of his hips. Her legs moved higher onto his back and crossed around his ribs. His next thrust went straight to the heart of her core, so deep he could no longer tell where he ended and she began.

His world narrowed to only her, blocking everything else around him out. He was lost in the feel of her slick skin, the taste of her kiss, until his climax pulsed in his groin.

His fingers pushed between the slick flesh of their bodies and found her most sensitive nub. His thumb drew tiny circles on the bit of flesh, making her buck against him. Her eyes went wide, her face flushed a brighter shade of red.

One more circle, applied with a bit of pressure, and she screamed his name as he continued to plunge into her blazing core. Her muscles gripped him like a velvet fist. Squeezed him like a vise.

Zane's own climax build. It burned up his spine like a fuse, ignited a bomb of white heat which spread through his body. He jerked violently, swelled within her depths. A ragged cry of joy left his lips as he exploded within her.

His hips crushed against hers, when he pushed himself as far into her as possible. Zane never wanted this to end.

He stayed inside her, waiting as he slowly came down from the rush, absorbing the feel of her velvety heat. Zane committed it to memory, taking in every detail from the contented look on her stunning face to the feel of her breasts pushing against his chest with each breath.

He balanced his weight on his arms, his hands framing her head. She looked up at him with trust shining in her pretty eyes. It tore at his heart, for unlike him, she didn't know this would be their last time together.

He couldn't come visit her again, no matter how big the temptation. Each time he came near her, he wanted more. More time with her. More dreams with her. More of her. He'd started to want the real Maggie, not just the dream version, and that could never be.

He needed to tell her this would be the last time he would come to her, end this now while he could still force himself back into his dimension, away from her.

Zane dropped his head to rest on her forehead and allowed the rest of the world to gradually sink in. The steady hum of the waves rolling against the shore mingled with the sound of the palm fronds rustling in the warm breeze. He took several deep breaths, taking the combination of aroused woman and the surrounding blooms into his lungs. His eyes locked with hers. She watched him, perfectly still underneath him as if she sensed something was wrong.

His breathing eventually returned to normal, and he reluctantly withdrew from her body. The hammock swayed when he dismounted. Zane manipulated the dream, adding clothes on their bodies. He gave her a floral print sarong dress which twisted lovingly around both breasts and tied behind her neck. For himself, he chose a white, long sleeved, Ceylon shirt and khaki pants.

He reached out a steadying hand, which Maggie took. After helping her stand, he tucked her against his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Her arm settled around his lower back.

She allowed him to lead them in silence. When they arrived at the shore, he released her and leaned against one of the palms.

She gazed up at him, and her hand cupped his cheek. "What is it, Zane? You are so quiet."

He put his hands on her waist and drew her against him, settling her between his thighs. His fingers threaded through the silky wisps of her hair as he pulled her head against his shoulder. His stretched legs narrowed the difference between their heights. She shuddered when he pulled her more firmly against him.

He took several fortifying breaths before he spoke his confession. "I have to go."

"So soon?" She pulled her head from his shoulder, looking in his eyes. "When will I see you again?"

"You won't."

She blew a raspberry. "Yeah, right. These dreams are too good. You'll be making another appearance."

Zane pushed her head back down against his shoulder, finding it difficult to look in her eyes as he spoke. "You no longer need my protection, sweetheart."

"I don't understand."

He closed his eyes to the pain that tore at his heart. "I know."

He tightened his arms and held her against him when she tried once more to raise her head.

"What are you protecting me from?"

Should he tell her? No, he decided, weighing his options. No humans knew of the existence of Dream Weavers, and he could not make an exception—even for her. And though she might awake thinking all this was a dream, he would not plant a seed of truth about their special history. He just couldn't take the chance she might think of his kind as real.

"Maggie, I must go. You will not see me again."

"But, why?"

"It is time."

She pushed her hands against his chest, and he allowed her retreat this time. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. "I can't let you go," she cried.

Her tears broke their dam to flow down both cheeks. The essence of her sorrow surrounded him, threatening to overwhelm him.

Like any emotion his corporeal body absorbed it. Its tainted residue started to fill him. Why any stalker found this pleasurable, he'd never know. Zane found it disgusting, slimy like a raw oyster oozing over his form. He needed to go before he absorbed anymore of her bilious sorrow.

Spurred by the nauseating feeling creeping down his spine, he pushed away from the tree. He took Maggie's face between his large hands and gazed deeply into her eyes. "You can and you will let me go, Maggie. You are a strong woman. Your courage is inspirational."

"I am not courageous," she denied.

"You are the most courageous woman I know. It took courage to fight the monsters of your nightmares. It took courage to give that press conference. It took courage to trust me. You are amazing."

"Then why are you leaving?"

"Because I must."

He didn't know how to make her understand without telling her about his kind. His mind raced, but nothing came to him. Not knowing what else to do, he brought her face to his and gave her one last kiss before pulling from the dream.

As he faded from her mind he heard her soft voice cry, "Please come back . . ."
Chapter 23

Please come back.

The last thing Maggie said played in his head like a broken record. For the past few days, those three words tormented him. They pulled at him, or maybe it was her, but regardless it was a force impossibly hard to resist drew him to Maggie.

But he'd resisted.

"Zane, how did it go?"

The sound of Jolan's voice made him stop and hover over the tall grass so his friend could catch up. "How did what go?"

Jolan stopped to float in front of Zane. "Your meeting with the Council, of course."

Oh that. "Fine."

"What did they say?"

"The usual." Zane turned, then glided forward, needing to move. Jolan followed without invitation.

"So they are pleased?"

"Yes, Jolan. They appeared pleased I killed one of our own." Zane did not keep the sardonic tone from his voice.

"You don't sound like you are very happy."

No doubt. Let it never be said his friend wasn't observant. What should he be happy about? He'd taken a life. Constant thoughts about the woman he would never see again plagued him. It wasn't exactly the best time of his long life.

Jolan put on a small burst of speed, flowing in front of Zane, then stopped, forcing him to stop his glide in order not to run into his friend. "Talk to me. Tell me what is wrong. Is your Peacemaker burden weighing upon you?"

Maybe a little confession would help to lighten his soul. Humans had a saying about talking things out. Perhaps it might help, at least a little. "Jolan, I tell you true. I have never enjoyed my duty. Taking a life is not an easy thing."

"I understand."

"No, my friend, you do not, for you have never had to bear this particular burden."

"So tell me what it is like."

Agitation made Zane weave back and forth. Thinking about his feelings, especially describing them, felt uncomfortable. He had never been a sharer, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do so now. But really, how much worse could things get?

"Jolan, when I end a Dream Weaver's life, their energy washes over me. The longer they live the longer it takes for the energy to dissipate."

"Can you feel their emotions?"

"No. I can't feel their emotions or sense their memories, but there is something there. It is difficult to describe. Perhaps it is their spirit. All I know is something very tangible flows over me when I release their energy into the universe."

"Wow, Zane." His tone sounded reverent. "I had no idea."

Zane stilled. "There is more to us than just our energy. I feel it every time I have to end a life. Something, some part of us goes on forever."

"Like the soul the humans speak of?"

"Perhaps."

"So that is the reason for your melancholy? You are upset because you killed one of us?"

That, and the woman. "Yes."

"But you know once our kind turns rogue and becomes a Dream Stalker there is no going back."

"The belief is the only thing that allows me to fulfill my duty."

Jolan followed once more as Zane pushed forward through the air. It was a nice day, as always. The sun shone down upon them, making the air warm, but not hot. A small breeze blew through the land. All was right with the world— just not right with him.

"So what happened at the Council meeting?" his friend asked, clearly changing the subject. Zane appreciated the effort.

"They thanked me for preforming my duty."

"That's it?"

"Gracyn recommended I spend some time communing with the Great Spirits to center my mind."

"Will you heed her advice? A Spirit Guide sounds exactly like what you need. Call it forth to guide you through this trial, help you understand the lesson this experience can teach you."

Zane didn't need a Spirit Guide to tell him he needed Maggie. He'd thought of little else since leaving her a week ago. His body may be completely healed from his physical battle, but his heart was broken. He longed to be with her. His body craved her touch, his mouth her kiss.

"I know what I need," Zane confessed.

"And what is that?"

"The human."

"What human? What are you talking about?"

"The human woman Amnon fed from. Spirits help me, but I can't stop thinking about her. I'm obsessed with her."

"Why? What is so special about the human?"

Where to start? Everything about Maggie seemed special.

"Jolan, I tell you she is a most remarkable woman. She is the only human I have met who purposely manipulates her dreams."

"That is unusual, I grant you, but hardly a reason to be obsessed."

"She is beautiful. Her spirit is good and kind. When I'm with her, all time seems to stop. I feel at peace in her presence. She calms my soul in a way no other ever did. I want to remain with her"

"For a few hours?"

"Forever."

Jolan stopped at the admission, and Zane too halted. They hovered side by side for several long minutes before Jolan finally broke the silence. "You know you can't remain in the human world for long. Staying with her would be suicide."

"Do you not think I know that, Jolan? Why do you think I am here, suffering in our dimension instead of being with her in the human world?" Zane flowed forward in agitation. "I received the same teachings you have. I know our kind can only be in the human dimension for a few hours at a time."

"Have you fed recently? Perhaps you are just hungry, and your mind is not working well as a result."

Zane gave a snort of incredulity. "I wish it were so simple. I have visited others since my last time with Maggie."

"Is that her name? Maggie?"

"It is a beautiful name, is it not?"

"If you say so."

"I do. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

"As the humans say, you have it bad for the woman."

His friend couldn't have been more correct. He did have it bad. Everything reminded him of Maggie. He saw an orange flower and thought of their time together in their island dream. When his gaze drifted up to the sky, he saw the reddish-yellow strands of her hair.

"I think of her constantly."

"Then why not go to her?"

"It would not help. It would only make me want her more."

"I disagree. I think you should go to her one last time. Get her out of your system."

"It will not help." Would it?

"Sure it will. Go to her, share a dream. Push her in the dream. Discover what she is really like. No one is all sweetness and goodness. Discover her negative side so you will be able to get over her."

"I don't know," Zane murmured thoughtfully.

Perhaps Jolan had a point. Everyone had a negative side, and he had not seen Maggie's. Maybe if he did, he would finally be able to—as Jolan had so eloquently put it—get her out of his system. No one was perfect. Maybe if he could find some imperfections in Maggie, then he would stop obsessing about her.

"I'm telling you, Zane, it is worth a try. What is the worst that can happen? She turns out to be as perfect as you think she is, and you end up wanting her more?"

"I couldn't want her any more than I do now."

"Exactly my point. No harm done if you see her one more time in her dream. And if you are lucky, you will get over her once you discover what she is really like. So, will you go to her?"

"Yes." Great Spirits help him, but yes, he would go one more time.
Chapter 24

Zane stepped through the portal wearing black jeans and a light pullover sweater. In homage to Maggie, he'd specifically made it a chartreuse color that matched her beautiful eyes. If tonight was their last together, then he wanted to overload his senses with her until he couldn't take anymore. Maybe he could get too much of a good thing.

She lay in her bed, the sheet formed around her slender frame. His body tightened, gut contracted at the sight. He wanted her, needed to touch her. Before he was aware he had even moved, he lay next to her on her bed.

He gathered her into his arms, inhaling her delicate scent. It surrounded him, the sweet combination of the perfume and the shampoo she used. She turned in his arms, cuddling against him, causing him a moment of fear.

Had he awakened her by pulling her into his arms?

Zane went still, held his breath and listened to her breathe. Her inhalations were steady, deep. Under the pads of his fingers, her muscles relaxed. She melted against him as if even in her sleep her body recognized him.

He let out the breath he held, slowly. It blew through the stray wisps of her hair, making them quiver.

What was he doing? He could have simply stood next to Maggie to share the dream. Why did he torment himself by holding her?

He couldn't help himself. He came tonight hoping he might discover something which wound break the spell she had over him. If all went as planned, this would be the last time he came to her, the last time they shared a dream. And yet, here he lay, in her bed, holding onto her like he was a drowning man, and she was his life preserver.

He forced one hand from behind her back and brought it over her forehead. The soft white light of his magick bathed her face, creating light shadows and illuminating the freckles that dusted her flawless skin. She appeared so peaceful lying there, like an angel sent down from heaven to soothe his soul.

Zane shook his head. Thoughts such as those were not going to help his mission. He mentally pulled himself up by the collar. He'd come here to learn something unpleasant about this woman, not fall deeper for her. He had a job to do, a duty if you will, and the time had come to do it.

He could do this. Jolan was right, everyone had a negative side. He just needed to discover Maggie's to finally get over her. He was obsessed with her because she intrigued him, nothing more.

Sending his magick into her mind, he connected with her dream to discover a forest. Tall trees surrounded her, adorned in fall colored foliage. Maple, oak, and walnut trees dressed in seasonal shades of orange, yellow, and red mingled with a few tall pines, adding to the lushness of the forest . . .

The ground was covered by a beautiful patchwork quilt of autumn leaves. Perfumed with a combination of pine and musky fresh earth, a cool breeze blew through the branches of the trees, to send the leaves dancing in tiny circles.

Zane heard birds chirping, their amiable song flowed through the trees, filling his ears with their beautiful melody. The sound of small animals scurrying through the forest could also be heard while he walked.

Pushing through the tree line, he saw her. His heartbeat sped up at the sight. Maggie stood at the top of a waterfall, the height of which seemed one hundred feet, if an inch. She held her arms straight out from her sides, dressed in an azure blue bathing suit which matched the color of his eyes. Zane could not help but wonder if she chose the color of her suit purposely—as he did his sweater.

He eased back behind the nearest tree to observe her lift her arms above her head and dive from the rock platform on which she stood. Watching her plummet down the length of the falls, his heart leapt to his throat. She hit the water below with a distinctive splash, sending a plume of water shooting up into the air.

Her head emerged from the river just as the water droplets fell back to earth. They sprinkled her head like a light rain, and Maggie turned her face up to greet them eagerly. Her eyes closed, a look of pure bliss came over her as the water fell.

Zane had never seen anything so beautiful, not even in his world where the vibrant colors danced. The pull in his chest called him to join her in the water. But he could not. Zane reminded himself he intended to be unpleasant, draw out her negative side. And joining her for a bout of passionate intercourse in the river would not be the way to accomplish the goal.

Gathering his resolve, he rounded the tree. Four determined strides brought him to the river's edge. His hands fisted on his narrow hips, and he affixed his most angered look. Dammit, that was more difficult than he had anticipated.

He'd spent centuries acting like an affectionate lover in shared dreams. This should be no different. It was still pretending. But somehow this seemed his most difficult part ever.

Zane cleared his throat to draw Maggie's attention. Her eyes opened wide in surprise, a smile lit her face.

"You came back, Blue Eyes." Maggie swam for the shore.

"I did."

Zane watched the water ripple around her in ever-increasing waves, his hands briefly left his hips before he could rein in his instinct to help her from the water.

Realizing his mistake, he crossed his arms over his chest before he spoke. "You look," his eyes roamed her body from head to toe. "Well."

