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Chapter 8

She had little time. The blood would need to be fresh to convince him. But first she needed to regain her composure, to fit her facade carefully back in place. The elation that had overtaken her with her Dreamer's death had rocked her usual calm, and it was vital that he not see the truth she had painstakingly kept hidden. She had been as circumscribed by a powerful Dreamer as he was, but now she was free as he would never be free, free and strong, free and fated to be stronger yet, but only if he never understood what she had done. So she delved within her inner ice, immersing herself in the frigid depths, thrilling to the feel of her veins filling with slush, her lungs filling with frost, her muscles and her bones and every nerve in her body transforming to crystalline, lovely ice. Ice made her impenetrable, gave her the illusion of permanence, granted her the power to deceive. That was the power her Dreamer had endowed her with, a power that he could no longer limit with each breath he took.

The cool smile again curled her lips and her eyes looked like miniature oceans in which countless ice floes drifted. Yet just as she was lifting her foot to take that one last step into his territory within the void, something shifted, as if a crack had marred the smooth surface of her facade in a spot where the ice should have been thickest, but was suddenly thinnest instead. From that one crack thousands others generated, tiny fissures streaking across the silvery ice one after the other until her facade was as shattered as a smashed mirror. Her carefully constructed self scattered in jagged fragments at her feet, leaving her more stripped and vulnerable than she had been since that never-to-be-forgotten moment when she had first stood shivering beside a small boy's bed as he screamed in horror. It had taken so many years, but she had finally killed that boy, had frozen his heart, frozen every drop of blood in his veins and air in his lungs, and had left him dead on the ground, had left him beside that other Dreamer who must not have surrendered after all, for somehow he was alive again, and she could feel the hot blood soaring through his veins and thundering in his heart, could feel his entire body aflame with more life than she had ever felt from him before. She had tried to convince that other Dreamer that she possessed less power than she thought, but she had clearly possessed even more than the ice queen herself had ever suspected, for only she could have returned life that a Figment had stolen.

So she stood shivering a step away from where he waited, his Dreamer's blood cooling in her hands, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt the bite of the cold. Her Dreamer was alive, his presence shaking her with an intensity she could not escape, and then he was gone from her senses, like a light that had been switched off, just as the demon's Dreamer was gone for him. Gone, but still palatably alive, alive even though she could feel nothing of him now, nothing at all. He was still alive, and she was weaker, not stronger than before. Yet like her lover's Dreamer, she would not surrender; she would use her weakness as a weapon, make it part of her well-stocked arsenal of deception. Pulling from her last reserves of ice, she again replaced her ravaged face with her beautiful facade, and still trembling, stepped into her lover and rival's presence.

There were furrows in the gray where he had stormed through, pacing restlessly as he awaited her return. The skin of his face writhed with barely suppressed fury as his eyes blazed with barely suppressed fear. He was accustomed to being in complete command, the master in every situation, and she could see that his need to rely on her, to even trust her, had chafed him almost beyond his ability to endure. He would be difficult to handle, almost impossible in her weakened state, but handle him she must.

He whirled around to face her as she slipped noiselessly into his realm, his eyes immediately riveted on her empty arms. "Where is she?" he roared. "Why didn't you bring me her dead body?"

She stepped closer, her cupped palms extended before her, the Dreamer's blood heavy in her hands. She made no attempt to hide the shaking of her limbs or steady the wavering of her face. "It was more than I could do," she whispered. "More of a burden than I had the strength to bear. So I brought you this instead."

His eyes narrowed to honed edges as he examined her face, but the smell of the blood distracted him, set him on fire so that he howled, burying his face in her hands to lap hungrily at the precious fluid. It was sweet on his tongue, sweeter than anything he had known before, and he glutted himself on its sweetness. He had no doubt that this was his Dreamer's blood; he could feel it just as he had once felt her, alive and vibrant on his tongue. He could smell her, taste her in the blood; could smell her fear, taste her pain, could even see her in his mind's eye as she somehow grappled with death. It was all in the blood, the sweet, intoxicating blood.

