Dream Weaver (Dream Weaver #1) (28 page)

             
“But if a Wraith made Rico attack me, why did you and Sabre punish him?”

             
Nick sighed. “Rico has a past with violence. He was raised with it and he learned it well. It was already in him to be violent. The thoughts of rape already existed in his mind. He’s done it before, to at least one other girl. He’d have done it again on his own, the Wraith only made it happen sooner.”

             
“If Rico was raised in violence then so was Jesse. And that woman?” Nick had to tell me now. This wasn’t just Jesse’s story anymore.

             
“His mother.”

             
“Who did that to her?” I felt like I was grilling Nick, but I needed to know.

             
“His father.”

             
“Did she—die?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know this. My poor Jesse. What had he witnessed as a child?

             
“Yes. As the boys watched on helplessly. And then they suffered at his hands. Rico more so than Jesse. Where one learned violence, the other learned compassion. Wraith feed on the things of violence.”

             
“Why do they want me? I just want to be left alone. I didn’t do anything to them, anything to attract their attention.” Nick was quiet. Too quiet. For too long. A silent debate warred behind his eyes. “And besides that, why were you around? Just by chance?” Of that, I was exceedingly skeptical.

             
“Emari…” he began, but as if his body wasn’t already hard with stress, he abruptly went rigid and immobile.

             
“What?” I breathed.

             
“Thought I saw something.”

             
I followed his gaze into the darkness, and saw nothing but the sparkling of the snow, and the black of the night. He turned to face me and grasped my arms. “Listen to me very carefully. I’m going to go out there…”

             
“NO!” I tried to squirm out of his grip, to no avail…what was I but a mere mortal?

             
“I’m going to go out there and get this guy before he can get anywhere near you.”

             
“And what about you? What if he gets too near you?” I protested.

             
“I’ll be fine. Sabre will be here soon.”

             
“Then wait for Sabre.”

             
“I won’t let you be a sitting duck in here, Em. I don’t know how close is too close with this one. I can’t take any chances that he can strip you through the walls.”

             
“Strip me?”

             
He winced and that was enough of an explanation. He dislocated my hands from his shirt with ease, and pinned them together. Futilely, I resisted his pull as he led me to the security pad by the kitchen door. His fingers quickly roamed the key pad to disarm it. “Rearm the system the instant I’m out the door, understand?”

             
I nodded, though I would still have been clutching his clothes if I hadn’t been restrained. “Please, Nick. You don’t have to do this.”

             
He held my hands easily with one of his own and stroked my face with the other. “Emi. It will be okay. I promise. I won’t let him hurt you.”

             
“I don’t care about me.”
He can kill me for all I care.

             
His mouth curved into a small smile, he released my hands and kissed me as if I would never see him again. The passion left me dizzy, the adrenalin left me numb. I pressed into him, encouraged by the warmth and security of his arms. “Please,” I whined, but his kiss silenced me. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, their saltiness seeped between our lips.
I can’t lose anyone else.

             
“Hush, Em.” His lips sizzled on my cheek. His hand slid behind my head, the other around my waist and he pulled me into him. I felt the familiar tug of him in my mind, a reminder of another kiss we shared. This time, no longer fear, but passion and desire reigned my emotions. Only heat. Intense, unquenchable fire. My heart raced from the fever of his body against me and I melted into him. My mind grew hazy from the blaze and I surrendered myself to the all-consuming flames.

             
Slowly, the inferno died, and I reluctantly opened my eyes. Nick’s eyes glowed raven-wing black from the other side of the glass in the door, the hint of a triumphant smile curled the corners of his mouth. He pressed his fingers to the window as if to touch my hand. I pressed my fingertips to his. The intensity renewed and shot up my arm to my chest. With a gasp, I closed my eyes and bathed in the warmth. He was gone when the fire died away and I re-opened my eyes. A shimmering specter took his place and drifted away like the wind toward the north side of the house. I rearmed the system and  stared out the kitchen window for any sign of movement.

             
Eons passed with no sign of anything, not any activity, not a sound save the quiet creaking and popping of my old house. It’s funny how you become so accustomed to these sounds that you don’t even notice them, until they are every sound you can hear.