Her light brows furrowed down over her eyes. "Where have you been?" She wrapped her arms around her waist in a covering hug.

"Have you not dreamed of me?" Spirits help him, but he wanted to know.

"No."

Well that answered that, though he suspected as much. He wasn't a figment of her imagination after all. The only reason he ever appeared in her dream was his own doing. But it still stung a little to hear the admission out loud. He clung to the small hurt, letting the emotion build to give him the strength to continue his plan.

Maggie shifted her weight, looking rather uncomfortable. "Where have you been, Zane?"

"Things needed my attention. Important things," he lied.

Thick storm clouds darkened the sky around them. The weather manifested by her mood.

"Did you miss me while you were gone, Zane?"

Only every minute. "Not at all. Why would I?"

She staggered back as though he dealt her a physical blow. Eyes widening with incredulousness, her mouth gaped open as she stared at him. "Y-you didn't miss me at all. Not even a little?"

He shook his head, unable to force another hurtful lie from his lips.

"But I thought . . ." Her eyes left his, looking down at the grass. "Never mind."

Acutely aware of her misery over their conversation, Zane's stomach twisted into a knot. The chilled wind whipped through the trees, ripping the leaves from their branches, and gave evidence of the hurt he caused her. The sky darkened further, the gray clouds taking the sun from view.

This was it. Her turmoil grew each second, now the negative side of Maggie would emerge. This would to work, just a little longer and an awful side of her personality would come to the fore. At least he hoped so, because he hated being this way toward her.

He stepped forward, his hand cupped her chin. Zane forced her head up, making her meet his gaze. She looked uncomfortable, sad. He pushed on.

"Maggie, surely you didn't think we shared something special. You were just a pleasant side project while I attended to much more important matters."

She tried to pull away, but his firm grip held her, forcing her to look at him. Tears welled in her eyes.

"I-I thought you cared about me."

I do, more than you'll ever know. Breaking her heart caused him more pain than he thought possible, but he must see this through. Soon her pain would turn to anger, and he would see her true self.

"You're just like Mark." Her tears flowed down her cheeks. "You pretended to care about me, but you don't. Why can't I find someone who is nice and sweet, who will love me like I love them?"

She admitted she loved him, when he was being cruel to her. Instead of getting angry, she became sorrowful. Her negative emotions bled into his corporeal form, sickening him and making his stomach twist in protest. It was his undoing.

Zane gathered her into his arms, her soft body pressed tightly against his own. He tucked her head against his shoulder, and his hand brushed down her back in soothing strokes

"Maggie, please stop crying." Nothing made a man feel more useless than seeing a woman cry. "Please, sweetheart. My heart cannot take it."

"Why do you care?" she asked, her face still against his sweater. She sniffled, and he found the sound adorable.

Okay, that was a first.

He put one hand in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a conjured handkerchief. Giving it to Maggie, he said, "Here, please dry your eyes. I'm sorry I upset you. It was stupid. I'm stupid. Please forgive me."

She wiped her tiny nose and blotted her eyes. "You aren't stupid. I'm the stupid one. How could I even allow myself to believe a man like you would be in love with a girl like me?"

Zane took her shoulders in his strong hands and put her away from him so he could gaze into her eyes. "Maggie, you are an incredible woman. You are beautiful inside and out. Any man would be a fool not to love you."

She scoffed at the remark, ringing the handkerchief in her delicate fingers. "Yeah, right. That's why Mark never wanted to be with me, and you left me too. Hell, I can't even keep a man in my dreams."

He'd acted like an ass. Jolan had been an idiot. Making her upset had been the worst idea. How could he ever think Jolan's plan would work?

"I had to leave, Maggie, but not because of you."

"Uh-huh. That's what they all say. 'It's me not you'. Well, I don't buy it."

He could not reveal what had taken him from her, could not tell her about his kind, but he wanted to say something to convince her of his sincerity. "Maggie, I care for you," Zane blurted out in honest desperation.

She stilled under his hands. "What did you say?"

He took a deep breath. Surprised as she to hear his admission, Zane realized it was nonetheless true. "I care about you," he repeated softly, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

The dream world around them blurred, morphed into a reproduction of her kitchen. Knowing he had not created the change, Zane found himself impressed by how Maggie effected the change effortlessly. Each time they were together in a dream, she surprised him, not only by how she reacted but how she manipulated their environment. Her uniqueness' intrigued him. She intrigued him.

Guiding her to the kitchen table, Zane pulled out one of the chairs. After handing her into the chair, he toed around the chair next to hers. Straddling it, Zane took one of her hands in his and brought her fingers to his chest, over his heart. "Margret Shea O'Connell, you have stolen my heart."

A genuine smile reached her eyes. "I care for you too, Zane."

The sound of crying in the background made his head whip around. "What's that?"

Maggie stood, pulling her fingers from his chest. "The baby."

"What baby?"

"Ours, silly."

Curiosity made him rise and follow her down the hall. Her bedroom had become a unicorn-themed nursery, complete with an infant in a crib. It looked out at them from behind the white bars, tears streaming down its tiny face. It had her chartreuse eyes and his sandy-brown hair.

Maggie moved with a fluid grace across the room. Reaching over the bars, she lifted the child and nestled it against her bosom. Cradled in her arms, the babe settled instantly, a soft cooing sound signaled its contentment.

They made the perfect picture, mother and child. His family. No, not his, he corrected his wayward thoughts.

This was just a dream. It could never come to pass, but watching the two of them interact so lovingly made him want to make this real.

Maggie brought the child to Zane and looked into his eyes as she handed him the babe.

The child felt so tiny in his thick arms, like he could break it with a twist of his hand. He looked down into its precious face. Wrapped in a tan blanket, looking very much like a papoose with only its head visible, the child turned to look at him. "Boy or girl?" he asked, pulling his gaze from the babe to find Maggie staring at him with a loving look.

Maggie ran the palm of her hand over the child's head, in a gentle caress. "Girl."

"She's as beautiful as her mother," Zane commented, enjoying the fantasy. He'd never have this in real life but could experience the wonder of fatherhood in the dream. And he had Maggie to thank for the experience.

The child, the illusion of a family, Maggie created it all. She gave him this blessed gift, this moment of pure happiness.

Unfortunately, this could not last. At some point the dream would have to end, and he would once again leave her to go back to his dimension. The realization crashed down on him, tortured him with the knowledge he would leave this wonderful fantasy behind—leave her behind.

He couldn't keep doing this. It was just too damned hard. Leaving her ripped his heart into tiny pieces, rending it to shreds. Jolan had been so wrong. This one more dream with her had not made it easier to leave her, but instead it made it damned near impossible to do so. And if he didn't go now, he probably never would.

Zane handed her the baby. "Maggie I need to go."

"Where?" As she rocked the baby in her arms, she tucked the corner of the blanket under the child's tiny chin.

He should inform her he was leaving forever, like in their last dream, but he could not bear to see the hurt in her eyes again. He hurt her once tonight and utterly refused to do so again. Instead he took the gutless way out. "I'm going to get some diapers."

She'd never believe it. He cringed, his mind working to try to come up with something better.

"Okay. Be safe."

The Spirits must be shining down on him. She bought it. Bless that sweet woman for saving him from having to break her heart and his.

Zane gave the child a kiss on her tiny forehead, then kissed Maggie deeply before leaving through the front door of her home. Once outside, he pulled, albeit reluctantly, from the dream . . .
Chapter 25

Zane peeled his arms away from the warm woman lying beside him and rolled from the bed. He looked down as she turned onto her stomach to lie exactly over the spot his body had vacated. One arm snaked under her pillow, hugging it to her face like she would a lover.

Light streamed in around the closed blind in the window to illuminate the room. Morning arrived to bring a sunny day. Maggie would be waking soon which meant he needed to go, but Zane just couldn't seem to leave yet, especially when he gazed down on the woman he loved.

She looked so sexy lying there. The hem of her gown, raised above her knees, gave him an unobstructed view of her thighs. He gently tugged the nightgown down to cover her legs before pulling up the sheet and comforter over her.

It was difficult enough to leave her without the temptation of her body. Zane wasn't sure he could go. Everything within him screamed to remain by her side. Hold her, comfort her. Be the man she so dearly wanted and deserve. Be the one she could believe in.

Zane wished he could be her everything, and yet he knew it could not be.

He looked down on her, watched her eyes dart back and forth under her lids. Still in the dream, no doubt taking care of their child, Maggie waited for him to return. But he couldn't.

Not now, not ever.

This had to be the last time he would visit her. Each time they were together made their connection stronger. Trying to leave was akin to trying to rip his arm from its socket—it could be done but with great effort and pain.

He could not bear to leave her again. This would be the last time he forced himself through this torture.

Brushing her hair back from her forehead, he bent at the waist to whisper in her ear, "I hope you will keep me in your heart, as I will keep you in my heart and mind forever."

When he stood, the wide grin on her face graced him with its girlish charm. It made his heart soar, gave him hope she might have heard him, if only in her subconscious mind.

She stirred, signaling him the time to take his leave had come. He aimed his magick at the mirror over the vanity. It swirled into a portal while he made his way across the room. His vision blurred, and he wiped the lone tear streaking down his cheek. Tears? He gazed at his wet finger in disbelief. He never cried. A knot formed in his throat.

Zane allowed himself one last look over his shoulder at the slumbering woman on the bed before his form became incorporeal, and he pushed back into his dimension.

****

Maggie struggled to push through the haze of sleep, sensing someone in her room watching her. Through slitted eyes, she saw what looked like a man wearing jeans and a green sweater. One minute he stood across the room, the next he disappeared.

She wiped her eyes and cleared away the remnants of her dream, before she glanced around her room once more. Everything appeared to be all right. Each item sat in its rightful place—no one was there. She must have been half-dreaming when she thought she saw a man in her room who looked so much like the one from her dream.

And what a wonderful dream it had been. Maggie rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling as she ruminated on what happened in her dream.

It had been over a week since she had last dreamed of Zane. When she first saw him standing by the water in her dream forest, she didn't believe it was actually him. But when he spoke, all doubts left her. He'd said mean things to her at first, but then confessed he cared.

Maggie wrapped her arms around her waist in a bracing hug, remembering the happiness his proclamation elicited.

"Why can't I find a man like him in real life?" she asked herself, stretching her arms and legs in opposite directions. "Probably because you talk to yourself like a crazy person."

Maggie unfolded from the bed, feeling well rested for the first time in years and headed to the bathroom to take care of her morning necessities. Once bathed and dressed, she made her way to her kitchen and retrieved a cup of coffee, more from ritual than from need.

She settled on the couch in the living room and turned on the morning news. As interviews played in the background, her thoughts returned to the previous night's dream. She remembered the way Zane had regarded at the infant in his arms. The look on his face, a combination of awe and wonder, made him seem like he was afraid he would break it.

Maggie chuckled. Even in her dreams, a man was still a man. They all seemed a little afraid of babies, at least of holding them for the first time.

But Zane got over his discomfort fast, much quicker than a real man would. By the time he handed the little girl back, he appeared relaxed and happy at least for a minute, then his face darkened.

I'm going to get some diapers.

Those were the last words he uttered before walking out the door. She awoke from the dream before he could come back.

Maggie sighed, wondering what might have happened if she had stayed asleep. Would they have made love, like they had in the dream on the deserted island?

She had to admit, dreams with Zane were never boring. Sheesh, why couldn't she find a nice man in the real world? He didn't have to be as handsome or sexy as Zane, just someone who would treat her with respect and love her.

The way Zane did.

Maggie took a sip of coffee. She had it bad for her dream guy. She'd confessed she cared about him in their dream, and she really did. In fact, if she was honest with herself, she would admit her feeling bordered on love.

"You've got to get over him, Maggie. It does no good to sit here wishing he was real. You've got to get out there and find yourself a real man."

Deciding her pep talk was good advice, Maggie pushed off the couch, determined to do just that.
Chapter 26

I'm going to get some diapers.

Those had been his last words to Maggie in the dream. How could he have left without saying something better? He would forever regret the last thing said to her.

Going back to Maggie again was a mistake. Their shared dream had been so vivid, too similar to what it would be like to be with her in the real world. Instead of getting her out of his system, the visit lodged her deeper in his soul.

He battled constantly not to go visit her in her dreams. Willing to take whatever he could get, Zane entertained living with her, if only in her dreams. And that was not a good thing.

That would be no life—not for her or him. She deserved so much more. Maggie should have a real man, a person who could be with her. Someone who would love her, give her a child to love and adore. A man who could protect her, be there for her when she needed him.

His life had been so simple before. She drew him to her, made him abandon all reason. Though a constant struggle not to go to her, he somehow resisted.

Each time he thought to go to her, he forced himself to the falls to meditate. Like now, he would hover beside the water, listen to its soothing cadence. Absorbing the colors and sounds, he concentrated on them, trying to block out the thoughts of her.

And just like now, it didn't work.

The red swirls in the water reminded him of the red highlights in her hair. The yellows and greens of the meadow reminded him of her eyes. Even in the quiet whisper of the wind through the tall grass, he heard her soft sighs.

Without conscious thought he opened a portal to her room and looked through. In her empty room, sunlight streamed through the window to light her bed. She must be at work, he surmised and stuck his head through the opening.

At once his corporeal flesh registered the warmth of the sun, the smell of her perfume. His nose took a deep inhale of its own volition. Smelled like, home? Love?

Before he decided, the sound of a voice drew his energy back into the Dream Weaver dimension.

"Greetings, Peacemaker," the familiar voice called. "Blessings this day."

"And to you, Gracyn."

Her energy settled next to him, feeling more mellifluous than his, calm and peaceful. With her beside him, Zane felt a little more at ease.

"Going to feed?" she asked. "Do not let me stop you from your repast."

"I have recently fed." Zane moved slightly away from his mentor, wondering why she'd come. He refused to ask though, knowing she would reveal why she was there in her own time. Wise and intelligent, Gracyn always contemplated an issue fully before sharing her thoughts on the subject.

The pair sat in silence by the water. Zane's mind wandered to thoughts of Maggie. He wondered how her day was going. Was she counseling some students? Had she been dreaming of him?

It seemed like forever since he saw her. He wasn't sure exactly how long it had been, but it had been too long.

"You seem pensive, Zane," Gracyn commented in a soft voice, drawing him from his thoughts of Maggie. "You are not yourself. Jolan is concerned."

"Jolan came to you to tell tales on me?"

"No. He made a sojourn to the Council."

"Why?"

"He was summoned."

Zane silently waited for her further explanation, wondering what the Council could want with Jolan. A few minutes later his patience was rewarded.

"I recommended we find another Peacemaker," his mentor finally informed him.

Zane's energy bobbed in the tall grass from the shock at her statement. "Whatever for? Is the Ruling Council not pleased with the way I perform my duties?"

"I can sense the change in your energy, Zane. Be at peace. You did your job well."

"Then why would you need another Peacemaker?"

Gracyn's energy flowed to and fro. If she were in human form, she would have been pacing. "I think it is best to have a backup," she replied softly.