Yet there was so little blood, not nearly enough to sate his appetite, and as he licked away the last elusive drop from the shaking hands, he looked up and growled, "Why did you not bring more?"

She did not try to hide the quiver in her voice. "I brought what I could." It helped that she didn't really have to lie, that she could deceive him with a portion of truth. "She was stronger than you imagine. Almost too strong for me. Even though I surprised her, I couldn't hold her frozen. I couldn't soothe her with my man's face. I had to resort to the most basic form of bloodshed, and even then I only succeeded because she was distracted by the death of one of her companions." She drew a shuddering breath. "My confrontation with her left me weaker than I've been since I was first created. Bringing you a handful of her blood was all I could do."

He glared at her for a time, and then with a flash of motion she expected but could not anticipate, swiped his claws across her body and knocked her from her feet. "You have never been weak," he snarled as he loomed over her. "What trick are you playing now?"

She sprawled where she had fallen, making no effort to regain her feet, the full extent of her weakness only partially feigned. "Does it really come as a surprise to you," she gasped, "that the most powerful Figment ever created should possess a Dreamer with abilities far beyond the average Dreamer? Is it really so amazing that the Dreamer who so easily defeated your deadliest servants could cause problems for even me?"

He lunged forward and pulled her to her feet, his claws drawing thick drops of blood as they easily pierced her skin. "I feel no different," he boomed. "How do I even know she's dead? If she was as strong as you claim, how can I be certain you were able to succeed?"

"When my Dreamer died," she lied, "all I felt was a blank, as if he had vanished outside the range of my senses. What did you expect to feel? Did you expect to feel her heart stop, her breath freeze, her mind drift away?" I felt it with my Dreamer, she thought, but it meant nothing, nothing at all. It was a trick more devious than any I have ever played. It is your Dreamer who is deceptive, much more deceptive than me. "She's gone, so there is nothing for you to feel but her absence."

He shook her, and she swayed in his grasp as if she was water rather than ice at the core. "I don't trust you," he thundered, his eyes agleam with malice, lips curled back from his bloody fangs. "But I am ready to fulfill my end of the bargain regardless."

Real panic shot through her eyes, shattering the hard crystals that he could never before see beyond. "If you take me now," she panted, "I will not have the strength to survive. You will destroy me."

"So you are at my mercy," he gloated.

"Yes," she breathed. "Even a kiss of yours would make me vanish now. If you refuse me the chance to recover then I will perish. But if you wait," she added, her voice tinged with a seductive edge, "I will bow down and call you master. What Figment will dare question you when all see that you have finally vanquished me? You will gain greater power in my defeat than in my destruction. There is nothing as glorious as having a true opponent submit to your will. With me at your feet you shall truly reign supreme."

His hands on her tightened, his claws leaving jagged tears in her unprotected skin. "What trick are you trying to play now?" he thundered.

It was difficult to say, more difficult than she had anticipated, but it was a long game she played, and a seeming loss now would guarantee that the game was far from over. "There are no tricks left me," she whimpered. "I'm simply begging for my life."

"And what of our bargain?" he demanded, eyes full of undisguised lust now that she seemed to pose no threat.

"Let me recover," she answered, allowing her own desire to spark in her eyes. "I still want you, just as I have always wanted you. But I also want to live."

"And you will call me master?"

"Yes."

"And do my bidding?"

"Yes."

The slits in his eyes expanded, darkness reaching out to swallow everything he saw, and in that moment she feared herself lost, but then the slits contracted to a mere knife edge, and she knew that he had reined himself in, that he had allowed himself to be tempted by those promises she would never keep. "Very well," he rumbled, pulling her face against his until his fangs grazed her cheeks and she could smell the sweet blood on his breath. "As soon as you are yourself again, I will expect you to return to me." A smile sharper than the slits in his eyes split his face. "But don't take too long. I can already feel my power growing, and soon I may be so powerful that I will overwhelm you even at your full strength."

It was all to her advantage that her weakness had encouraged his delusions of increasing strength, but at the moment he could still crush her between his hands if he chose. It would be best if she didn't wait for him to change his mind. His claws continued to dig into her lacerated arms, but she simply closed her eyes and let her skin dissolve into fine crystals of ice that slipped through his fingers and swirled through the air before carrying her away to at least temporary safety.