             
I worried how bad the danger out there really was, wondered about why he hadn’t just phased out the door, rather than disarming it. Or maybe he had and I was too consumed in the weave to know.

             
Memories of my dad drifted peacefully into my mind.
Emari Jewel?
The sound of his voice was so near to my heart I could almost hear him with my physical ears.
I miss you, Daddy.
I stifled a pathetic whine.
Maybe someday this ache would diminish. This longing to see his face and hear his voice one last time would subside. I lived with the constant regret of never getting the chance to say goodbye to him and my mother. What I wouldn’t give for that one last moment with them; that one last moment to tell them how much I loved and adored them.

             
My father’s presence had always been such a reassurance for me throughout my life. His absence from my life was so painfully substantial, yet at this moment I felt his spirit all around me, as though he were in the room beside me. Maybe God answered the desperate pleas of my heart and sent him to comfort me. I closed my eyes and drank in his spirit, breathed it into my lungs. Ethereal molecules raced through my bloodstream, fueled my soul with joy. I felt the embodiment of his arms around me, the warm, gentle safety of his embrace. The rigid anguish that kept me frost-bound, thawed; my lacerated heart began to miraculously knit together. A flood of tranquility drenched my soul, a diluvial immersion, deep, cleansing, safe. The sorrow that had vanquished my heart for months, and constricted it in a vice of darkness, simply released. All pressure, all pain disintegrated. Relief. Unshackled from torment. Absolved from grief. I stood in the quiet settling of my home, and savored the sweetness of deliverance.

             
“Emari, my Jewel.”

             
My eyes flew open and I whirled around to behold a sight I was sure I would never see again on this side of heaven. There before me stood the real and cogent figure of the man who meant more to me than anything in the world.

             
“Daddy?”

Chapter 24 Hero

              I flew into his arms, laughing and crying at once. “Daddy! I’ve missed you so much.” My hands fluttered over him, his face, his chest, his arms, to verify the reality of him. He chortled happily as I took his hand and dragged him to the couch. I sat there in awe, stared into his face as I memorized again each detail and line that time had slowly begun to erase from my memory. In placid silence he scanned my face and drank in my delight to see him. A gentle smile graced his mouth, his blue eyes soft and happy. I held tightly to his hand as if I would never let him go again, and caressed the hard tendons stretched across his knuckles and the softness of the wrinkles on the back of his spotted hand. I remembered the age and sunspots from his years of work in the cotton fields as a child, the blue veins that ran under his skin, and the simple gold band that had adorned his ring finger for nearly thirty-five years, an emblem of the love he shared with my mother.

             
My mother.

             
My brain ached with confusion. My mother. I felt a peculiar pull inside my head. My mind reeled with a montage of images and sounds, memories of my parents, like home video clips spliced and randomly put back together. Sentences began in one conversation and ended in another. I closed my eyes and shook my head, tried to salvage some congruency.

             
“I don’t understand. Where have you been? I thought…” My mind churned, thoughts roiling, and I couldn’t remember what I was saying. I couldn’t remember why my dad’s presence in my home would cause such chaos. He was here all the time. What was the big deal?

              We sat on the couch, knee to knee, our fingers interlaced, and we talked; about the house, the remodel, a few repairs that needed done. He asked me about my new car, my urban orange CX9. I traded in my previous car because too many people apparently couldn’t see it very well. After my third not-my-fault accident, I decided it was time to get something bigger and brighter so people could actually see me when I was coming. You had to admit, orange wasn’t a common color, hard to miss, but not quite as repulsive as ‘Hello Yellow’ or ‘Screamin’ Green.’ Mom would have loved it.

             
Mom.

             
I crushed my brows together and closed my eyes as I tried to reconcile the maelstrom of images that bombarded my mind.
Mom. Where’s Mom?

             
“Daddy?”

             
“Yes, Em.”

             
What was I suppose to say? Nothing made sense to me, how was he supposed to figure it out? I pulled my hand from his and cradled my head in my palms. My brain was pounding. I was tired, confused. I struggled to remember whatever it was I’d forgotten.

             
Oh yeah! Mom.

              But, what about Mom?