"Is the Council expecting trouble?"

"No. But it is always wise to have two of something, is it not?"

What game did she play? In the centuries he had been alive, he had always been the only Peacemaker. They never needed two. His kind went rogue infrequently, making it easy for one Peacemaker to dispense justice. Zane could not imagine why two Peacemakers would ever be needed, unless the Council intended to strip him of his position.

"Have I displeased the Council in some way?"

"Were you not brought before them to be praised for providing judgment to Amnon?"

Yes, the Council sang his praises, but Zane knew the Council could be fastidious. Suspicion made him mirror his mentor's movements. "Then why train a second Peacemaker?"

"As I have already said, I thought it best to have a backup."

"But . . ."

Gracyn's energy stopped. She hovered in front of Zane, and her calm essence washed over him. "Zane, you are troubled. I can feel it."

"Yes, because the Council is apparently displeased with my performance."

"No, Zane. That is not it. Not entirely. When I came to find you, you were already troubled."

He tried to keep his struggles hidden away from those around him, but apparently they weren't hidden as well as he thought. First, Jolan sensed his unrest, and now Gracyn could tell he was troubled. Perhaps he should confess. After all, humans believed confession benefitted the soul.

"I am," Zane paused searching for just the right word, "unsettled."

"You and I have known each other a long time, Zane. I helped you become a Peacemaker, and you watched as I joined the Council. We have been a part of each other's lives for centuries. You can tell me what is troubling you."

Could he? Would she think his obsession with the human to be an addiction?

A thought struck him. Maybe they thought their current Peacemaker had turned rogue and were preparing a replacement to kill him.

"It is the human woman, is it not?" Gracyn correctly guessed.

Zane knew better than to lie to a Council member, even if he felt close to her—especially because they were close. "I cannot stop thinking about her."

"Have you been back to visit her dreams?"

"Once, since I killed Amnon."

"Why do you think of her still?"

"There was something about her, Gracyn. She consumed my soul, entangled all my senses."

"You love her."

The world shifted around him. He couldn't be in love with a human. It wasn't done. "I do not love Maggie," he denied. Even as the words came from him he knew they were a lie. His spirit ached for her.

"You do," Gracyn's voice softened as she continued. "I can hear it in the way you say her name."

The Great Spirits help him, but he did love the woman. Maggie. Thinking her name bought her image to his mind's eye. Images of her on the sandy beach. Images of her in this meadow.

"What am I going to do?"

"Go to her."

Zane could not have been more shocked at his mentor's advice if she had asked him to kill her. "What?"

"Go to her, Zane. Visit the human world for a time."

"Get her out of my system, as the humans would say," Zane quoted Jolan's advice. Advice which he knew first hand wouldn't work.

"Perhaps that."

Zane got the distinct impression Gracyn held something back.

"Zane, go to the woman. Spend time with her in the human world, not the dream world. See what happens."

"It doesn't matter what would happen. I can't be with her."

"Love will find a way."

"Only in human movies and books."

"So cynical. Are you not a Dream Weaver? Who says the only dreams you can weave are in the subconscious? Go to her; weave a dream for the two of you. If it is meant to be, it will happen."

"But I am not human. I cannot remain in their world."

"It is a little known fact Dream Weavers can remain in the human world for an extended period of time."

"Why have I not heard that before?"

"What I am about to say is for Council ears only. I will have your vow of honor you will not divulge to another what I am about to tell you."

"You have my vow. I swear to the Great Spirits above I will not repeat what you tell me."

Gracyn paused, seemed to weigh the sincerity of his vow. After several minutes she must have decided to trust him for she spoke. "The Council thought it best to keep the knowledge that we can remain in human form from our people. Thinking they must return to our world after they feed was a way to discourage anyone from over-indulging. It put a time limit on the amount of time our people could absorb energy."

"Why would they do such a thing?"

"They were afraid if a Dream Weaver fed too much, even positive emotions would become addictive."

"So by putting a time limit on the amount of time we could stay in the human world, they hoped to keep us in line."

"Addiction free, Zane," Gracyn corrected. "So will you go, visit the human world for a time?"

Zane assimilated the information. He never would have thought that when he came to the falls to meditate, he would learn he could be with Maggie—at least for a little while. But a little while with her in the real world was better than not at all. He made his decision.

"I'll go to her."

****

Maggie sat in her living room, surfing the internet on her laptop in an attempt to find the number for a new drycleaner. She'd just come from her usual cleaners, upset because they lost the clothes she'd dropped off last week. When she showed up with her receipt, she waited patiently as the gentleman perused the automated rack. Suit after suit scrolled by, but hers were nowhere to be found.

She didn't have time to be one of those people who went to the dry cleaners every week, so she would take them to be cleaned a bunch at a time. Which explained why she now found herself in her current predicament. She had very few work clothes left in her closet, since she'd taken a pile of them to the cleaners.

This was just the latest of a string of bad luck. In the past week and a half, she had a flat tire strand her at school, and the GPS unit had been stolen from her car. To top it off, her dream man had only visited her once in her dreams. Yep, Karma was out to bite her on the butt.

The sound of a cell phone ringing pulled her from her thoughts. She pushed aside the laptop and crossed the room to fish the thing out of her purse.

"Hello?" Silence met her greeting.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Maggie held the phone away from her, looking down at the screen. The blinking icon told her she had a voicemail. Guess I didn't pick up in time. She tapped the code to access her voicemail on the keypad.

"Maggie," She recognized Mark's voice. Great, what else would go wrong this week? "I have some news about the lawsuit."

Her stomach twisted in anticipation. This could not be good. "The Burtons dropped the suit. It's over. We don't have to go to court. Have a great weekend. I know Jennifer and I will."

Maggie could just imagine the kind of "great weekend" Jennifer Lawler and Mark would be having, but she wasn't going to let anything spoil her mood. Knowing the parents dropped the suit took the weight of the world from her shoulders. She wouldn't have to go to court and could get back to doing her job instead of preparing for the ridiculous suit.

"Wonder why they dropped it?"

Maggie briefly thought about calling Mark to find out the answer to her question but quickly dismissed the idea. It didn't matter why. Maybe they realized the school had the law on their side of the issue. Maybe they found another way to pay for the private school they wanted to send their son to. It just didn't matter. All that mattered was the family dropped the suit, and she would not have to act as the District's spokesperson anymore.

A genuine smile lit her face. Her week suddenly looked up. Maybe the old adage was true, bad luck came in threes—flat tire, stolen GPS, and lost clothes. Now her streak was broken. From here on out, the only thing coming her way would be good luck.

For the first time in months, she breathed a little easier, free of the oppressive stress. She cracked her knuckles, relieving the pressure in the joints. Maggie did a little happy dance, unable to contain her joy.

She wanted to celebrate. She wanted to shop, especially since she now needed to buy some new work clothes. Too bad Leigh went to Europe on a business trip. Oh well, she'd just have to somehow make it through a shopping trip without her.

A wide grin lifted the corners of her mouth as she put her phone back in her purse, grabbed her keys, and left, practically skipping to her car.

Two hours later, Maggie stepped from the mall with a smile, her arms full of bags. It seemed like her luck had changed. Everything she chose off the sales rack fit perfectly. She bought a new wardrobe and it hadn't cost her a fortune.

Only the near constant sensation of being watched as she went from store to store marred the otherwise perfect day. After she checked over her shoulder several times throughout the day to find nothing, she chalked the feeling up to unjustified paranoia.

Her cellphone rang as she exited through the automatic doors. When she extracted the phone, one of her shopping bags caught on the bottom of her purse jerking her wrist. Her cell shot from her hand and flung across the paved entryway, skittering to a stop near an alcove.

Maggie walked across the pavers and bent to retrieve the phone. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the shadows shift beside her and looked up. Her heart stopped.

Emerging from the shadows of the alcove was a man. Tall, with broad shoulders, his powerful chest narrowed to trim hips. Encased in a pair of jeans, his thighs were thick but not overly so. His muscles played under his clothes as he advanced.

Her eyes traveled up his body to his face. Now free of the shadows, she clearly saw his strong jawline and patrician nose were the perfect complement to his azure blue eyes.

Maggie straightened. Blood coursed hotly through her veins. Her heart beat in her chest like a stallion running the Derby, setting a fast and furious pace. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him.

He wore blue jeans and a black tee shirt instead of swim trunks or a chartreuse sweater, but there was no doubt who he was. Her dream man. His eyes held hers while he bent to retrieve her phone.

He stood and offered the phone in an outstretched hand. "I believe you dropped this." The dark timbre of his voice slid over her like a warm caress.

Their fingers brushed when she retrieved the phone, sending something akin to electric current coursing through her. He was real. Here, in the flesh. And what flesh it was.

Yummy!

He looked delicious. Maggie barely kept herself from licking her lips. This man was stunning. A tasty bit of roped muscle and sinew.

Their eyes locked, his were the most unusual blue, just like the man in the dream. His gaze burned into her, seemed to be looking into her soul. She stood transfixed by his stare.

"I'm, Zane," the man announced, bringing her out of her hypnosis.

He stuck out his hand in her direction and smiled. Maggie took his hand in hers. His fingers were large, his grip strong and sure.

Feeling like she knew him, Maggie forgot they had only met in her dreams. She had not thought to introduce herself. "I . . ." She swallowed, willing her mouth to work. "I'm, Maggie."

"Nice to meet you, Maggie."

"I feel like we've met before." And she did. She remembered him from her dreams, but that was not what she meant. She not only got his face and body almost perfect in her dreams but his name as well. That couldn't be a coincidence. Could it? She must have met him somewhere and just not remembered. That would account for the dream image. But if that was the case then, how could she have forgotten meeting such a man?

Perhaps she'd seen him in a magazine. He definitely could be a model.

Zane smiled, and all thoughts left her mind. "Do you have any plans this evening?"

Just to go home and watch TV. "No."

"Would you like to?"

Oh, he was smooth. And, yeah, she'd love to have some plans if they included him. "What did you have in mind?"

"How about dinner?"

"With you?"

He chuckled, the sonorous sound resonating in his chest. "I hope so. We could go somewhere very public. You don't have to worry about being alone with me."

Until that moment, she'd been talking to a lover, someone she knew intimately. His statement shocked her into reality. She didn't know this man. The Zane from her dreams had been imaginary. This was a real, flesh and blood man. And by the looks of him, a strong man. For all she knew, he might be a serial killer or a stalker.

Maggie worried her lower lip between her teeth. Zane's eyes zeroed in on the nervous movement.

"You're scared," he said, his tone softening. "I'd never hurt you, Maggie."

She saw the sincerity deep in his eyes. It may be insane, but she believed this man who was a stranger but yet so familiar from her dreams. Trusting someone she didn't know was not a wise thing to do, she chastised herself. She had been sleeping better the past week and a half, at least she hadn't had any nightmares, but she was obviously still sleep deprived. No one in their right mind would trust a man who had emerged from the shadows.

Would they?

The look on his face, combination of wonderment and hope, like a child who has just asked his mommy to buy him a special toy in the store, pulled at her heart. It might be crazy, but heaven help her, her heart told her she could trust this man, believe in him. Something deep within told her to follow her heart and for once she would—but cautiously.

"Can we eat here?"

"At the mall?"

"Yep. It's convenient."

"And public. And you wouldn't have to go anywhere with me."

His hurt look dropped her heart to her knees. She'd wounded him with her lack of faith. "Actually, there is a great little Chinese restaurant inside where the food is delicious."

As he extended his arm, his smile returned, though a little weaker than it had been.

"Well then, shall we go?"
Chapter 27

Foster sat in his car, chewing the tip of his finger, waiting for her.

Pain is goooood.

"Yes it is."

He no longer fought the voices in his head. They were much stronger than him. He had to obey them, do as they said. They only quieted when he obeyed.

And he had been obeying.

You're a good boy.

He took her GPS from her car while she worked.

It gave you her home address.

He flattened the tire on her car.

It kept her at work late, so you could break into her home to look around.

He stole her clothes from the drycleaners, making sure to get them before they were cleaned.

Her smell was still on them.

Foster had been watching her for days.

As you should.

Waiting for an opportunity to take her out. She needed to die. He understood now, thanks to the voices' careful explanation.

Obey ussssss.

Of course he would do as they asked. "I followed her here didn't I?"

He had followed her ever since he discovered her home address in the GPS. Like a cop, he sat outside her home and watched. Following her everywhere she went, he waited for the voices to tell him to strike.

Lissssten to us. She diesssss today.

Foster bit harder into his flesh. The coppery taste of his blood settled over his tongue. He closed his eyes and let the pain absorb into his brain. It felt so good. It washed over him in waves of euphoria, giving him the same rush booze used to.

He looked down at his hand. Each finger was cracked and scabbed. His fingernails, long ago chewed down damn near to the quick, were barely there anymore. His hands were chapped from washing them, trying to stop the bugs crawling under his skin. He washed them constantly, only to get little relief.

His eyes went back to the mall entrance. An Asian man emerged carrying his daughter in his shoulders. A white woman came out next, pushing a baby carriage. Unfortunately, it wasn't the white woman he wanted.

Evan and Maggie sitting in a tree

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

First comes cigarette then comes pain

Next comes their blood goin' down the drain.

The next people through the door came out in a tight little group, mingling and talking as they made their way across the parking lot to their cars. Foster tracked their progress, watched them get into two vans and leave.

"I wish I had a van."

It would make taking Maggie much easier.

"Yeah, maybe we should buy one."

Maybe you should concentrate on finding her.

"I'm trying. I'm here waiting aren't I?"

Foster shifted in his seat then reached his bloodied hand inside the pocket of his hoodie. He retrieved a cigarette, put it between his lips, and inhaled the scent of tobacco. It smelled so good.

He reached back into his pocket to grab a lighter. After lighting the cig, he held the lighter in his hand. Flick—he lit the flame. A lift of his thumb and it went off. Flick—lit again. Off. Flick. Off.

The movement of his thumb on the lighter was automatic, so much so he quickly forgot he was doing it.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke burn his lungs.

Yesssss. More pain.

"Thought you'd like that," he murmured to the voices.

Pulling the cig from between his lips, he turned it so the cherry faced him and rolled it between his finger and thumb, watching the fiery end swirl back and forth.

No wonder Maggie enjoyed using one of these on him. It was beautiful. Maybe he would let her feel how freeing the pain of a cigarette could be.

He flipped the cancer stick around in his fingers and brought it to his lips for a deep inhale. He blew out a heavy cloud of smoke. It hovered in front of his face, obscuring his view for a moment.

When the smoke cleared, he saw her, bent over in front of the mall.

His heart pounded in his chest. He cracked his knuckles.

This is it. She is yours to take.

His hand closed around the cool metal of the doorknob. Foster popped the latch. It made a delicious clunk noise. Everything heightened as it always did when he stopped taking his meds. Foster heard every noise, the sound of his body moving over the vinyl seat, the crackle of his cigarette when he took another drag.

The air around him electrified, sending tiny shocks over him. The sensation was a serious contrast to the feel of the cool air on his skin when he pushed the car door wide and put one leg outside.

