Dream Weaver (Dream Weaver #1) (14 page)

             
I stopped by the car and scowled at him. “I’m not sure I like you eavesdropping on him like that. You kind of have an unfair advantage over people, you know.”

             
He pursed his lips and gave me a repentant smile. “As you wish,” he whispered and kissed my temple. Every muscle in my body locked, rigid and flushed with ice.
Cigarettes and cheap beer.
I shuddered, fought the instinct to run, and groped at logic. Nick put his arms around me, continued as though everything was normal. “You’re right. I’ll behave.”

             
“Thank you,” I said after a moment of gathering myself. I stepped away and disarmed the car alarm.

             
“Feeling better? I can drive, if you want,” he offered gallantly.

             
“No, I’m good. Thanks for the coffee though, that really helped.” Okay, so I had control issues. Most of my life felt completely out of my control and driving was one of the few things that made me feel in control. Nick flashed me an understanding smile and went to the passenger’s side. Being in my head gave him candid view into my personality, but somehow, for me, I didn’t mind it so much.

             
As we drove out Highway 2, I asked him about the interaction with Jesse. It was as though he’d read Jess’s mind, his thoughts. “It's very close, but there’s a small delay, infinitesimal almost, before every thought becomes a memory to be read,” he explained.

             
As we neared the Mt. Spokane exit, Nick cleared his throat. “So, would you like to meet Sabre?” He looked at me hopefully. Hoping I would say no?

             
“Um, sure. Yeah, I’d like to meet Sabre. You’ve met most of my friends.”

             
Nick pulled out his cell and started texting.

             
“So, Sabre’s not mad that you told me?”

             
He grimaced. “No, he’s not mad.”

             
Great. That only left a billion and one other responses Sabre could have had.

             
Nick directed me to the house set on a slope above Dead Man’s Creek. It
was
the house with the tennis court—and the pool and the four-car garage. I wondered if there were any flashy, expensive sports cars to fill the stalls.
Ugh! More with the vampire novels!
I rolled my eyes and smirked at myself. Unfortunately, Nick caught me.

             
“What?”

             
“Nothing.” I blushed, embarrassed at my continued comparisons to vampires. Immortal did not mean vampire, but one thought did cross my mind; Nick never denied the existence of vampires. He only denied being one. “Um, one question. There aren’t really vampires are there?”

             
Nick’s mouth screwed up in an impish smile. I  could almost see the taunting ‘mwahahaha’ struggle in his throat. I shut off the car and dropped my hands into my lap waiting for his response. “None that we’re aware of,” he finally said, but then his brow furrowed and he sobered.

             
“But?” I coaxed. There was something more sinister hidden behind his reluctance.

             
“There are others of us, who live much differently than we do. The ‘but’ is that I don’t want you to be frightened. They’re nothing Sabre and I can’t handle.”

             
I sat in silence, and wrung my hands in my lap while I brooded over this new bit of information. “Was it one of ‘them’ that was in my house?”

              “Yes.” He hated telling me this. I could see it written in every line of his face. He resisted anything that added to the nightmares of my life.

             
“What did he want?”

             
“Not sure. Just investigating as far as I can gather. He appears to just be curious.”

             
Despite Nick’s seeming nonchalance, I was petrified. “Oh,” I managed to squeak out. Nick opened his door and slid out of the car. He opened my door and held out his hand for me. I smiled at his gentlemanly ways, took his hand and let him lead me to the house.

             
My early 1900’s craftsman bungalow suddenly seemed very old and decrepit by comparison. Nick and Sabre’s house was a sprawling multi-level built in this millennia. Soaring pines surrounded and overshadowed it, intermixed with a few papery birches, stark from the winter’s chill. The glowing day weighed down the snow that now lay in heaps under the trees leaving them winter-naked in the late afternoon’s fading light.

             
“Wow!” I breathed, as we entered the foyer that overlooked the sunken living room with cathedral ceilings.

             
“Sabre will be pleased with your response.” Nick smiled as I took in the vastness of the room, and guided me down two steps into the living room to the black leather over-stuffed sectional.

              “Sabre will be pleased?”

             
“This is his design. The whole house is his design.” He took my coat and hung it on a honey-colored oak coat rack that matched the honeyed floors and banister that ran around the perimeter of the living room.

             
I strolled to a completely bare wall and ran my fingers over the matte finish. “Why did he leave this one wall all white?”

             
Nick picked up a remote and aimed it at the upper level away from the blank wall.
Queen Live at Wembley
consumed the wall, and I looked up to find my fingers resting on Freddie Mercury’s crotch. I whipped my hand away, not sure if I wanted to laugh or cry.

             
“One hundred forty-two inch, 1080p high def projection television. Sabre likes his toys,” he explained and shut off the concert.

              Sabre was nowhere in sight. “Did you warn him we were coming?” I asked.

             
“I texted him, but he didn’t respond. I’ll go find him. Make yourself comfortable.”

              “Thanks.”

             
“I’ll be right back.” He squeezed my hand and drifted away slowly, his fingers delaying their inevitable departure from mine. My blanket of warmth and security drifted away with him.

             
A humongous picture that took up half of one wall demanded my attention. I crossed the room and stepped up into the dining/kitchen area to get a better look. The scene depicted a lively, colorful village and its town folk in a variety of occupations and activities. I stood, mesmerized by the little people. I could spend hours, days looking at this portrait and not run out of stories to tell about the people in it. I remembered a portrait in a museum in Balboa Park in San Diego that was very similar to this. Mom and I stood there for nearly an hour making up stories about what all the little people were doing, and lost ourselves in the adventure and excitement of their world. I reached out to touch it, as though I might contact their world with my fingertips.