This time when he began to pace, his clawed feet tearing chunks from the void, he was just as impatient for her return as he had been before, just as greedy for what she might bring, just as frenzied although this time not fearful at all, for when she reappeared, he would devour more than a handful of blood.

 

Even being wrapped in Gyfree's arms was not enough to distract Drew for long from the disconcerting problems she and her companions faced. After a few minutes of resting her head in the niche beneath his shoulder, she raised troubled eyes to the miraculously lively brown ones smiling down at her. "Exactly what are we supposed to do now?" she questioned. "You supposedly have a dangerous Dreamer on your hands—"

"In my hands, actually," Gyfree interrupted.

Drew wrinkled her nose at him but continued on as if he hadn't spoken, "Who must be returned to someplace that you people call the Source. Mischa and Timi's Figment are missing. Timi's Figment may have the power to ensnare anyone they meet, and it is probably up to us, or at least the two of you, to stop him before that happens. And we're being pursued by two incredibly powerful, murderous Figments. And we may have no warning before one or both of them descend on us again." She took a deep breath. "In other words, we couldn't dream up this much trouble even if we tried."

Gyfree's expression had grown more somber, but there was nothing at that point in time that could have banished the joy of simply being alive from his eyes. "What do you think, Timi?" he asked, turning his head toward the young woman.

Startled, Timi asked blankly, "What do I think?"

A flash of understanding passed between Gyfree and Drew, and then Gyfree repeated, "Yes, what do you think, Timi?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you've already shown some remarkable insights, and have proven yourself an invaluable companion. So what do you think?"

"You heard what your Figment said," Timi answered, the color draining from her face until it seemed she would disappear as dramatically as the ice queen had appeared. "I'm not even worth the effort to kill. I'm useless."

"And you believe a Figment who tricked her own lover into sending her here so she could kill Gyfree, and planned to trick him again with the lie that she had killed me?" Drew retorted. "For all you know, she lied about why she didn't kill you. Maybe she would have exhausted enough strength on you that she would have never been able to kill Gyfree. It doesn't matter what she said. All that matters is that you had enough presence of mind to distract her attention at the moment that could make the most difference. Without you, we would have lost."

Timi blinked, her eyes as full of doubt as a child who expects to be punished and is instead given a coveted treat, but when she spoke her voice was decisive. "To begin with, you both need to make sure your dreams ban your Figments from this world, although that may no longer be enough to keep them away. Especially if they are combining their powers in any way that you cannot envision. And because of something Gyfree's Figment said, I think we need to get away from this clearing as quickly as possible. We've been surprised by a Figment once, and I think it best if we avoid another similar surprise. Things might not end as well next time." The smile that twitched her lips was suggestively sly. "And I still think we should go after Mischa rather than rush Drew to the Source. Considering the things chasing both of you, I think it would be best if you stay close together for the time being. Your best chance of survival may be as a team, and the worst thing we could do right now is send Drew back to the other world. I hope the two of you don't mind working together," Timi said with mock sorrow even as her smile grew, "but I honestly feel that it's best for both worlds if you do."

Drew was surprised when Gyfree actually chuckled. Despite the dangers they faced, he was laughing. And a smile came to her own face, for she realized not only had she never heard Gyfree laugh before, but that it was one of the most wonderful sounds she had ever heard. Their lives were all in danger, the living world beneath their feet was in peril, and yet Drew and her companions plunged into the woods to follow Mischa's trail with grinning faces and light-filled eyes.