The sight of a man emerging from the shadows stilled him. The large man approach Maggie.

He's going to kill her. Stop him, she's ours.

"She will die by my hands."

He had taken her torture. He earned the right to her kill with his pain and scars. Foster rose from his car, determined to take out the threat to his vengeance. The woman was his.

No other will have her.

Throwing his cigarette to the ground, he pulled a gun from the pocket of his jeans. With it by his side, he started across the parking lot, murder on his mind.

Get them! Kill them!

Spurred by the voices, his steps quickened. Why had he parked so far away?

We told you to park closer.

Why hadn't he listened?

You will listen now.

They tried to help him all along. He realized that now.

The man reached for the guidance counselor, grabbed her arm.

He's making his move. He's going to pull her into the shadows and kill her.

Foster broke out into a run. No one would take his kill.

He watched the couple turn, not toward the shadows but away from them. They headed into the mall.

What the hell? The stranger couldn't kill her in there.

Too many witnesses.

"Exactly."

He must know where they were going. Following them into the mall, Foster tucked his gun in the pocket of his gray hoodie. He pulled the hood up over his head and drew his face back within the shadows it provided.

Darkness is good.

He stalked behind them. Watched. Waited.

They headed down the mall, meandering at a slow pace. Where was he taking her?

Damn! The man with her was big, taller than Foster by at least a head and probably stronger, given his solid build. Shit!

He looked like he just stepped off the front of a magazine. A snort of repugnance left Foster's throat. The guy probably modeled or something. Maybe Foster could take him.

A bullet will not care how strong he is.

Foster's heart beat a furious pace, his hands fisted at his sides in irritation. He was a tiger stalking its dinner.

She is your prey.

The couple entered the food court and made their way over to the Chinese restaurant. Foster watched through the window in the front of the place while they were shown to a table.

The big man was not killing her. They are having dinner.

How was he supposed to get her now?

Go back to your car. Wait.

"Why?"

She will come out to leave. Get her then.

"What if the guy is still with her?"

Kill them both.
Chapter 28

Maggie sipped her diet soda under the watchful eye of her date. Zane's gaze scrutinized her movements as her lips closed around the straw, watched her cheeks pull in with each draw. He stared, captivated by the sight of her doing to her straw what he'd like her to be doing to him. Zane's body tightened, painfully.

He'd sat through this torture for hours. Each time her lips slid food from her chopsticks or she crossed her legs, he noticed. He watched the way she tipped her head a little when she smiled at him and observed the way she gave a nervous giggle each time a little food dropped from her chopsticks.

She was so similar to her dream-self he was tempted to pinch himself just to be sure this was real. Instead, he covered her hand with his. His thumb slid under her wrist to rub over her pulse. It jumped under the pad of his thumb, becoming slightly faster with each pass he made.

He apparently affected her as much as she affected him, and it pleased him to no end. Her eyes fell to their hands then snapped to his. Those eyes. They sparkled every time she laughed, like gems dancing in the sun.

"Maggie, tell me more about yourself."

"There isn't much more to tell."

"All I know is that you are a guidance counselor at the local high school. You love working with kids, and you like to shop. I want to know more."

"Like what?"

Zane leaned back in his chair, settling in. "Tell me your dreams."

A delicate flush crept up her neck to rosy her cheeks. Her eyes looked away, unable to hold his gaze. She was remembering the dreams they had shared, he felt sure of it. The realization brought a mischievous grin to the corner of his mouth.

He cupped her chin in the palm of his hand and waited until she looked at him before he spoke.

"What are your dreams, Maggie?" he prompted, refusing to allow her off the hook.

"I-I don't dream. Not anymore."

"But you used to."

"I was plagued with nightmares."

His fingers dropped from her face in surprise. He had not expected her to share that ugly part of her life with him so soon. Did she trust him? Was she still having nightmares?

"You said 'was'. So are the bad dreams gone?"

She nodded. "About a week and a half ago they suddenly stopped."

"Excellent." Good to know dealing with Amnon put an end to her suffering.

"Now if only my luck will improve I'll be doing great."

Concern drew his brows down over his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I've had a bit of bad luck lately. I came out of work one day to find my GPS had been stolen from my car. Then a couple of days later my tire was flat."

"Do you think the kids might have done it?"

She shrugged. "I don't think so. I think they were just coincidences, like my missing dry cleaning."

"And all that happened in one week?" In the week he had been absent from her life.

"Yeah. Quite a streak huh? But it's looking up." A genuine smile reached her eyes. "Now."

She looked at him from under her long lashes and took his breath from his lungs. She was beautiful. Her eyes shone with an emotion he dared not name. The lamp overhead highlighted her reddish-blonde hair, streaking it with shiny highlights. Her tiny nose sported just the right amount of freckles.

Zane couldn't help but reach out to touch her cute nose. He ran his finger down the length of it, surprised when she didn't flinch at his boldness. His finger dropped to her lips, tracing them. He tugged slightly on the bottom one, pulled her lips apart, and leaned across the small table to close the distance between them.

His lips replaced his finger in a gentle kiss, moving back and forth over her lips. His tongue licked at her softness. Zane absorbed the feel, the taste of her kiss. It was similar to their kisses in her dreams, yet so much more.

His hand moved to the nape of her neck, held her still for his caress. Zane deepened their kiss. He explored her mouth thoroughly, savored the mix of spice from the Kung Paso Chicken and the sweet taste of Maggie. It was like savoring a foreign delicacy, and he quickly grew addicted to the taste.

His heart would pound through his ribs at any moment. Blood rushed through his body, sent a fiery wave of desire crashing over him.

This was so much better than the dream. Zane swallowed the soft mewing sound that came from her throat, taking it within him. He wanted to hear it again—needed to hear it again.

His tongue retreated, making hers follow. She obeyed the silent command, becoming the aggressor. Her hands flowed up his arms to his shoulders. Maggie's nails dug into the muscles beneath his shirt, sending a shot of pleasurable pain through him.

He wanted her, needed to be with her. In her. He needed to be surrounded by her. This may be their first time together in the real world, but they had been together several times in their shared dreams. His body remembered her, wanted her. He wanted her.

Zane took control of the kiss, thrusting his tongue back into her mouth. It explored the searing recesses, running seductively throughout to claim her for his own.

The sound of a tray of dishes crashing to the floor drew his attention from Maggie. He broke their kiss, sitting back down in his seat. When had he stood? Completely lost in her, he'd forgotten they were in a restaurant.

He looked around and found the attention of the patrons on the server who had dropped the tray. Bless her. Thanks to her mishap, their public display was momentarily forgotten by all.

Everyone that was but Maggie and him. When his eyes met hers, hunger blazed in their green depths. One of her delicate hands laid over her kiss swollen lips as if to hold the feel of their kiss to her. Those beautiful eyes widened, darkened by her passion. Her breaths came in shallow ragged spurts, causing her breasts to lift and quiver slightly.

She had responded to him immediately. They had a familiarity, thanks to their shared dreams, that broke down the usual inhibitions.

The server brought them their check, breaking his reflection on the beautiful woman sitting across from him. Being a gentleman, Zane reached for the check. Luckily, he had thought to magick a little money along with his clothes.

"I've had a great time, Zane."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for our time together to end."

"Would you like to come to my place for a cup of coffee?"

"I'd love to."

He put a twenty on the bill, then stood and held out his hand to Maggie. Putting her hand in his, she allowed him to pull her from the table. He intertwined his fingers with hers, and they walked to her car in companionable silence.

Zane opened the driver's door to her car and handed her into the seat. Leaning across her, he reached for the seatbelt, pinning it between the seat and him. Her hair brushed against his face in a tickling touch. As he clicked the belt into place, the delectable aroma of her perfume surrounded him. The mouthwatering smell sent a fresh surge of desire racing through his blood. His hand slid the length of the belt, his fingers lightly brushing her breast.

"Safety first," he said, giving a gentle tug on the fastened belt before he walked around the vehicle to climb in beside her.

"You too," she retorted when he forgot to do his own belt.

He examined her sculpted profile when she turned to look over her shoulder as she backed out of the parking space. Her pulse beat a steady rhythm under her flesh. He fought hard to keep from running his tongue over the spot.

Zane had learned from shared dreams a woman's neck was one of her most sensuous spots and couldn't help but wonder how responsive Maggie would be to a real life suckle. He'd start with her neck, then work his way down, taste every part of her until he became fully sated, and she writhed beneath him.

He adjusted his legs, suddenly uncomfortable when his groin swelled to life and pushed against the zipper of his jeans. He rolled his window down to get some fresh air, hoping it would help calm his libido and reminded himself as far as Maggie was concerned this was their first date. While he was more than ready to spend the night making love to her, she probably wouldn't be ready. After all, she did not seem like the type of girl to jump into bed on the first date.

The sound of an angry buzz drew him from his cogitation. He recognized the sound, heard it in dreams of military veterans.

"What was that?" Maggie asked.

Zane looked behind them. "Someone is shooting at us!"
Chapter 29

Maggie looked in the rearview mirror and immediately recognized the old green beater behind them. It was the car she'd seen at the school, and the guy with the gray hoodie hung out the driver's side window, brandishing a gun.

Shock froze her muscles, her body refused to respond. This had to be a dream. Nothing like this happened in real life. Not to a high school guidance counselor.

"I'm dreaming," she muttered.

Zane reached over, grabbed her right knee in his large hand, and pushed her foot to the floor. "This is no dream, Maggie. Go!"

Her car down shifted, and the increased RPMs pushed them back in their seats as the vehicle launched forward. She snatched the wheel, sending the car into the other lane to go around the SUV in front of them. Another jerk had them back to the right.

Her eyes flew to the mirror. Mr. Gray was right behind them.

"Drive!" Zane ordered. "I'll keep an eye on the green car."

Maggie's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. She white knuckled the thing until the skin over the backs of her hands stretched tight. Her heart sprinted. Trusting Zane to have her back, her vision narrowed on the traffic before her.

There was nowhere to go. Cars driving side by side blocked both lanes ahead. When the sound of her horn did not make either car move, Maggie was forced to slow. The maniac fired into her car, evidenced by the unique plinking sound of metal meeting ammo.

"He's catching up, Maggie. Do something."

The strain in Zane's voice snapped her attention to the road. What should she do? There was nowhere to go. Her eyes darted from side-to-side looking for an opening around the cars.

A hard turn of the steering wheel forced the car up on the sidewalk, between a pedestrian and a streetlight. The trunk of her vehicle ricochet off the light, and she experienced a moment of relief when she realized it was not the person she hit.

Maggie jerked back onto the road and pushed down on the gas. A roundabout lay ahead. Those things were dangerous enough when you went slowly around them, let alone when taking them at breakneck speeds. She sent a silent prayer up to heaven and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

With the car skidding around the tight turns, she fought the wheel for control of the car. She straightened out, leaving the circle down the straightaway.

"Is there a police station around here?" Zane inquired, as he continued to look over the seat at the car behind them.

"I think the Sherriff's Department has a substation close by."

"Great. Head for there."

She hit the brakes hard, sending her body against the seatbelt, and turned the car down a side street. A hard thrust of her palm made the horn blare as she drove one handed. The car in front of her blessedly moved to the side to let her pass.

Perspiration dotted her brow and made her hands slippery on the wheel. Her mind raced, trying to remember where the Sherriff's Station was located.

The light in front of them turned yellow. They weren't going to make it!

It turned red as they approached.

"Hang on," Maggie cried, taking the car through the intersection.

A car started across the road in front of them. Maggie's scream made Zane's head whip around to the front. Luckily, the driver slammed on the brakes just in time for Maggie to dodge around the vehicle. Hearing the telltale sound of crunching metal behind them, she dared a look in the mirror. Perhaps thanks to a plume of white smoke flowing from the stopping car's brakes, Mr. Gray's car had not been quite as lucky as theirs had.

Maggie brought her car to a stop and watched the green car spin sideways through the intersection. It collided with the concrete poll for the traffic light and went for a spin in the opposite direction. Shattered glass rained down on the asphalt below from the impact.

"Keep going," Zane commanded. "Find the station."

Maggie's eyes darted to the mirror again. Mr. Gray fell out of the broken car window, shoved himself off the ground, then leveled his gun at her car. She heard the report of the gun when it fired. Once. Twice.

"Just how many bullets does that gun hold, anyway?" Maggie wondered aloud.

"I don't know, but let's not stick around to find out. Go!"

Maggie pushed the gas petal down to the floor. She raced away from the scene, Mr. Gray fading from sight in her rearview mirror.

Her heart was in her throat. Adrenaline pulsed through her body in time to her rapid heartbeat. With the danger fading, her lungs labored for air.

"Call . . . the police. Phone's . . . in my purse," Maggie said around hard breaths.

Zane grabbed her handbag, fishing around for her phone. From the corner of her eye, she noticed he wasn't dialing. She glanced over, looking down at her phone.

There were no bars. The only reception her phone was getting was the look of frustration on her face.

"Great." She gasped for breath. "Now what do we do?"

"You need to calm down, Maggie. Take your foot off the gas. We're safe now. Slow down."

Not having the breath for a full sentence, Maggie simply replied, "Not stopping."

"I don't want to you stop until we get to the police station, but you don't need to speed there. The guy in the green car can't follow us now."

"You sure?"

"Definitely. Take some deep breaths to calm your breathing. You are hyperventilating."

Zane placed a hand over her heart, which did nothing to help her calm.

"Breathe for me. In." Zane took in a loud breath through his open mouth. "Out." He blew out his own breath with enough force for her hair to move.

"Listen to the sound of my voice, Maggie. Slow your breathing. Match it to mine. Here we go. Innnnn. Ouuuuut. Innnnn. Ouuuuut."

Maggie did as directed, and soon her heartbeat began to slow. Her fingers eased their grip on the steering wheel. After a few more breaths, Zane's warm hand fell away from her chest, and his absence left her a bit bereaved.

As her body calmed so did her mind. She at last remembered how to get to the Sherriff's Department. Three turns and five minutes later she arrived at the station to give her statement.

After what seemed like way to many hours and several cups of stale coffee, Maggie found herself standing next to Zane in front of a deputy sheriff to hear the latest update from the scene.

"Sorry, ma'am," the deputy said, resting his forearms on his desk. "The officers at the scene didn't find anyone matching your description."

"They didn't find a bearded man in a gray hoodie?" Zane's concern was evident in his tone.

"No sir. One of the witnesses said she saw him take off down the street on foot. Doubt he'll get far. One of the officers from the scene said his car was in bad shape. I'm sure the guy's been injured. He'll probably show up at one of the local hospitals." The deputy leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers across his chest. "We've sent a copy of the sketch you helped our forensic artist draw to all the hospitals in the area and asked them to keep a look out for the guy. When he comes in to get bandaged up, we'll get him."

"And until then?" Zane prompted, wrapping an arm about Maggie.

"Well sir, until then I'd recommend you take Ms. O'Connell home. If we catch him, we'll call you to have you give us a positive ID."