             
Why did this whole situation feel so abhorrently wrong? If I could just get a grip on it. Find that elusive snag that unraveled the whole mess.

             
“Nothing. I…” I never had problems talking to my Dad. What was wrong now? I rummaged through my mind and saw a flash of obsidian blue.

             
Nick?

             
In a cascade of memories, I remembered the truth. I leapt from the couch and away from my father. “Who are you?” I demanded.

             
“Emari, honey. What are you talking about? I’m your dad,” the image said sweetly, exactly as my father would have. His eyes overshadowed with tragic wounds.

             
“No. You are not. My father is dead.”

             
“Is that what they told you?” he said with an air of nonchalance. “It’s actually a little more complicated than that.”

             
“What? Are you going to give me some Witness Protection Program bullshit?” I would never have spoken this way to my father but
this
was not my father. “How did you get into my house? Did you phase through a wall or something?”

             
“I’m not in your house,” he said as his voice changed timbre and his body glistened and dimmed before my eyes. “I’m in your head.” The specter of my father vanished under a deluge of wicked laughter.

             
The echoes of his morbid glee rippled through me and abandoned me to tremble in rage and sorrow. My knees folded beneath me and I crumbled on the couch.

             
“Daddy,” my throat constricted around the word, and it hissed from my mouth like a deflating balloon. I drew my knees to my chest and clutched them to me until my knuckles turned white, and my breaths grew shallow from compression. “Why?” The hoarse scream rasped through my throat. “Why would you do that? Why would you make me believe he was back and then tear him away from me?” Only silence met me. The torment of the lone survivor of a cataclysmic wreck returned; I was barely hanging on, clinging to life and wondering why I bothered. Crushed. I bled hope and faith. The flames incinerated all that was me.

             
But…

             
There was more to me than my parents. I had life. I had hope. I had love. I had Nick. I had choice. I could stand. I could choose, and I chose to survive. Survive the grief.

             
If only I survived the night.

             
I wandered the house, peered out into the darkness from every window. Where was Nick? Was he okay? Should I call? What if I called and it gave away his location to the Wraith? If the Wraith had managed to get at me through the walls, did that mean he was more adept in person?

             
“Nick. Where are you?” I whispered into the night.

             
In response, I felt a now-familiar tug in my brain, followed by an ominous cackle. “I have your boy. Let me show you what I’ve done to him.”

             
“No!”

              Nick’s body slumped against a tree, the giant blue spruce on the outskirts of my property. His arms wrapped around his knees, the catatonic rock of a lunatic swayed his body. I didn’t have to see to know the images the Wraith plucked from his head. Felicia and Samuel were the only ghosts that still haunted him. The abstract images overpowered me anyway; the blood, the pallor of her face, the tiny little boy, smeared in red, dark hair like his father’s, still plastered to his tiny head. His skin looked waxy and unreal, a horror movie baby. It was a depraved violation of Nick’s most private, painful and sacred memories.

              “Please, stop!” I begged, but met only with more vicious, cacophonous laughter. The images faded and the glee dissolved.

             
The knowledge that Nick was out in this dark frigid night, probably suffering on my account, savaged my heart. I wanted so badly to go to him, to rescue him. But how could I believe in the reality of the images? Maybe Nick was not truly hurt. Maybe he was okay. Maybe this was just what the Wraith wanted me to believe; an elaborate and agonizing ruse.

             
I texted Nick a message. As my thumb hit the send button, a faint scratching at the kitchen door propelled my heart against my rib cage, an arctic flow of adrenalin through my veins. My heart leaped to my throat as I tiptoed quietly to the dining room and peeked around the corner. I could see no one through the windows or the door. The scratching came again, followed by a small whimpering sound.
Oh, God! What if it's Nick? What if he is hurt?
I crept closer and peered out the window in the door. No Nick. Another whimper grated my heart, and there was no mistaking it. I pressed myself to the door, desperate to see what was huddled on the ground on the other side. Grievous tears blurred my vision, and I franticly batted them away. As my eyes cleared, I finally spotted it. Eddyson’s little white-tipped tail drummed faintly on the frigid cement.
Oh, God.
A wave of relief crashed over me, followed closely by a second—terror. His tail feebly wagged.