 

Alone she knew cold as no other being could ever know it. She was immobilized by the cold, her limbs stiff and heavy at her sides, the blood in her veins thick as syrup, the breath in her lungs a solid block. Her skin was so cold that it had hardened, and was now as thick and unyielding as her dense, frozen bones. She could no more change the expression on her face than she could close her eyes, for her lashes were frozen to her skin and she had no choice but to watch the cold radiating outward from where she rested, freezing the swirls of gray into grotesque shapes that teased her with hidden meanings. The cold reached through her and beyond her, tempering her like heat tempered steel. As the cold grew, so did her strength, until like water enclosed in a glass bottle and crammed inside a freezer, she had expanded to the point where she knew she must burst, shattering the very thing that had once given her shape. Yet like the water turned ice, the only true shape was the one she had now become, and she no longer required anything beyond herself and beyond the cold that gave her life, that was her life, that was her. For her there was no sensation beyond the cold: no pain, no hunger, no fear. She was simply cold; nothing more and nothing less than completely cold. This was, after all, how she had been dreamt, and how she would remain if she could not prevail against her lover. Nothing and no one except him could touch her without becoming what she was herself. And maybe now not even he could withstand the terrible, terrible cold. With that thought, the thought of his heat captured by her cold, transforming her cold, she knew that despite her previous denial, there still remained other sensations, sensations that not even the cold could freeze away: there was greed and there was desire, just as there were always greed and desire where he was concerned.

She had arrived here so weak, unexpectedly drained by her Dreamer's miraculous resurrection and by the brutal hand of her lover. She had not even been certain that the cold would return to salvage her, and she had sprawled nearly lifeless on the ground, cold enough to shiver, but not nearly cold enough. It had been slow, had taken so long, as if she had been gripped by the ruthless hands of summer and would never again be released to winter's loving embrace. Summer could not thaw her, but it still would not free her, and she shuddered uncontrollably because she knew she would never be cold enough again. Then finally autumn had come to run kind fingers through her hair until she could feel the faintest touch of frost. As if she had been a tree in one of multiple worlds, autumn had stripped away all her color, stripped her and left her barren, exposed to the coming of the cold. For a long time she had shivered in anticipation, longing for the first breath of ice to caress her skin, and when at last it had come, she had wept tears of joy and relief, wept until the tears were frozen on her cheeks and across the film of her eyes.

Now at last she was herself again, perhaps even more than herself, for she had given herself to the cold with an abandon she had never known before, an abandon that had never seemed necessary before. She had always been ice at her core, but now she was filled with ice as hard and exquisite as diamonds. She could meet her lover, and meet him as an equal, for she felt stronger than she had before, strong enough to have a chance. And despite all her setbacks, she knew she could win, for she had an advantage in the upcoming struggle that he didn't even know was a struggle. He thought he was stronger because of his Dreamer's death, but she knew he was weaker than ever before, and it was her knowledge of the truth that she could use as a weapon to deceive and to conquer. As he would soon learn, there was no greater weakness than a mistaken belief in power.

From the surrounding void she pulled every last degree of cold into herself until her skin actually tingled and her eyes sparked frost. The gray swirled around her once more, the grotesque shapes dissolving back to mist. She was ready at last, armored in ice and armed with her deviousness and her desire. And whatever might befall, when it was over, she would be free as never before, free from her lifelong reliance on the cold.

When she stepped into his presence, the silver flecks dropping around her ankles like a discarded gown, his eyes were already burning into her. Then he was upon her, claws reaching out to seize hold, fangs on her throat, and she threw herself into battle with all the abandon with which she had thrown herself into the cold.

 

The trail left by Mischa and the Figment was easy to follow; they might have fled from their companions, but there was no evidence that they had given the least thought to the possibility that they might actually be followed. Neither Timi nor Gyfree needed to comment that such negligence was unlike Mischa, for the glances they exchanged and the growing crease between Gyfree's eyes said it clearly enough. Whatever was happening, it seemed obvious that Mischa was far too absorbed in her new lover to pay much heed to anything else, and the occasional signs of amorous rest stops only further confirmed that Mischa truly wasn't herself.

At first the trail through the woods was meandering and unsure, but then suddenly it altered, shifting away from the Barrier toward the interior of Gyfree's world. As the three stood at the apparent turning point in Mischa's travels, Gyfree's eyes glazed out of focus, as if he was conversing with someone or something distant. When his gaze returned, the light in his eyes had noticeably dimmed. "According to the land," he announced, "they're heading toward the nearest town. And quickly." His eyes shifted to Timi's face. "Why the sudden change in course and speed?" he asked curtly.