Maggie's hand fisted in Zane's shirt, needing something to anchor her. His strength poured around her in warm waves of reassurance. As long as she was with him, everything would be all right. "I want to go home." Her voice sounded small, even to her.

His arms wrapped around her in a bracing hug, drawing her into the shelter of his large frame. "I know, sweetheart." He looked at the deputy. "Is she free to go?"

"I don't see why not. If you think of anything else or come up with a reason why he might be after you, be sure to call me." The officer handed his card to Maggie, and she slid it into her purse.

"Thank you." Maggie wrapped an arm around Zane's waist.

He tucked her under his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you home."

The ride home was blissfully uneventful. Zane offered to drive, and Maggie was all too glad to let him do so. But each screech of tires or sound of a horn ratcheted her anxiety up until she was amped by the time they reached her house.

Pulling into the driveway, Maggie's nerves did not settle when she realized a familiar car sat parked on the street in front of her home. Trepidation mixed with her exhaustion to make her weary.

"Now what?" she muttered.

Zane cut the engine and turned toward her, laying his palm on her knee. His warmth soaked through the material of her skirt and eased her muscles beneath. Their eyes met. The look of concern on Zane's face melted her heart.

The emotional roller coaster she'd been riding tonight started to take its toll. And as if she needed any more drama tonight, now Mark was parked out in front of her house.
Chapter 30

"What's wrong, Maggie?" Zane's unease sounded in the deep tenor of his voice. His gaze shifted from side-to-side as he scanned the horizon, apparently looking for any sign of trouble.

"It's Mark."

"Your ex?"

How did he know that? The details of their dinner conversation faded in light of the excitement afterwards, but she was positive she had not mentioned Mark to him before. The sound of a knock on the window beside her took the thought from her head.

When Maggie flinched in response to the noise, Zane gave her knee a reassuring squeeze.

She put her hand on the door handle and took a deep reassuring breath. "Better see what he wants."

She opened the door, pushing it out as far as it would go, which caused Mark to have to scurrying away from the car like a rat. It is nice to make someone else do the scurrying for a change.

Maggie unfolded from the car. "It's been a long day. What do you want, Mark?"

"I've been trying to call you, Maggie. Why haven't you answered the phone?" His tone sounded harsh, abrasive. Maggie's hands fisted on her hips. She didn't need his attitude right now.

"I've been," she blew out a deep sigh, "busy."

"Too busy to call me back? I left messages all night."

Zane moved around the front of the car, drawing their attention. His smooth muscles rippled under his clothes, revealing a lean strength in his sure strides. He came up beside her and put his arm around her shoulder, tucking her against his side.

She loved when he did that. He was a pillar of strength for her to lean on, and right now she needed that.

Mark glared at the couple, his eyes giving Zane the once over before coming to rest on his arm around Maggie's shoulders. His eyes narrowed.

"Who's this?" Mark asked. He might have tried for arrogant, but it came out unsure.

"Who are you?" Zane demanded in a deep and steady voice.

"I'm her ex-boyfriend."

"And I'm her current boyfriend. It would appear she upgraded."

Unable to stop it, Maggie giggled. Neither man looked at her. They only had eyes for each other. Locked in a staring match, the air around them thickened with malice. Mark's face flamed red, from embarrassment or anger, Maggie couldn't be sure which.

Zane's countenance hardened into an intimidating mask. Dropping away from her shoulder, his arm folded over his other one to wrap around his thick chest. He exuded confidence, like he was used to physical altercations and would win easily against Mark.

"I believe Maggie asked you why you are here. I suggest you tell her and be on your way."

"You don't get to tell me what to—" Mark sputtered.

"Speak or get off her property." The muscles in Zane's arms flexed in an impressive show of strength.

No one cut Mark off, especially not with such a dominating demand. Mark stood slack-mouthed, dumb struck by the impressive show of bravado. Maggie had never seen a more attractive look on him.

She fought another giggle and this time won the battle. "Mark, just tell me what you want. It's been a long day, and I just want to go inside and lie down."

Her boss's eyes narrowed. "Is he going to join you?"

"That is none of your damned business." Zane's arms dropped to his sides, his hand flexing like they itched for a fight. The situation spiraled downward fast, and Mark would end up at the bottom in a bloodied heap if he didn't say his peace and get the heck out of here.

"Mark, just go."

"But I have news about the lawsuit," he whined. His hazel eyes had an urgency to them. Maybe she needed to hear this.

"Tell me." Maggie looked up at Zane who had shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. He held his arms loosely by his side but appeared ready to pounce, like a sleek, well-toned jaguar.

"Quickly," Maggie amended in response to Zane's stance.

"I wanted to let you know the suit has been dropped."

"I know. I got your voicemail."

"Okay. But I didn't tell you why they dropped it. Turns out Greg's going to be a daddy. The kid knocked up his girlfriend. That was why he'd been acting out at home. Apparently his parents had forbidden him from seeing her."

Memories of the counseling session with Kelly flashed in Maggie's mind. He must have been the boy who Kelly refused to name. It would explain why he didn't act out at school; it was the one place he would be with his girlfriend.

"How did his parents find out?"

"Evidently, the girl's parents called and informed them."

"So they weren't just after the state scholarship. There really was trouble with Greg at home?"

"It would seem so."

"I guess Ms. Lawler will be leaving now."

Mark's eyes widened and he smiled. "I thought you said you listened to my voicemail."

"I did," Maggie replayed the messages in her mind.

"Then you also know Jennifer and I are a couple."

Okay, she had missed that particular part of the voicemail, but the news didn't surprised her. In fact, she'd suspected all along. However, hearing it said aloud stung, just a little.

Zane took a step toward her ex. An effeminate, strangled sound squeaked out of Mark's throat.

"If that is what you came to tell Maggie, then I think it is time for you to take your leave," Zane took another step in Mark's direction, and he retreated.

Having clearly demonstrated his dominance, Zane returned to Maggie's side, and his arm slipped around her waist in a show of male possessiveness, which in the moment she found to be quite endearing. Having Zane beside her, sticking up for her, made her feel invincible. It gave her a bravado she typically didn't have when dealing with Mark.

"I don't give a damn if you date Jennifer Lawler, Mark. You can date anyone you like. I've moved on." She put her arm around Zane's waist. "You should too."

The look of defeat on Mark's face was priceless.

"I'll show you to your car," Zane's tone brooked no argument. Mark must have felt the same because he turned on his heels and marched double time for his vehicle without another word.

When he reached his car, he opened the driver's door and paused to look at the couple still standing arm in arm in the driveway. Always one to get the last word in, Mark said, "We'll talk on Monday, Maggie. We still have paperwork to finish regarding the suit. Report to my office first thing, I'm still your boss, you know."

Zane took a step forward, and Mark jumped in his car. With wide eyes, he started the vehicle and took off like a shot, tires squealing as he pulled away from the curb.

Maggie chuckled again, this time Zane joined her.

"He didn't even say goodbye," Maggie teased.

"You could call him." Steering her with the arm around her waist, Zane turned them and headed for her front door.

"No way." She shook her head and unlocked the door, then led them into her home.

"I hope you don't think it was too forward to announce to your ex I am your boyfriend."

Maggie smiled. "The look he made when you said that was priceless. I almost wish he was here so you could say it again."

Zane came up behind her. "I'm glad he's not, so I can do this."

He laid his hands on her shoulders and began to knead her tense muscles. Maggie sighed, moving her neck to the side to give him access to a particularly hard knot.

His hands were magic. Warm, strong, they worked her kinked muscles with the expertise of a masseuse.

Maggie moaned, the sound long and languorous.

"Why don't you lie down on the couch, Maggie? Let me do this the right way."

Sounded like a good plan to her. Maggie covered his hands in hers, needing to maintain the human contact as they made their way over to the couch.

"Loosen your blouse a little," Zane commanded.

Maggie did as instructed before lying on her stomach. She tucked a throw pillow under her turned head and closed her eyes in blissful anticipation.

Zane straddled her, placing a knee on each side of her hips. His weight barely registered on her bottom, as if he held his weight above her. She appreciated the effort.

His hands slid inside the collar of her blouse, pulled it away from her body. She had only undone two buttons so it didn't go very far, just enough to bare her shoulders.

After sliding her bra straps out of the way, his fingers dug into her muscles, kneading her like a baker lovingly working his dough. So good, she almost purred her contentment. He didn't say a word, just continued his ministrations in silence.

Zane massaged her muscles thoroughly. Working his way down her back, he made sure each one was carefully attended to. By the time he reached her lower back, the tension had disappeared from her muscles. And settled somewhere else.

Maggie became acutely aware of the handsome man sitting over her, everything female within her responded. It may have been the adrenaline rush from the chase, or how he had taken care of her since they first arrived at the police station. It could have been the way he handled her ex or perhaps it was simply that he had a body to die for, but whatever it was, she found herself responding to him.

He worked on the small of her back. Each touch sent a zing of desire straight to her womb. It clenched with sudden, desperate need.

Maggie wanted to feel alive. She craved human contact. Skin on skin contact. Needed to be with this man. He was her anchor in this crazy storm. She needed him in a way she'd never needed another.

Maggie rolled over and wrapped her arms around his neck. The look of surprise on his face turned to hunger as she crushed him down against her bosom. Their lips met in a fierce kiss. Maggie poured all her emotions from the past few hours into the kiss, willing him to understand.

He tasted of spice, a delicious masculine flavor she found instantly addictive. Their tongues darted back in forth, dueling for domination. It was a draw, Maggie decided as his passion devoured her, sending a fiery heat licking over her skin.

Maggie broke the kiss, pulled back to look into his eyes. "I want you," she whispered.

Zane hesitated, hovering over her. "Are you certain you want this, Maggie? Want me?"

She had never been more certain of anything in her life.
Chapter 31

Maggie looked up into the azure eyes which seemed so familiar thanks to her dreams. The Zane from her dreams had been sweet and fun, but the Zane in her arms was so much more. He had been her rock, her anchor when her world turned upside down.

Looking down on her with stark hunger shining in his eyes, he waited for an answer to his question.

Are you certain you want this, Maggie? Want me? Hell yes!

She desired the physical connection to another, to be linked with someone she trusted to keep her safe. She needed to feel sought-after, alive. Maggie wanted to be consumed by him, feel him surround her with his strength.

In answer to his question, she grabbed the hem of his black tee shirt and pulled it over his head. Maggie tossed it to the floor, instantly forgetting it when she saw his bared chest. How to describe it? Sculpted. Sexy.

Magnificent.

Her gaze roamed over his chiseled physique like a hot brand. Maggie swallowed. Holy hell, she actually salivated. She had to touch.

Her fingers flew out to trace the line of his broad shoulders. They flowed down his powerful chest, fondled the ridges of the muscles on his flat stomach. She followed the scored lines, her fingers playing in the indentions as she headed toward his most manly part.

Her fingers found the top of his jeans and deftly undid the metal button. His hands grabbed hers, keeping her from undoing his zipper to reach the object of her desire.

"Maggie, I need to hear you say it. Tell me what you want, sweetheart, because once you touch me I'll be lost."

Maggie looked into the depths of his blue eyes, drowning in the love she saw there. She had never believed in love at first sight, thought it a myth perpetrated by the movies. Now she knew better. The way Zane looked at her, the way he touched her, left her with no doubt he loved her. She saw it there in his eyes, in the look on his face, and felt the same.

She'd fallen in love with him in her dreams. Maybe all this was still a dream. A wonderful, sexy dream. She didn't care if it meant she had him to hold her and protect her.

Her hands framed his trim hips. "I want you Zane. I want you to make love to me, make me forget everything but you. I need to get lost in you, if just for a few hours."

She wanted to feel sheltered and believed she would find that in the strength of his arms. His arm slid behind her back. Zane pulled her to him, drawing her into the heat of his body. Lowering his lips to hers, he took her mouth in a passionate kiss. She melded against him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

Their tongues indulged in a long, slow exploration of their mouths, their tastes mingling until they became one. Her body responded to his as it always did in her dreams, moist heat pooled low in her belly, fiery desire danced over her sensitive skin. When he broke the kiss, she moaned in protest.

Zane stood, gazing down at her, his eyes darkened by his hunger. Bare chested, jeans unbuttoned, his hand stretched out to her—he was every woman's fantasy. Her fantasy come to life, and she wasn't about to wait one more minute to enjoy him.

Maggie put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet, loving the way his large hand engulfed her much smaller one. She led the way down the hall, struggling to keep from breaking into a run in her haste.

Urgency pushed at her. She craved him, needed him. Now!

She felt his gaze roam over her as they made their way to her room. Her body in tune with his, she sensed his presence behind her. It cocooned around her, wrapping her in its comfort and warmth. She was acutely aware of him. His arousal responded to her own. Their bodies fed off one another as they reached her room.

He stopped and took her into his embrace. Her legs trembled when his hands slid down from her waist to cup the firm curve of her bottom, pulling her closer. Zane's arousal pushed against her belly as his head bent to steal a kiss. She expected it to be hard, demanding, but instead his lips brushed over hers feather light. They were soft, full. He teased her, made her want more.

Zane took her bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a gentle nip, sending a pleasurable pain sizzling through her. This was more like it. This was how she wanted him—hard, demanding.

His hands worked the buttons of her blouse as he deepened their kiss. His tongue thrust in and out of her in a steady rhythm which brought to mind thoughts of other appendixes doing the same.

He pushed the material from her shoulders. It slid down her arms to pool at her feet.

Maggie's hands moved to his jeans. This time he did not impede her from her goal. She unzipped his pants and lowered them over his hips to the floor, sending a silent prayer of thanks up to heaven that he chose not to wear underwear. The position put her at the perfect angle. His shaft pulsed before her eyes. He was long, not overly thick but definitely a handful.

Maggie's hand closed around the base of his shaft, and stroked up the length, enjoying the feel of him. Like velvet over steel, his skin was soft in her palm, a stark contrast to the hardness beneath. His hips thrust in time to her strokes, their rhythm in perfect harmony.

She cupped the taunt spheres below with her other hand. They tighten in her palm as she knelt before him and took him into her mouth. He stretched her lips when they closed around the mushroomed head. He filled her wholly, forcing her tongue to curl around his length.

Maggie ran her tongue around his manhood, soliciting a low moan from his throat. She pulled him free of the heat of her mouth and flicked her tongue over him from base to tip. Her tongue circled the head of his penis once in a tantalizing movement that sent his breath hissing from between his full lips before she pulled him back into her mouth. Cheeks concave from the strength of her suck, the draw on his most masculine part solicited a low moan from deep within his chest.

His hand went to her hair, holding her mouth onto him. With an almost desperate need, he thrust his hips, working his shaft in her mouth. Her hand tightened around his sack and gave it a slight squeeze. His hips shot forward, sending him down her throat. Not anticipating the movement, she gagged.

He pulled out of her moist mouth. "Sorry." Zane hooked his hand under her arms and pulled her to her feet.

"I'm enjoying myself." Maggie gave him a pout. "We didn't have to stop."