             
“Eddyson?” I cried.
What if it's not him? What if the Wraith just wants me to believe it's Eddyson and it's really not? What if he’s in my head again and this isn’t real?
Nick and Sabre would be furious with me if I opened the door to the dark creature they’d invested so much in protecting me from.

             
The whimper pierced me again, and I agonized over the arduous wag of the stiff little tail. How could I leave him out there in this cold if it truly was him? My eyes scanned the yard and carport for any sign of movement. I disarmed the system and cracked the door open just enough to scoop up the little bundle of fuzz that felt half frozen in my arms. His fur was frosted, his muscles rigid with cold. I pressed him to the warmth of my chest and wrapped my arms around him. He wasn’t even shivering.
That’s bad.
My pups little body was beyond the point of even trying to warm itself.

             
Clutching him to me, I launched us back into the house and kicked the door closed. A roar of brumal wind tore at the latch. The door burst open and hammered into me. My body flew across the kitchen into the wall. I clung to Eddyson as I tried to scramble away, but the force that had catapulted me, now dragged me by the arm across the floor into the living room. Grasping me by my arm and my pant leg, he pitched me onto the couch that groaned across the hardwood floor with the force. Stars danced in my eyes as my head struck the upholstered framework. I scrunched the pup’s Popsicle body to mine, curled myself around him as Nick had so often done to me. Now that I had him, I wasn’t giving him up for anything.

             
“Aren’t you going to welcome me home, darling?” His voice was a deep rumbling from the center of the earth.

             
It took a moment for my scrambled brain to focus on the back-lighted figure in front of me. But I didn’t need clear vision. I knew, without doubt, I had met him before. He was Rephaim, the dark angel of Nick and Sabre’s nightmares. His countenance was both human and inhuman at once; thin muscles stretched taut across his skull covered with sallow, leathery skin. His cheekbones jutted out in sharp contrast to cavernous and cadaverous eyes. They were black-hole eyes, lightless and lifeless, resident evil.

             
I curled myself tighter around Eddyson, grateful, at least, for this small favor, fleeting as it may be. His shallow breathing was only faintly palpable beneath my groping fingers. I prayed the heat of my body would revive him.

             
“You will be such a sweet treat,” the Wraith crooned as he ran a coarse finger down my cheek. I cringed under his touch; it brought back the vulgarity of his thoughts from our last encounter. I distracted myself, contemplated how much smaller he seemed now than he was in my memory.

             
“A bit of a diversion for your boys, I’m afraid,” he answered my memory. “I had no doubt they would recognize me without some subterfuge.” He feigned consideration. “But you, my dear one, so sweet. The terror in your eyes provokes my hunger. So tempting, the horrors inside you.” Bony fingers squeezed my face. “Oh, but whether to devour you first—or save you for dessert. Killing Nickolas before your eyes would only intensify the fresh nightmares that will make you all the more delectable.”

             
His familiar touch nauseated me, and I drew away instinctively. But he grasped my shirt and pulled me to him, face to face. Flecks of spittle spattered my cheeks. “Your Nickolas fairly sent up flares for all the power he has used around your little cottage here in recent days.” He sneered happily at the delicacy of my guilt. He dropped me back onto the sofa and stalked back and forth, an addict in withdrawal.

             
I wallowed in a mire of guilt. If Nick had not been protecting me--if I had been tougher—none of this would be happening. Nick and Sabre were now in danger because of me.

             
“And Mr. James,” he continued as he plucked the memories that raced through my head, “He is a Wraith himself for all intents, if only he would step over that fine little line to our side. But his morals,” he sneered, “keep him forever Caphar. Forever pitiful. Forever
weak
.” He spat the words as if they were a foulness in his mouth. “Perhaps I shall leave him alive with the glorious nightmares of witnessing the death of his beloved playmate and his playmates lover.”

             
The door. If I could just make it to the door. Tuck Eddy like a football and just haul.

             
The Wraith slithered sideways, opened my way.

             
No chance in hell!

             
Not against an immortal. Immortal may not mean vampire, but I’d never make it against his speed. My every thought betrayed me. And when he caught me…I’d be crushed, body and soul, probably in the most painful way.