             
A shadow fell over me from behind. “You may touch it, if you desire.”

             
I whirled around to find a handsome young man with chestnut hair, narrow, angular face and dark-chocolate eyes, who could be none other than the infamous Sabre. He had silently crept up behind me on the pads of tiger, and hovered so close I stumbled over his feet and pitched into him. His cool hands shot out to steady me. He clutched my arms and I instinctively grasped onto his arms for support. He stood head and shoulders over me and stared down at me, amused and inquisitive. Thin, faint scars etched ruddy threads across his right cheek and left jaw line, the tiniest whisper of long-healed wounds. My skin prickled with a sense of danger that radiated from him, and everything in me kicked into high alert; sirens blaring caution
.

             
Nick wouldn’t bring me here if it were dangerous for me. Would he?
              Sabre felt very, very dangerous.

             
“Oh, excuse me. Um, you must be Sabre,” I said, rattled and breathless.

             
“I am. And, you must be the new toy. Emari, is it?”

             
“Um, yes. I’m Emari. But what do you mean, ‘new toy’?”

             
“Oh, nothing.” He continued to clutch my arms. It wasn’t painful, just annoying, and worse, he knew it.

              “Nick has told me all about you,” he said and pushed me to arm’s length to analyze me like a specimen that required examination from a different perspective.

             
“Has he?” His closeness was scaring me. I wanted, more than anything, to wrench myself free and run screaming like a little girl, though I had no desire to reward him with the satisfaction of knowing he terrified me. That made me angry. Who was he to have control over my emotions? Who was he to so purposefully try to frighten me? Who was he—but the master of the house?

             
His touch became a flash of heat that surged from the palms of his hands straight to my brain. I felt an odd pulling sensation inside my head, like tiny tendrils probing and extracting. Then the sensation reversed and everything went dark…

             
My vision returned as abruptly as it left. Sabre had vanished but Nick arched predatorily on the other side of the room, scowling at me.

             
“Nick?” I tried to keep the trembling from my voice, with little success. “What’s going on?” His glare was intense, seething with unknown fury, a cold fire behind his usual, beautifully calm, obsidian blue eyes. My instincts urged me to back away from him, to protect myself. From Nick?

             
“It seems we’ve run into a little snag.” He spoke in a familiar tone, the same tone I imagined in his voice last night, the tone that was fearsome and sinister.

             
“A snag?” I said, and backed away as he stalked closer, his body malevolent and lupine. “Exactly what kind of snag?” I kept my voice soft, quiet, trying to calm the raging beast.

              “Your mind has developed a glitch of sorts.” His movements were acutely slow and seductive as he glided across the room toward me. “There are things that you aren’t suppose to remember, but it appears that you are getting glimpses of truths we hadn’t intended you to be aware of.” He stopped in front of me, so close I could feel his breath on my face and he reached up to stroke my cheek with the back of his icy hand. Murmuring in what sounded like remorse, he went on, speaking as if to himself. “I had so wanted to keep you for a while longer.” His hard, cold hands brushed a stray strand of hair from my eyes, petted my hair distractedly. Cool fingers trembled delicately on my lips, and traveled across my cheek, coming to rest at the nape of my neck.

             
“Nick. You’re kind of scaring me,” I confessed in a whisper, hoping the joke would be over soon.

             
“I know. Unfortunately, it can’t be helped.”

             
“Can’t be helped?!” I tried to shoulder past him but his fingers wrapped around my arms in a vice-like grip, and he pulled me closer toward himself. “Ouch! Nick, you’re hurting me.”

             
“Hmmm, yes…and that too is something that, unfortunately, cannot be helped.”

             
I began to protest but he jerked my body against his, his arms a straight jacket around me, immobilizing me. His glacial lips gingerly scorched across my febrile brow, down my cheek, then pressed greedily to my mouth. “Nick. Please…” I pleaded under the cruelty of his lips. His kisses softened, warm and gentle and my mouth relented to his. My eyes streamed with hot tears, anguish and something sublime warred inside me, each at odds with the other.

             
He kissed my face, the tip of his tongue slid over his lips to taste my tears. His lips parted with an impassioned sigh, revealing the secret he had expressly denied, the truth he’d tried to hide. Fangs. Long slender white canines extended sharply past the rest of his teeth. I gasped. His lips curled up in a dark smile.

             
“I am sorry you had to find out the truth about us,” he said as he caressed my face. He had scoffed at my thought that being an immortal automatically made him a vampire, yet here he was showing me what he really was. So I would know the truth, before I died.

             
“Nick, I won’t tell anyone. You know you can trust me,” I pleaded.

             
“Again, unfortunately, that is not how it works.” He hesitated, lingering, his breath cool against my skin.

             
I grappled with my feelings, confused by their utter contradiction. What was it they said about vampires being the consummate predator? The vampire: the killer that made you passionate for your own death.

             
“I promise it won’t hurt. Much.” He looked down at me with the compassion of pet owner about to euthanize a beloved pet. The muscle in his jaw throbbed over his clenched teeth; his eyes glowed with remorse and determination. He bent his head to kiss my face, his lips left a cold stinging trail against my skin. His brumal caress stopped just below the hinge in my jaw. His frigid mouth pressed softly, sensually to the artery as it pulsed hot blood through my body. “I am sorry,” he murmured, his lips brushing my throat as he spoke.