Zane's hand cupped her jaw. The pad of his thumb rubbed over her lips. "Yes. We did, or I would have exploded from the pleasure."

He turned her, undid the hook and zipper of her skirt. His fingers slipped between the waistband and her skin to push the material over her hips. Zane let it drop to the floor with a breathy swoosh of fabric.

She stood before him wearing her lace bra and matching panties. Realizing he was naked while she was still partially dressed was a heady sensation. She felt powerful, in control. Exactly what she needed after what happened to them earlier. And he gave her that, as if he instinctively knew her desire for control.

She wanted to make him harder with need for her, wanted to bring him to his knees before her to worship her and make her forget the ordeal they had been through. Maggie's hands found the clasp of her bra. She popped it loose then slid one strap slowly off her shoulder, watching Zane's eyes track her movements.

Hunger grew in his eyes. She reveled in the knowledge she did that to him. Maggie slid the other strap off her other shoulder excruciatingly slow, before allowing the bra to drop to the floor. His eyes started to follow the material but then snapped to her breasts, making her pulse quicken. She took her soft globes into her hands, pushed them together in offering.

Zane dropped to his knees before her. His hands covered hers, guiding her to stimulate herself as he would do. Together they kneaded her breasts, pushing her body higher.

His hands left hers, slid down her sides. His fingers molded to her curves until they found her panties.

He pulled the delicate lace fabric down her legs. Maggie stepped from them, and a rush of heat pooled at her core. Her need built, quickening her heartbeat until she heard her pulse in her ears. Her body coiled tighter and tighter, needed his touch. Demanded it.

His fingers burned a fiery trail up the sides of her legs to make tiny circles on her thighs, then followed the line of her hips. He continued up her stomach, wrapping his large hands around her tiny waist.

Zane pulled her to him and feathered soft kisses over her skin. Her stomach flexed under his lips. It twisted inside as he kissed a trail down to her mound.

His hands moved over her sensitive skin, settling on her bottom. Zane's fingers pushed into the fleshy globes as his mouth descended on her core. His tongue flicked across her sensitive pearl, sending a burning sensation through her that drove her wild.

Her hands left her bosom, grabbed onto his shoulders for support when her knees threatened to fold. Zane gave a long, purposeful lick along her velvety folds, sending a shudder through her. Maggie's face warmed, her breath increased. She climbed quickly toward the precipice.

Just being in his arms had felt good, but this . . . Having his mouth on her, his tongue giving delicious little licks along her most sensitive spots, drove her mad. Her body tightened, tensed. Her muscles spasmed under his ministrations. A series of fast licks over her tiny nub sent her over the edge. Maggie's much needed release boiled up from her toes, scorching through her blood to erupt in a fiery sensation which ripped a scream from her throat that echoed off the walls.

He didn't give her time to recover. With her body convulsing in spasmodic shudders, he pushed her down on the bed and blanketed her with his large frame, settling between her legs.

He took one of her breast into the warmth of his mouth, making Maggie's head thrash from side-to-side. Too much sensation for one person to take, she decided, and a soft moan pushed through her lips. One hand kneaded her breast as his mouth suckled the other globe.

His free hand found his shaft and positioned it at her heated entrance. A long, slow thrust and he was home. Inch by delicious inch, he filled her, making her shutter.

"Even better than . . ." Before? The store? More? Maggie wasn't sure exactly what he said, too lost in the sensations created by his wicked tongue on her nipple.

His body invading hers, his thick, hard fullness brought waves of pleasure so intense she struggled to stay in the moment. As he moved, she became lost to everything expect the passion building within her. Maggie rose up to ride another crest of ecstasy, rocketing toward another climax

Zane pulled back, supported his weight on his elbows to peer at her. His eyes turned a deeper shade of blue as he watched his hands knead then pinch her nipples lightly. Maggie arched her back hard when the pleasurable sensation pushed her over the edge, wringing another climax from her as she covered his hands with her own.

She tightened around him, her muscle squeezing, milking him. Maggie opened her eyes and found Zane staring at her intensely. His lips drew into a tight line, perspiration dotted his forehead. Lines of passion etched deep in his face. He looked like he fought his own rising need. Dark lust shone in his eyes.

He plunged within the fiery embrace of her core. His hips worked a furious pace. Zane used her hair to hold her still while he claimed her mouth in a passionate kiss. The whirlwind of sinuous sensation he created within her sent her spiraling again to reach for the heights of ecstasy.

The gentleness left, replaced by raw passion and lust. He demanded her response in his confident way. Maggie's legs wrapped around his waist, and he growled, a low, vibrating sound that resonated from deep within his chest in appreciation. The possessive rumble increased her excitement, sending her desire climbing once more toward that special cliff.

Her world tunneled until only Zane remained. The feel of his body. The taste of his kiss. His heat. She was aware of each rough breath, the wildness of his thrusts.

As he rutted against her, she writhed beneath him in wanton abandonment. A soft keening broke free of her throat with each hard thrust until her climax hit. She screamed his name as her body fragmented into a thousand tiny pieces.

A violent jerk of his hips, a swelling within her, and his ragged cry of rapture poured forth as he followed her over the edge, having found his own release.

They lay together, their bodies still joined, and Maggie tried to remember how to breathe. After several long moments, he pulled gingerly from her body and shifted to lay beside her in the small bed, having to turn on his side in order to have room.

Maggie turned to him. What did one say after an experience like that, she wondered? Do you thank him? Do you ask him to stay the night?

All she knew was she wanted him to stay with her. Forever and ever. The moment their bodies joined, she'd found home in his arms. She was meant for him.

No dream had ever been this special, this good. They had been perfect together, at least as far as she was concerned.

But did Zane feel the same? Maybe he was like Mark and just going through the motions. Amazing, fabulous motions but just motions to him. Would he end up leaving her dejected and lonely?

"Tell me what you are thinking, Maggie?"

She looked up and realized Zane had been watching her ever since she had turned his way. "Nothing."

He gathered her into his arms, making her feel safe and secure again.

Maggie sighed. "I was just wondering if you were going to leave."

His body tensed.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked cautiously.

Maggie wrapped her arm about his back and snuggled closer. "No, I'd like you to stay."

He relaxed against her. "I'd like to."

They lay in companionable silence, not needing to speak, the way two lovers can when they have been together a long time. It seemed like she'd known him for years. It wasn't just because of her dreams, it was like he had always been a part of her. A part that had been missing until now.

Maggie closed her eyes, trusting her dream man would be there when she woke. She fell asleep thinking no dream could ever compare to this.
Chapter 32

Early the next morning, Zane opened his eyes and glanced at the sleeping female in his arms, watching as her eyes slide back and forth under their lids. Her hand twitched at his back. Temptation coaxed him to push into her mind and discover what she dreamt about.

He looked down on her with awe. With her long lashes, delicate features, and dainty body, her beauty was in stark contrast to Zane's masculinity. She was so much better in real life than she had been in their shared dreams. Even the sex had been better, which he did not think was possible until he experienced it.

Last night had been the first time he had ever been physically inside a woman. The moment her feminine warmth surrounded him, he'd been lost. But as great as the intercourse had been there was so much more than just physical pleasure in being with Maggie.

Zane adored her. He looked down on the tiny freckles which dotted her sweet face, and his chest swelled with pride when he dwelled on how she'd faced what happened earlier with courage. She'd been so brave, meeting each challenge with bravado. Strong women, like Maggie, were alluring. So much so he succumbed to her charms and taken her, made her his in the most primal of ways.

His eyes roamed possessively over her features. Her cheekbones stood out as if she hadn't eaten enough recently.

Understandable, he guessed, due to all the drama in her life.

First, Amnon then the lawsuit at work. And her ex . . .

Man, he slipped up big when they pulled up to find the jerk outside of her home. He called Mark by name when she hadn't yet talked about him in the real world. He'd been so wired from their ordeal with the man in the green car he'd had trouble keeping his anger in check when Maggie's ex showed up unannounced. Though from the sound of Maggie's giggles, she seemed to appreciate his lack of tolerance for the man.

And finally, the man in the green car had attacked her, causing her yet more grief. Zane could swear he recognized the man from somewhere. Something about his scruffy beard and disheveled look pushed at his mind, like the name of a rarely seen acquaintance.

Suddenly, Zane realized where he'd seen the man before and muttered the series of curses from his lips in a whisper to keep from waking Maggie. He was the human Zane had tracked Amnon to—the one whose home smelled of stale beer and sweat.

Great Spirits, Amnon had been torturing that man. Was that why the guy attacked them? Did Amnon plant some kind of mental command in his nightmares which made the man attack Maggie? Perhaps Amnon had driven the man insane with his nightmares. But why had he fixated on Maggie?

How much could one woman take? It was a wonder she hadn't gone insane.

His arms tightened around her of their own volition at the thought. He could have lost her so easily. Any number of things might have driven her over the edge, but she held on. He had found her, and the Spirits help him, but he didn't want to let her go.

The minute their bodies joined something mystical happened, a tangible bond formed between their hearts, connecting them forever. He'd found the other half of his soul, what humans called a soul mate.

Unable to refrain from speaking with her for one more second, he used his magick to push into her mind.

She dreamt of mountains that towered above vast plains, their red rock face jutting into the sky. She stood under a large canopy of trees. The leaves of the cottonwood trees fluttered like shimmering fairies dancing in the sunlight. A cool breeze blew over the plain, taking the cotton-like seeds from the trees in clumps. They resembled snow as they fell over Maggie . . .

She spun, her arms stretched out from her sides. Dressed in a white gossamer gown which made her look like a fairy princess, she twirled in faster circles, the delicate material pushing from her body.

Zane approached her at a relaxed pace, enjoying the beautiful sight before him. She jumped in surprise when their eyes met. A genuine smile took her face, lightened her green eyes. He would never get tired of seeing her smile, especially since it was every bit as spectacular in real life.

"You're back." She lowered her arms.

"What do you mean?"

"You've been gone from my dreams."

So she realized this was a dream. It still amazed him how much more aware she was than other humans.

"I'm sorry about that. Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did, but it's okay."

He circled her waist in his arms. "And why's that?"

"Because you came to me in real life."

Her honesty shocked him along with the fact she seemed quite comfortable discussing real versus dream worlds, as though she was the one who bounced between the two using magick. Needing a safer topic, he deftly changed the subject.

"This place is beautiful."

"Thanks." Maggie spared the trees a glance. "It is Zion National Park. I came here as a child."

"There is much beauty in your world, Maggie. I enjoy spending time here."

She gave him a curious look. "Don't you mean our world?"

Zane blanched at the mistake. He became dangerously distracted whenever near her.

"I enjoy your dream world."

He spoke the truth. Zane did enjoy being with her in her dreams, not half as much as in real life, though, but at least here they were able to manipulate the world.

He took over the dream. The cottonwood seeds raining down became snow. It quickly built on the ground when the air chilled. After providing a warm coat for Maggie, Zane morphed their surroundings into something resembling a Currier and Ives portrait.

The wintery forest stood around them with specks of green pine needles, peeking out from their snowy blanket. The scent of cool, fresh air surrounded them as their breaths frosted in the air. In front of them stood a sleek steed, its shiny red coat a similar color to Maggie's hair. Attached to the horse was a black sleigh outlined with gold trim, and inside a leather seat beckoned the couple.

Zane handed Maggie into the sleigh, the seat creaked under her settling weight. Out of midair, a red quilt formed in his hands. He put it across her lap then got in beside her, and with a flick of the reins, they were off.

Very much aware of the way their thighs touched when they bounced along the snowy ground, Zane found it difficult to keep his thoughts on steering the horse. He turned to Maggie, and his warm breath sent a white cloud to caress her face when he leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek.

She gazed into his eyes. "This is beautiful. Thank you for making this."

He smiled. "Welcome."

He saw no reason to hide his part in her dream from her. He doubted she would remember this when she woke.

Maggie wrapped her arms around one of his and snuggled closer. Her body brush against Zane as they rode. Each touch sent a rush of desire coursing through him. It didn't matter they had just made love in the real world. His libido stood at attention, ready to go again with just this slight stimulation.

His grip tightened on the reins as he fought the rising desire. This wasn't supposed to become a sensual dream. He'd intended to get to know her. Find out more about her while she seemed relaxed and open.

"Tell me about yourself, Maggie. I want to know everything."

"Well, let's see." She settled back in the leather seat, burrowing under the quilt. The cool air rosied her cheeks, gave them a pretty glow under her freckles.

"I come from a big family. I have four brothers, two older and two younger."

"I would imagine that made dating hard when you were in high school."

"High school? Ha! They still make dating hard. You should have seen what happened with my last boyfriend."

"Really? Tell me." Zane tucked her under his arm, drawing her snuggly against his side.

"You don't want me to talk about an old boyfriend."

"I'm not threatened by anyone from your past as long as I am your future. Tell me what happened."

"You really don't want to know."

"I don't want to know, or you don't want to tell me."

Maggie sighed, her breath frosting in the air. "Maybe both."

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You can tell me, sweetheart. You can tell me anything."

"The last guy I dated was Mark. He and I worked together at the high school. He was the vice principal at the time. We dated for a few months. Things were going fine, except . . ."

"Except," he prompted when she let her sentence hang in the chilly air.

"Except for the bedroom."

Zane battled with his anger, trying to keep it from showing. The thought of anyone else touching Maggie made his skin prickle.

"Mark and I couldn't . . . we didn't . . . you know." Maggie took a deep, fortifying breath. "He didn't want me," she blurted out.

Zane refused to believe that. Maggie was a beautiful woman. Sweet and kind. She had more courage than most men. There had to be a reason Mark wouldn't sleep with her.

"Is he gay?"

A sardonic laugh burst from her lips. "Hardly, he's dating the female lawyer he hired for our case."

"Then the man is stupid for not treasuring the gift he had in you."

Maggie swallowed as she looked up at him with unshed tears in her eyes. "That's sweet."

"It's true." Zane pulled on the reins, steering them around a large rock that protruded from the snow.

She graced him with a sweet smile which showed her perfect teeth. "I don't know what his problem was. Maybe Mark was self-conscious about going bald."

"You mean on top of being stupid, he's also going to soon look like a bowling ball?"

The quip earned him a charming laugh which he rewarded with a kiss on her forehead.

"Not really—at least about the bowling ball part. He takes medicine to keep his hair."

Zane shifted the reins, turning the horse to take them further into the forest just as a stiff breeze blew over them. Wisps of Maggie's beautiful hair played around her attractive face.

"Well that's the problem, Maggie."

"What do you mean?"

"It is well known the medicine to stop hair loss has sexual side effects. It makes men lose their libido."

She pushed away from him and sat up straighter, eyes wide with surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Most definitely. I heard it from a very credible source." A pretty little doctor whose dream he'd visited, but he wasn't going to share that.

"I never knew."

Zane drew her back to his side. "Most people don't. It's something most men don't like to talk about. Not only do they have to admit they are losing their hair but to also lose their sexual prowess . . . well that's just adding insult to injury."

"So it wasn't me?"