"People," she whispered. "He wants to gain control over more people. Maybe he's growing tired of just Mischa. Or maybe she inadvertently mentioned that there were more people in this world than he's ever imagined. Either way, it's people he wants, and people he'll soon get in abundance if we can't catch up with him first."

"He won't really be able to enslave just anybody, will he?" Drew interjected. "His powers are limited, aren't they? After all, his control over the three of us was minimal."

Timi shook her head gently, as if correcting a small child. "The three of us were protected in ways he couldn't overcome. But there are many people in this world who will fall easy prey to his wiles. Look how easily he seduced Mischa. She is a strong-minded woman, and she thought she was in love with Gyfree, but her attachment was far too weak to make a difference. Only those with the most ardent and intimate sort of bonds will be immune. He can lure children from parents, friends from friends, and even some lovers from lovers. There will be more people he can captivate than those he can't." She met Gyfree's bleak gaze with one of her own. "How far ahead of us are they?"

"Much farther than they should be," he answered. "They're hours away from the nearest town. And at this rate, we won't catch up for at least two days."

"How is that possible?" Timi gasped.

"I don't know," Gyfree replied. "But they were only a few hours ahead of us when we started. Perhaps there are other talents your Figment possesses."

This time when Timi shook her head, she looked like a small child who had been asked to answer a question outside the realm of her simple understanding. "Not that I know of."

"Well," Gyfree grumbled, squeezing Drew's hand so tightly that she winced, "there's nothing we can do but follow, and hope that he doesn't do more damage than we can cope with."

Without another word, the three set off in the wake of the Figment's passing. Before long, however, all signs that anyone had traveled this way completely and abruptly vanished. The surrounding trees whispered to Gyfree that the path they followed was the path they sought, but there was no evidence other than the voice of the land to convince them that they weren't chasing insubstantial phantoms. It wasn't that someone had left a trail and then painstakingly covered any incriminating tracks. Gyfree knew every trick that Mischa knew; there simply were no tracks to cover up. No tracks at all. The others had passed this way, passed with incredible speed, and left no mark of their presence on the land, although the land had still marked their presence.

It was far into the night when the weary trackers finally stumbled to a halt. They had long ago broken free from the forest, and had spent the last hours wading through knee-high grasses that whispered soothingly to them as they staggered on. The sky had filled with a creamy yellow moon that indeed looked like a wedge of cheese suspended above, and its mellow glow had led them on until their legs could no longer support them. Beneath the yellow moon they had collapsed, and the long grasses had bent beneath them to cushion them from the hard ground, and had folded over them to cloak them against the chill of the air. They were too tired to even speak, and Drew hoped, too tired to dream. She snuggled into the silky grass and, with her hand tucked snugly into Gyfree's for the night, immediately fell asleep.

 

Forgotten in the backseat of a car, she watched as her parents sped through a misty countryside over an old brick road. Her heart clenched, for she knew this dream, had suffered through it innumerable times before, although she had not felt its grip for several years. Her parents were there, in the front seat, but they were too far away to touch, and growing farther away every second. Their eyes were on the road, on some unseen destination known only to them, some objective into which she did not figure. The car around her grew insubstantial, and despite the certain outcome, she tried desperately to find something to hold, groping around until suddenly there was no car beyond the front seat in which her parents still sat, their eyes fixed firmly ahead, never looking back as she fell to the pavement, never even realizing that she was gone. She sprawled where they had left her, watching them vanish as they had not watched her, and then they were gone, and she knew they were never coming back, for they never came back, and she would always be alone in this strange place, alone with no idea what to do.

"It doesn't have to be so bleak," a voice sounded behind her.

In a blink she was up on her feet and turning to face the source of the voice. A man stood before her, a man with twinkling blue eyes and a crooked smile, dark hair curling down his neck, hands deep in his pockets as he gazed down at her. "What doesn't have to be so bleak?" she questioned.

"This dream," he answered. "So what if they're gone? You never really needed them anyway; even when you were small you were quite independent. And you certainly don't need them now. For all you know, the reason they never look back is because you can't remember their faces."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied his friendly expression. "Who are you?" she asked. "And where am I?" In a dream, but what dream? 