"I can assure you it would not be you. You are an amazing woman. Your beauty is enough to make any man want you, but add your wonderful personality and you are the whole package. The perfect woman."

"You're just saying that," Maggie teased, patting his arm. "But you can keep talking."

Zane chuckled and pulled back on the reins. The sleigh crested the rise just as it came to a halt. The scene before them glistened like a winter wonderland.

Bare trees, their branches heavy with snow, surrounded a crystalline dwelling. The castle, made entirely of ice, stood majestically. Complete with two turrets on either side of the tall, thick doors, the building sparkled between the trees. Around the outer walls of the castle, the notched ice looked like stone, creating a prismatic effect.

Snow glittered in the noonday sun from the tops of the turrets. The tiny frozen crystals bid the couple a lustrous welcome. A frozen moat surrounded the castle except right before the large, double doors, where a path made of packed snow led to the entrance.

"What is it?" Maggie asked, her voice softened by awe.

"An Ice Hotel."

"It's remarkable."

"There is much in your world that is remarkable, Maggie. This is but one thing. Shall we enter?"

Maggie turned to look up at him with curious eyes. "That's the second time you've said something about 'my world'. What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing."

He watched her mind race, almost saw the moment it all clicked into place. Panic took the love from her eyes as she stared at him. Her breath ghosted in the air, exiting harshly from her lungs in quick spurts.

"What is it, Maggie? You look scared."

"You aren't real," she accused, sliding as far away from him as the sleigh's seat would allow.

"Of course I'm not real. This is a dream, Maggie."

She shook her head, sending her reddish-blonde locks flowing around her shoulders. She drew her coat tightly around herself as if a chill raced through her. "Not here. You're not real. You are just a figment of my imagination. Nothing we've done together is real, not here and not earlier when we . . ."

"Maggie stop. You're scaring yourself. It's breaking my heart. There is no reason to be frightened of me."

"What are you?" The question left her in a small, timid voice.

"A man."

"Tell me the truth. You are not just a man."

Should he tell her? He loved her and wanted to be honest, but how did one tell the love of his life the one thing that could take her from him? Would she be able to accept him if she learned what he was?

"I am a man when I'm with you," he said finally.

A look of righteous indignation overtook her face as she absorbed his confession. "Where are you from, Zane? Who are you really? And don't say you're a man. No more lies."

Maggie had demanded the truth, and the Great Spirits help him, he wanted to give it to her. She deserved no less, and if they were to have a future together, she would have to be told sometime.

Zane took a deep breath, blowing it from his lips in an ominous cloud. He leveled his gaze on her, allowing her to see all the emotions there.

"I'm a Dream Weaver." Zane reached for her hand, intending to give her hand a comforting squeeze.

Maggie disappeared before his eyes . . .
Chapter 33

Maggie's eyes snapped open. The image of the man lying next to her filled her vision. The sun shone through her bedroom window, bathing him in a soft light. His lids slid open, his azure stare pinned her where she lay.

She tried to roll away from him, wanted—no needed some space. His arms tightened around her like bands of steel, holding her to him. God help her, he seemed even stronger today than he had last night.

"Don't run, Maggie."

She struggled against his hold. "Let me go, Zane, if that's your real name."

"It is my name."

She wiggled harder. "Sure it is. Let. Me. Go."

Anger fueled her struggles. She didn't like being trapped, especially not by a man who had deceived her.

What exactly did she know about the man next to her? She remembered he had been in many of her dreams. She remembered feeling like she had known him. He seemed familiar but yet not. Like someone she had conjured from a dream.

Had she conjured him from a dream? Maybe he wasn't real. Could she have finally lost her mind and now lived in a dream? Maybe she sat comatose in some insane asylum imagining him, imagining everything.

It had a certain logic to it. Normal people didn't have car chases through the city or have a stalker shoot at them. Maybe she'd imagined all of the events.

I'm insane!

Terror gripped her with its sharp talons. Pain wrenched her heart in her chest.

"You aren't real," she accused, pushing against his hard chest. The hurt look on his handsome face was almost enough to make her stop her struggles. Almost.

"I am when I'm with you."

His statement made a spear of panic pierce her heart. She had been right. He was not really a man. He had all but just admitted it.

His steely stare leveled on her, branding her with the wealth of emotion she saw there. "There is an explanation, Maggie, if you'll give me a chance to clarify."

"I don't want to hear it." She couldn't. Whatever he had to say wouldn't make sense. This was all some terrible, cruel hallucination. Her dream man had come to life just to turn into a nightmare.

Tears pushed at the backs of her eyes. How cruel could life be? What had she done to Karma to make it so upset? Time after time, just as things were looking up, life kicked her in the gut—beat her down.

Was it too much to ask a decent guy be in her life to share it?

Apparently, yes.

Zane's grip on her eased as her struggles ceased. It would be so easy to give into this hallucination. It was tempting to find solace in his arms, settle for a dream man. Live in a fantasy.

But that was not her way. She faced her problems head on, no matter how awful they were. She deserved someone real, who would help shoulder her pain. She deserved to live life, not hide from it in a hallucination.

She rolled away, surprised to find he allowed the freedom. As she came to her feet, so did he on the opposite side of the bed with his hands up in surrender. He stood between her and the door.

"Move," she said with more bravado than she actually felt.

"Talk to me, Maggie. Tell me what's going through your mind."

"My mind?" She laughed at the absurdity of his statement. "What's going through my mind—or what's left of it—is that this is just a nightmare. A stupid dream I will wake from any minute now."

Zane shook his head. "This isn't a dream, sweetheart. This is real. You're real. I'm real."

"When you're with me," she spat at him, throwing his earlier words in his face.

Zane pushed his fingers through his sandy brown hair. "Remember what I told you in our dream just before you woke up?"

Maggie searched her memory, replayed the dream. She was at Zion, then Zane appeared. Suddenly it was snowing. They went in a horse drawn sleigh to a castle made of ice. She questioned him about being from another world. He said . . . he called himself a . . .

Maggie reached for the hazy memory of her dream. When, at last, she recalled his words, she braced her hands on her hips and exhaled a rough sigh. "What the hell is a Dream Weaver?"

A sad smile raised one corner of his lips. "Good. You remember."

"Remember what?"

"I'm a Dream Weaver."

He said it just as plain as you like, as if she knew what the hell a Dream Weaver was. As though every day someone came up and announced they were a Dream Weaver.

"Fine. I'll play for now." Maybe she'd find a way out of this nightmare. "What the hell is a Dream Weaver?"

His heated gaze swept over her body. "Let's get dressed, and then we can talk."

In all the excitement, she had completely forgotten she'd gone to bed naked. The realization made her vulnerable. Maggie grabbed a robe out of her closet and tied the sash round her tightly as she meandered back into the room to discover Zane had donned his jeans.

He moved toward her with his hand outstretched, but Maggie took an involuntary step back. His hand dropped to his side, and Zane's face bleached of color. He looked very much like he might throw up. Well that was just fine, because she had a feeling she might just be sick too.

"Let's go out to the living room, Maggie. I'll make you some coffee, and we'll talk."

"And you won't touch me?" Maggie asked. His eyes flashed to hers, glistening with an emotion she could not name before he looked away.

"I won't touch you. Just please let me explain."

"Fine." Maggie marched past him without a sideward glance, her hand clutching the halves of her robe closed at her throat. Instead of stopping when she got to the living room, she continued into the kitchen and began the coffee, not trusting him to make it. He might lace it with a hallucinogen to keep her in this nightmare.

Wait. That wasn't right.

If she was hallucinating then taking something in the dream wouldn't keep her stoned. Or would it? This was becoming a little too much like a sci-fi movie-of-the-week. Take this pill and wake up, or take this other pill and keep living the hallucination. Hell, she didn't know what was real and what wasn't anymore.

And wasn't that the very definition of being insane?

To weary to grind the beans, she pulled her backup tin out of the cabinet. After slamming the cabinet door shut, she put the ground coffee down on the countertop with more force than necessary. As she went through the automatic motions associated with her task, she glanced out into the living room.

Zane sat on her couch looking utterly defeated. His confident demeanor replaced by subjugation. With shoulders hunched, his handsome face hid in his hands.

Well good, at least someone besides her was having a bad day.

Maggie watched the liquid caffeine pour through the machine into the waiting decanter. She concentrated on the flow of the coffee, imagining it turning into an entire river coursing through her kitchen. Having always been able to manipulate her dreams before, she half expected the river to appear, cutting a path through her linoleum floor.

She tried to make it snow in the living room, pictured the wet slush pouring over Zane. Imagined the air growing colder, heavy. Any minute now it would start to snow.

Wait for it. Wait. Concentrate, Maggie. Cold. Snow. She concentrated on changing the home, not exactly sure how she felt when it did not change from her thoughts. It wasn't the first time she had tried to change a nightmare and failed.

Maybe if she heard what he wanted to say, this bad dream would play out, and she'd wake up. It was worth a shot. At least he wasn't trying to hurt her, like had happened in so many of her nightmares during the past months.

Maggie poured a cup of coffee and joined him in the living room, sitting in the recliner rather than next to him on the couch. She took a sip of coffee before she spoke, eyeing him over the lip of the cup. "All right, Zane. Tell your story."

The fanciful tale he wove might be described as interesting, she'd give him that. By the time the story came to completion, she had downed the entire pot of coffee. She felt antsy, but she still hadn't awakened from the nightmare.

"Let's say I believe you," Maggie said.

"Do you?" Zane sounded hopeful.

"Not really, but let's just pretend I do for a minute." Maggie crossed her legs, readjusting her robe as his face dropped. "Let's say I believe you are from another dimension. And let's say I believe you rescued me from this . . . stalker, was it?"

"That's correct. Amnon was the Dream Stalker who gave you the horrific nightmares."

He looked like he expected her to be grateful he had supposedly saved her from this Amnon. "And let's say I believe you love me enough to want to be with me."

"I do," Zane vowed, sounding rather sincere.

"Then how long can you remain here?"

"I do not know."

"A week? A year? And you said you are immortal, well I hate to break it to you, but I'm not. So while I grow old, where will you be?"

"By your side . . . if possible."

Maggie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You love me enough to take care of me when I'm old."

Zane leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, then waited until their gaze met before he spoke. "I will love you forever, Maggie. Old. Young. It doesn't matter, as long as I have you."

"You say that now."

"I speak the truth. I've told you the whole truth, even though I could get in serious trouble with the Ruling Council for doing so."

"Why take the risk?"

"If you don't take extraordinary risks, you'll lead an ordinary life. I'll willingly risk their wrath, if it means I can be with you."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, Margret Shea O'Connell."

"How do you know my full name?" Maggie watched an emotion pass over his features. Concern, despair, she couldn't be sure which.

"I pulled it from you during a shared dream."

Her brow furrowed in suspicion. "What else did you glean from my dreams?"

****

Colorful curses flowed through his head. How was he supposed to answer that one without earning more of her ire?

The sound of a gunshot kept him from having to answer when the bullet buzzed through the door of her home. Zane dove from the couch, catching Maggie around the waist. His momentum toppled the recliner, spilling their bodies onto the floor in a heap of limbs.

Zane pushed her down as he peer over the toppled chair and witnessed the door explode into the house. His eyes widened in recognition, when the man wearing a gray hoodie pushed his way through the wreckage.

The man's eyes were crazed; it was the only way to describe them. They were wide and bloodshot, like he had not slept in days. Perhaps months.

His clothes hung from his spectrally thin body as he looked around the room. A boney hand held a gun that looked identical to the one from the previous day. When the man swung it in their direction, Zane leapt into action, bounding over the chair.

He grabbed the man about his waist in a fierce bear hug, sending the two of them stumbling backwards out of the door. They fell down the steps to Maggie's home. The gun went off when they landed on the concrete walkway below.

The man squirmed in Zane's hold, like a worm unearthed from the ground. With more effort than he thought it would take, he straddled the man, feeling the sharp outline of his ribs through their clothes. Zane focused on the gun still held by the flailing man. His large hands lashed out, reached for the arm holding the gun. He grasped the man's wrist in a crushing grip, then used both hands to pin the man's forearm and gun to the ground.

Pain shot through Zane's left temple, and he turned. The man was about to deliver a second blow with the large rock held in his opposite hand.

Zane had no choice, but to release one of his hands to block the blow. When he did, the man managed to wiggle his gun hand free and got off another round, while he struggled with Zane for dominance.

The man fought like the third gorilla on Noah's ark—ruthlessly and without mercy—surprisingly strong for one so thin and scrawny.

Zane shook the rock out of the man's hand and pinned it to the grass. He leaned most of his weight against the downed arm which set his body off balance. His opponent twisted and raised his hips, bucking wildly to dislodge Zane.

Using the fighting dexterity he'd honed over the centuries, Zane tucked into a roll, came to a stop on the balls of his feet, and rose to his full height in a fighter's stance.

The man threw a fist full of grass and dirt in Zane's eyes. Temporarily blinded, he heard a shot and a scream. His blood went cold.

Wiping the debris down his face, he forced opened his eyes. They stung from the dirt, but he had to see. The man in the gray hoodie had turned sideways, his gun pointed at the house.

Zane's gaze flew to the home. Maggie stood on the steps of her home hugging her side. The warrior watched Maggie sway, his eyes registering the wells of blood rising through her spread fingers. Panic gripped him in its suffocating hold, making it difficult to draw air into his lungs.

But the panic was short-lived, for it quickly turned to anger—an anger he channeled into his muscles to give them strength. Rage rolled through him, soliciting a roar from his throat as he bound toward their assailant.

Forsaking all form in his pursuit of retribution, Zane charged. Bullets ricocheted around him. Something hot bit into his stomach, but he didn't spare it a second's thought.

His focused solely on the enemy, the one who had injured his woman.

He reached the man in the blink of an eye. Their bodies went down in a mass of flesh, limbs tangled in their struggle for supremacy. They rolled over the dewy grass until they came to rest with his opponent lying on top of him. The man's back to Zane's front.

Zane locked his legs around the man's waist to hold him there and grabbed the arm with the weapon. Zane knocked the scrawny hand hard on the ground, dislodging the gun. It skittered just out of reach over the lawn.

The gun would not be how Zane would end this. Hand to hand, a fair fight would be the way this altercation would end. The honorable battle, though hard fought, was about to come to an end.

With fatigue pushing down on him, Zane gathered his waning strength and wrapped an arm about the man's neck. His other arm wedged between their bodies, so his hand fisted on the back of the man's greasy hair. A brutal snap and the man fell limp over him.

Zane ruthlessly pushed the body off of him and tried to stand. He made it to his feet, but as he went to straighten, the world tilted on its axis. He lost his balance, tumbled sideways a few steps before dropping to the ground.

Maggie ran to him, holding her side. She knelt and cradled his head on her lap.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his sole concern for her wellbeing.

"I'll be fine. It's a scratch."

"Don't lie to me," he warned. Pain lanced through his body, taking his breath. He looked at his stomach. A crimson puddle pooled atop his flesh, spilling over his sides. Zane instantly realized the grave injury would mean his life. As long as she lives, that's what's important.