"Name's Sevor," he responded, the grin spreading across his face until she was certain his chin would fall away. "And you're here with me."

"Am I dreaming?" Still her childhood nightmare, or a new dream, or perhaps a dream within the first dream? 

"Yes and no."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Waiting to wake up, or just dreaming that it was possible to wake up when the only possible reality was just another dream? 

He shifted his weight from foot to foot and shrugged his shoulders. "A dream brought you here. But you're not asleep or dreaming anymore."

"Where's Gyfree?" Not just a dream, please, not just a dream. 

"Looking for you. He should be here soon."

"What about Timi?" Lost because of one dream, but maybe that was always how it started. 

"She needed a little nudging. And some help. But she'll get here eventually."

Drew stomped a foot for emphasis as she demanded, "And just where is here?" And where was the other world, the dream world that seemed so real, that she wanted so desperately to be real? 

The slap of hurried footsteps on rough pavement pulled away Sevor's attention before he could answer, but Drew had already turned her face in the direction of the sound and didn't notice. Running down the road directly toward her was Gyfree, his rusty hair more disheveled than ever, his eyes black holes in his face, and his mouth a thin, hard line. He ran straight to her, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her close so that she could feel the trembling in his limbs. "You disappeared on me again," he mumbled into her hair. "How many times before I can't find you? Before you disappear completely?" His lips pressed into hers, and for a moment, this strange unidentified world fell away and they clung together, bodies so close they seemed like a single being dreaming a solitary dream.

Then a throat cleared nearby, and a friendly voice apologized, "Just thought I ought to remind you that you're not alone this time."

Gyfree raised his eyes to glare at the other man. "Where in the worlds are we?" he growled.

Sevor grinned even more broadly than before. "I've never been good at answering a lot of questions, so why don't we wait for the last of you to arrive so I can explain all at once?"

There was a shimmering in the air nearby, and then Timi was standing there, her skin translucent and her eyes awed. "I dreamed that I needed to find you," she whispered. "Am I really here? And where is here?"

Before anyone could respond, Sevor stepped forward and slapped Timi sharply across one cheek. Where his hand struck, her skin turned bright red, the outline of his fingers vivid on her flickering face. Like the poison from a Figment bite, the red laced through her skin, streaking out from each finger of color and spreading rapidly down her body until she glowed hotly from head to toe. Then as quickly as it had blossomed, the red receded, and Timi was left standing there as solidly as the rest of them, her skin a healthy and definitely opaque pink. "Sorry," apologized Sevor, "but you needed something to snap you awake and bring you fully here. There's just nothing like a good slap to bring someone to themselves."

"You still haven't explained where here is," Drew snapped impatiently. "Or who you are, for that matter."

"Told you, name's Sevor. You're in my world now. And I'm here to help you. Might even say I'm here to save the day."

"Did you bring us here?" Gyfree demanded.

"No, that's not in my power," Sevor answered, the grin still splitting his face as if he was barely containing his glee. "I just knew that Drew would dream herself here, and that you would follow. I had to nudge Timi so she would dream herself here after you, but each of you got here on your own."

"How did you know I would dream myself here? And how do you know who we are?" Drew questioned, frowning at Sevor from within the circle of Gyfree's arm.

"I'm a Dreamer in this world," Sevor answered, "but that means something different here. In my world, Dreamers don't dream something into reality; they dream of realities that already exist. Or that are on the verge of existing. And our strongest Dreamers sometimes dream of the realities that are unfolding in other worlds. I'm a very strong Dreamer, so I have dreamed often of all of you. I have seen you in my dreams, learned your names and watched your lives each night as I slept. And tonight when I dreamed, I saw you arriving here, so I woke myself up and rushed here to meet you. Because in my dream, I knew I must. You see, in my world, Dreamers never dream about themselves, but tonight I did, so I knew that after a lifetime filled with dreams of you, your reality would finally be mine as well."

Timi at last spoke up, "Are we fully here, or are we here in just a dream?"

"You're here all right. At least as best as I can tell. When Drew heard me speak, she pulled herself out of her dream and ended up here. When her hand vanished from his, Gyfree woke up and dreamed himself after her. And when I slipped into your dream, you dreamed yourself partially here. When I slapped you, your sleeping body followed your dreaming body and mind."

"How did you slip inside my mind?" Timi asked.

"I didn't really, but what happened is outside my normal experience, and I'm not really sure how best to explain it. I dreamed of you dreaming, and in my dream I saw that you would never find your way here unless you had help. Then in my dream I was suddenly beside you, shaking you by the shoulder and telling you what to do. I knew in my dream that you had somehow understood, and that your arrival had become as sure a reality as Drew's or Gyfree's. Yet no one from my world has ever influenced reality before, so I'm not sure how I helped dream you here, but I am sure that tonight my dreams showed me a new reality. A reality in which a Dreamer from my world could actually take part."

A crease folded Drew's forehead as she puzzled through Sevor's tangled string of words. "So Dreamers in your world only see things, but never take part in any of the things they dream?" she queried.

"That's right," Sevor confirmed.

"So how do you explain the fact that you, a Dreamer, are taking part in something you've dreamed?" Drew inquired.

Sevor's smile broadened. "Now that is the question, isn't it? Well, my answer, since I have had a little time to consider it, is that one of you dreamed me into your lives because I am the solution to a problem that has been nagging you all day. You didn't dream of me personally, or at least I don't believe you did. But you did dream that there would be some way to detach Mischa from the Figment. And here I am."

"How are you going to destroy the Figment's influence over her?" Gyfree demanded.

"You can't just destroy the Figment," Timi added. "If you do, you might kill Mischa, and any other people he's enslaved. If they are too enmeshed, they will die with him, simply because they have lost the will to live without him."

"I know," Sevor replied, and for the first time since they had encountered him, the smile faded slowly from his face. "As much as I would like to wring the Figment's neck, it just won't do any good. Back when you first asked Gyfree for help, it was still possible to destroy the Figment without real harm, but it's too late for such rough-and-ready action now. He has entangled Mischa so completely that for now she can't live without him. But the others he has enslaved since he left you should hopefully be a simpler matter. Since Mischa has filled most of his needs, his hold on them may not be as demanding. And even for Mischa, there's still a hope, a hope that I was surprised to see in my dreams."

"You haven't answered my question," Gyfree stated tersely. "How are you going to remove Mischa from the Figment?"

"There is only one thing that can save her," Sevor responded, his eyes suddenly as dark as Gyfree's. "She must form an attachment to another person strong enough to break the Figment's hold." He smiled again, but this time his face filled with pain and self-deprecation. "I have dreamed of Mischa for years now. I know her almost as well as I know myself. And I have loved her for a very long time. If I can make her love me back, then the Figment will lose his control. It may not be much of a hope, but it's the only one you have. And the only one, however impossible it has always seemed, that has lightened my entire life. That's why one of you dreamed me into your reality. I'm the one person with the will and the desire to win Mischa back from the Figment; the one person who will do whatever it takes. You might say I am exactly what the Dreamer ordered."

 

The fangs on her neck burned through the ice, sinking through layer after layer until the heat of their touch was against her skin and her blood was spurting into his mouth. On the surface she melted, groaning as his forked tongue slid across her skin, then slithered into her ear and across the delicate nerves at the base of her skull. His tongue and his fangs explored her face, licking away the ice from her eyes, gnawing the ice from her lips; then he was plunging into her open mouth like a diver indifferent to the threat of drowning. Like the sea she welcomed him, enfolding him within her coolness, sliding along his skin, clouding his eyes, filling his nose, threatening to steal the air hidden in his lungs. Yet just as she drew him in, he also drew her. The taste of smoke filled her mouth, its texture rich on her tongue, and careless of consequences, she slipped her icy tongue through his razor teeth so she might sate herself on the flavor. As their tongues entangled, fire and ice together, he too groaned, amorous flames bursting from his skin as her icy nails slid across his shoulders and trailed glacial paths down his sides to rest against his powerful hips. In urgency his claws scattered slivers of ice as he raked them down her back to clutch her buttocks and pull her against him so that she might feel the burning and throbbing need that drove him. Sliding a thigh between his two, she deliberately drew up her knee, pressing her frosty flesh against the spot where he burned the hottest, until his entire body erupted into new and brilliant flames. Then his massive arms were swinging her off the ground and flames were caressing her as he held her high, his tongue thawing the snowy crevice between her breasts, his fangs grazing the chilly slopes.