"A few stitches and I'll be good as new, Zane. The bullet went right through, just under the skin."

He heard the sound of sirens in the distance and believed she'd be okay. That was all that mattered. Weariness closed his eyes.

"Don't you leave me," she demanded, her fingers smoothing his hair. "You said you love me. You better prove it. You better stay with me."

Zane forced open his eyes, looking up at her tear-streaked face. He would have loved to stay with her, wanted to tell her he loved her, but as his stare rolled up to the sky above, he found himself unable to speak.

She leaned over him. "I love you," she whispered against his cheek, before placing a kiss there.

A feeling of welcoming peace came over him as the darkness settled in to take his pain.
Chapter 34

Zane heard buzzing, it hummed in the background like a corona discharge from an electric power line.

No light registered in his sight. His arm was cold, but the rest of him felt comfortable.

Was he dead?

If this was the afterlife, it wasn't the way humans described it. No bright light or people he knew coming to welcome him.

Was this what happened when one of his kind died while in human form? Maybe there was no afterlife for Dream Weavers, just this darkness on the other side.

The buzzing changed, became clearer like the soft sound of fluttering wings in a flock of humming birds. Two distinct pitches vacillated back and forth.

Zane listened harder, tried to make out the tones. They softened into two distinct voices.

"So you are a friend of Zane's?"

Maggie, he realized when the sweet sound of her voice finally registered.

She spoke to someone in hushed tones. Was she dead too?

Fear flooded him, bringing with it a cold panic. He had done everything he could to save her. He tried, really did. But maybe it hadn't been enough.

She told him her injury was not serious. Perhaps she had been wrong. It could be like that with a gunshot. A small, benign looking hole could mask internal damage too great to survive.

The sound of a second voice quieted his thoughts. This one too sounded familiar.

"Yes. I have known Zane for a long time."

Gracyn?

She couldn't be in the afterlife. That would be impossible.

His mind flew to the only logical conclusion, and it gave him hope. Desperately holding onto what the possibility would mean for him and Maggie, Zane struggled through his groggy haze, trying to reason this through.

He must still be alive. He and Maggie must be in the human world, and Gracyn had come over into the dimension. It was the only thing that made any sense.

His eyes started to open, but the sound of Maggie's voice stopped them.

"Then you are a Dream Weaver too?"

A pregnant pause hung heavily in the air.

"Zane has told you about us." Gracyn's low voice remained steady but carried a subtle hint of menace. "Yes, Maggie. I am a Dream Weaver."

"How did you know my name?"

"I have heard much about you."

"From Zane?" Maggie correctly guessed.

Zane heard the rustling of soft fabric. The soothing scent of lavender surrounded him, bringing with it a sense of peace.

"Yes. He's quiet enamored with you."

"I feel the same about him."

Zane remained still, his eyes closed tight while he listened to the exchange. Did Maggie actually believe him? Did she care enough to remain with him even if he was not human? The temptation to find the answers to his questions kept him motionless.

"Do you care for him, Maggie?"

"I do." Her confession came on a sentiment-laden voice. Hearing the play of emotions in her admission made Zane's heart leap for joy in his chest.

"But he deceived you, lied to you."

What was Gracyn doing? Was she trying to drive Maggie away? The answer to Gracyn's question kept him feigning sleep.

"He did it to protect me. I realize that now. Zane saved my life not once, but twice, from the Dream Stalker and from a real stalker."

"So you care about him because he saved you."

"That, and other reasons."

"Do you mind if I ask why? He has saved many over the centuries, Maggie. The Peacemaker is very proficient at his job. And yet, you are the first human who has affected him to such a degree. Tell me why it is different for the two of you?"

"I don't know what makes us different. I can't answer for him. All I can tell you is how I feel."

The support he lay upon, gave under a weight. The slight depression lowered the left side of his body. Gentle fingers threaded through his hair as the smell of Maggie's shampoo wafted over him when she continued to speak. "The first time he came to me in a dream, something tugged at my heart. We experienced a connection the moment our eyes met. I see a kindness in him few men have."

"Please, continue on," Gracyn prompted when Maggie paused.

"I started falling for him as we walked through the brightly colored meadow. By the time we made it to the waterfall, I was his. Each time he came to me in a dream, we learned more about each other and became closer."

"But then he ceased his visits."

"Uh-huh and it tore my heart in two. I missed him so much and thinking he wasn't real didn't change how I felt."

Misery choked Maggie's voice. It pulled at his heart.

"And when you saw him in the flesh?"

"I knew my dreams didn't do him justice. He was even more handsome in real life. When he stepped out of the shadows that evening, my heart stopped."

"So you find him attractive, handsome. Is that why you like him?"

Zane hoped it was not the only reason, though to be honest with himself, he was glad she found him pleasant to look upon.

"I think he's very good looking," Maggie continued, "but that's not what drew me to him. His personality drew me in, made me love him."

It made his heart sing to hear her confession of love. He wanted to open his eyes, let them feast on the sight of the woman who loved him. The desire warred with the need to hear more. If he remained still, how much more would Gracyn cajole her into saying?

Curiosity won out, keeping the warrior stone still where he lay.

"And what will happen if he never wakes from the coma, Maggie? Will you go on with your life?"

There was an extended pause during which Zane held his breath as he desperately awaited her answer.

"It has been quite a week. A terrible week and I haven't left his side. I will continue to come see him every day, even if he never wakes up."

"I believe you, Maggie. I can see the truth of your conviction in your eyes. You should see it, Zane."

The shock of Gracyn addressing him opened his eyes. Maggie gasped when he looked up at her.

She sat on his bed dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a red sweater that lovingly molded to her curves. He ran his gaze over her, devouring her like a starving man does a meal. Her strawberry-blonde hair, pulled back into a braid, made her angular face and cleft chin seemed a bit more pronounced. Stark cheekbones shadowed the sunken flesh beneath. She appeared tired, drawn, like she had not slept or eaten in days, and her petite body was a little smaller than last time he saw it.

Her eyes were the same, though, the same staggering shade of green with flecks of yellow thrown in to make them interesting. And in them he saw love. It shown down on him with an undeniable truth.

"You're awake," she exclaimed, taking his hand in hers and placing it in her lap.

Zane gave her hand an assuring squeeze. "I love you, Maggie. I have since the first day I saw you in a dream."

"Are you sure?" Gracyn asked from the other side of his bed.

Zane turned to look upon her in corporeal form. She was beautiful, with an almost ethereal look about her. Her platinum hair fell in long curls, flowing to her waist in waves. Her oval face and olive complexion were the perfect complement to her ruby lips. A petite nose sat between violet eyes which were outlined dramatically with kohl.

She wore a white gossamer caftan, so fine as to be called shear. The silhouette of her body peeked through the delicate fabric. She was a vision, a goddess any man would desire, but his libido didn't notice. For him there was no woman other than Maggie.

"I'm positive I love her," Zane answered honestly.

"Would you die for her?"

"I thought I did," Zane replied. Maggie clutched his hand a little tighter.

"Oh, Zane. I thought I had lost you."

He turned his head back toward the woman he loved to find tears in her eyes.

"I never want to leave you, Maggie. Tell me you accept me. Accept who I am, and I will remain with you for as long as I can."

"Of course, Zane. Oh course, I accept you. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to be with you. If we have a week, a year, or a lifetime, it will never be enough. Almost losing you made me realize I want each moment I can have with you."

"Do you reciprocate her feelings, Zane?" Gracyn asked.

"Yes, unequivocally," he answered without hesitation, continuing to hold Maggie's eyes with his burning regard.

"And you would give anything to be with her?"

"I'd give up all I have." He raised a free hand and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

"Including your friends, your life in our dimension. You would give up being the Peacemaker for her?"

Zane didn't need to give the question a second's thought. When he lay dying, he realized he was willing to give his life for her. Give up being a Dream Weaver for a life with her? Well that, as the humans said, was a no-brainer.

Zane looked deeply into Maggie's eyes. "I'd give anything."

"Are you positive? To be with her, you would even give your immortality?"

"Absolutely."

Maggie brushed her fingers through his hair, in an act both intimate and comforting. "A wise man once told me, 'if you don't take extraordinary risks, you'll lead an ordinary life.'"

Zane smiled, happiness filled him that she had remembered his motto. The soft sound of swishing fabric turned his head.

Gracyn's eyes narrowed, and she nodded once as if making a decision. Without a word she held out her hand over his stomach. Though it did not touch him, he sensed something there. Zane looked down, watching as a soft white light flowed from his abdomen into her hand.

The pull and flow of the energy didn't hurt, but the sensation was most uncomfortable, like a part of him was being taken.

After only a few minutes, the light dissipated, and with it, Zane instinctually realized his magick disappeared too.

"You are fully human now," Gracyn announced.

Confusion worried Maggie's brow. "What does she mean?"

Zane ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "Gracyn took my magick. I can no longer create a portal to my world or enter my dimension."

"What did you do?" Maggie's voice thickened with emotion.

"It's okay, Maggie." Zane tried to sooth her, but he realized it did no good.

"You took his friends, his world from him," she accused Gracyn hotly.

"Zane made his choice, Maggie. He chose you. I only helped him to be able to remain with you. He is human now."

"Maggie look at me." Zane waited until she complied. "We can be together. Here in your world. Our world. If you'll have me."

"You saved me not once but twice. You've given up your beautiful world. You've given up your immortality for me. How could I not want you with all my heart?"

"So you'll grow old with me?"

"Absolutely."

Maggie leaned down, hugging the air from his lungs. It felt wonderful.

He reached his arms around her. The movement tugged the IV line taunt, causing a pinch on the back of his hand. "Ouch."

"Just one of the many problems of being human, I'm afraid, Zane," Gracyn informed him.

He smiled. "I'll gladly bear any trial or tribulation to be with the woman I love."

Gracyn smiled down on him. "I will miss you, Zane. You have been a dear friend throughout the centuries."

"As have you, Gracyn. But this doesn't have to be goodbye. You can visit my dreams."

She made her way to the mirror hanging on the hospital room wall and sent her magick flowing over it to create a portal. "Happiness and joy be with you both. Take care of him, Maggie."

"I will," Maggie promised before Gracyn's form disintegrated into the mirror.

Zane closed his eyes, needing a moment to absorb all that had happened. He was completely human now. He felt the difference in his body. With the magick gone, he no longer sensed its subtle hum in his blood.

He would never be able to return to his marvelous world or again know the freedom of floating in the sky. Never glide on top of cool water, soar over a mountain, or see a sunset containing every color of the rainbow.

And all he had gotten in return was . . . everything.

He had gotten Maggie.

"Are you okay?" Maggie's voice drew him from his thoughts.

"I was just thinking."

"About what?" she asked when he paused.

"I was just thinking we should . . . wondering if you . . ."

She lifted a questioning eyebrow, and he took a deep fortifying breath.

"I was wondering if you would agree to be my wife."

Excitement lit her eyes and brought a smile to her pretty face. "Yes! I'll be your wife."

Maggie threw herself over his chest in an awkward hug. It sent a pulse of pain through his wound, but it felt good. Pain meant he lived, as a human. And he would gladly endure anything to be with her.

He slid one arm around her back, holding her to him in a loving embrace. Pressing her head into his shoulder, he silently offered her his troth. Nothing in the world compared to holding the one you loved in your arms. In that perfect moment, Zane knew.

Knew he had made the right choice.

Knew his dream had come true.
Epilogue

Zane marched through the familiar sterile halls of the hospital and pushed through the door to her room. The need to see her lengthened his purposeful strides. It had only been fifty minutes, just long enough from him to run home and take a quick shower, but it was too long a time to be away from his girl.

He reached down scooping her into his arms. She wiggled two tiny fingers and yawned. Her tiny lids fell over her eyes in her struggle to stay awake.

"You know you'll spoil her if you keep holding her all the time," his wife chastised as he made his way to her hospital bed.

"She's too young to be spoiled. She's only a day old." Zane rocked his daughter in his arms, marveling in the tiny miracle.

She had pale, delicate skin and beautiful chartreuse eyes like her mother. All ten fingers and toes were present, and she had scored a flawless ten on the Apgar test—the doctor told him so. She was the picture of perfection, a carbon copy of the woman he loved more than life itself, save for the sandy-brown tuft of hair on her tiny head.

She looked very much like Maggie had imagined in their shared dream, but this was so much better than a dream. This was real, permanent.

"Isn't that right, little one? Daddy isn't spoiling you."

Maggie chuckled. The sound slid over his skin in a velvety caress. As long as he lived, he'd never get tired of hearing her laugh.

"She seems very content in your arms, Blue Eyes."

He looked down to discover his daughter looked at him with wide eyes.

"As her mother has been for the past five years." Zane pinned Maggie with his azure stare, daring her dissent. When she didn't disagree he continued, his gaze dropping back to his daughter. "What should we name her?"

"I was thinking Gracyn."

Zane's eyes flew from his daughter to his wife. "Gracyn?"  
Maggie nodded her head. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather name her after. If it wasn't for Gracyn, we wouldn't have her."

A genuine smile took his face. It reached his eyes, making them glisten with his love for her. "I think it's a perfect name."

Zane bounced his little girl in his arms. "And what do you think about the name Gracyn, little one?" His daughter gave a soft coo, and Zane placed his lips lightly on her forehead in a reverent kiss.

"I think she approves," Maggie said, holding out her arms.

"I think you are right, sweetheart. Gracyn it is."

Zane reluctantly placed little Gracyn in her mother's arms. His hand slid up Maggie's arm to catch her throat. He nudged her chin with his knuckle and tipped her head, before he covered her mouth in a soft kiss.

When he straightened, he caught a glimpse of color in the mirror hanging on the white wall in front of him.

He focused on the glass, making out the blurred outline of two familiar faces. Appreciation that his friends were able to share this special moment made him smile. He blinked and the images of Jolan and Gracyn were gone in an instant.

Zane regretted they had left so quickly, but it was daytime. And to be honest, he was surprised they had risked a peek into the human world when others were awake and might see them. But then, they had done that a time or two in the past five years during important events, like their wedding for instance.

As he looked back down on his wife and child, his heart swelled with love.

They were the most beautiful women in the world. So special that nothing, no one would ever compare. Their entire lives lay before them. There would be some tribulations, some hard times. All lives had them. But in the end, all would be well because they would be together.

One happy family.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Brenda Sparks has always loved all things spooky and enjoys incorporating paranormal elements in her writing. She refuses to allow pesky human constraints to get in the way of telling the story. Luckily the only thing limiting her stories is her imagination. Her characters are strong, courageous, and she adores spending time with them in their imaginary world.

Her idea of a perfect day is one spent in front of a computer with a hot cup of coffee, her fingers flying over the keys to send her characters off on their latest adventure.

Brenda loves hearing from readers. To contact Brenda or for more information on her books, including excerpts, free reads, and more, go to: www.brenda-sparks.com

If you enjoyed Weaver of Dreams, don't miss the

other books from the author:

A Midsummer Night's Demon

Alpha Mine

Deadly Alpha

Alpha Lover

Alpha Pair