She had him now, had pushed him beyond the point of caution. She wrapped her arms around his stooped neck, running her fingers through the flames sprouting from his head, her body arching in his hold. Then they were both plunging through the writhing swirls of gray, his body heavy and pressing down, his thighs demanding, her thighs wrapping around his heaving hips. It was this moment she had waited for, this moment when she must hold to the inner ice, this moment when she must watch her prey closely so she might know when to pounce.

His lips closed on hers, his fangs pressing down as fiercely as his body, his breath filling her mouth with sparks, his need everything she had ever desired. As he took her she clung desperately to the ice buried deep inside, her inner fingers scrambling urgently to maintain their hold. His need, and her own suppressed needs, almost swept her away, but her most secret ice froze to her slipping fingers, and when at last he groaned and fell limply against her, she knew that she had won. But there would be little time before he would return fully to himself, little time to take full advantage of her victory, so she must act quickly.

Even as she lay beneath him, she cast her invisible self forward, not through the void or into some distant world, but into and through the mind and being of her sated lover. It would now be an easy task to find and seize hold of his most inner flame, to capture it, to take everything that made him who and what he was, and to make it her own, so that she could be everything that she had always been, and everything that he had been as well, so that she could become more than she had ever been before, could finally become even more than him. Changeable whenever she chose, unalterable whenever she chose, from now on she would have no limits, would be anything and everything she had ever wanted to be. Ice and fire. It was hard to resist either, but impossible to resist both. And from this time forward no one and nothing would be able to resist or withstand her again.

She plunged through the inner flames, but something seemed wrong. It wasn't as easy as it should have been. She had been here before, the last time he had taken her, for even though she had then allowed herself to be carried away, she had returned before he had. So she had delved within his being, not with anything specific in mind, but out of simple curiosity. And in the quiet before his return, she had found the heart of the fire, had seen it and recognized it for what it could do. She had been mesmerized by its heat, by its enduring hunger, and she had forgotten everything in that moment, forgotten to slip back into her own body and shift her face back to the icy one he expected, and not the hideous one that her passion had exposed. His howl of anger had brought her back to herself, but too late, for he knew at last that she had tricked him, knew that she wasn't his icy counterpart, the frozen version of his immutable fiery self as she had claimed, and his anger had been more violent than any she could have envisioned, violent enough to make even her shiver.

It had seemed as if it was too late for her then, too late to hold on to the lover she would always desire, and far too late to claim that glorious hidden fire that was more precious than even his most ardent embrace. Yet she had been patient, working her way slowly back into his attention, tempting him with the icy beauty he still craved, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to take him, everything that was him, and make it her own. And she had succeeded; he had fallen silent against her, his passion spent, and she had returned to claim what she had earned. But it was wrong, all wrong. There was smoke everywhere, blinding her vision, and flames rioting out of control. There was no clear path as there had been before, but instead a maze of burning tunnels that turned her around, confusing her even more than the smoke.

It only took a moment for her to realize that she was lost, that she was trapped, before she felt his claws digging into her body's arms, and then from an insurmountable distance she could see his eyes burning down into her vacant ones, could hear him growl, "So that was what you wanted. I knew not to trust you, but you forgot to distrust me." Something within her body stirred, and she realized that he had not sated himself after all; he had waited, as patiently as she had always waited, holding his own passion in rein so that he could lay a clever trap for her. He moved now, moved against her, and she was too far from her own core of ice to take hold. This time he carried her body as far as it could go and there was nothing she could do to stop him; he carried her inner self to the heart of his hidden fire and dropped her there, and as both her selves thrashed in delight, he reached in and seized everything that made her who and what she was. And made it his own.

 

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Framed