Read Fever 4 - DreamFever for Free Online

he sings to me. Finally, he
gets inks and draws upon my skin. He has done it before. It tickles ... but soothes.
      I sleep.
      I dream of cold places and fortresses of black ice. I dream of a white mansion. I
dream of mirrors that are doorways to dreams and gateways to hell. I dream animals that
cannot exist. I dream of things I cannot name. I weep in my dreams. Powerful arms
band me. I shudder in them. I feel like I'm dying.
       There is something in my dream that wants me to die. Or at least cease living as far as
I understand it.
      It makes me angry. I will not cease to exist. I will not die, no matter how much pain
there is. I made a promise to someone. Someone who is my highest star, my brightest
sun. Someone I want to be like. I wonder who it is.
      I push on through the cold, dark dreams.
      A man wearing red robes reaches for me. He is beautiful, seductive, and very angry
with me. He calls to me, summons me. He has some kind of hold over me. I want to go
    to him. I need to go to him. I belong to him. He made me what I am. I will tell you of
she for whom you grieve, he promises. I will tell you of her last days. You long to hear.
Yes, yes, although I do not know of whom he speaks, I want desperately to hear about
her. Did she have happy days, did she smile, was she brave at the end? Was it quick?
Tell me it was quick. Tell me there was no pain. Find me the Book, he says, and I will
tell you all. Give you all. Call the Beast. Unleash it with me. I do not want this book. I
am terrified of it. I will give you back she for whom you grieve. I will give you back your
memories of her and more.
      I think I would die to have those memories back. There was a hole. Now there is a
hole where the hole was.
       You must live to get those memories back, another voice growls from a distance. I
feel tickling on my skin and hear chanting. It drowns out the voice of the man in red
robes. He is fury in crimson, melting into blood, then he recedes and I am safe from him
for now.
       I am a kite in a tornado, but I have a long string. There is tension in my line.
Somewhere, someone is holding on to the other end, and, although it cannot spare me
this storm, it will not let me be lost while I regain my strength.
      It is enough.
      I will survive.
    He plays music for me. I like it very much.
       I find something else to do with my body that gives me pleasure. He calls it dancing.
He sprawls on the bed, arms folded behind his head, a mountain of dark muscle and
tattoos against crimson silk sheets, watching me as I dance naked around the room. His
gaze is carnal, hot, and I know my dancing pleases him greatly.
      The beat is driving, intense. The lyrics apropos, for he has recently taught me that the
moment of pleasure is called "orgasm" or "to come," and the song is a cover of a Bruce
Springsteen song by someone called Manfred Mann. Over and over it says, I came for
you.
      I laugh as I sing it to him. I play it again and again. He watches me. I lose myself in
the rhythm. Head back, neck arched. When I look back at him, he is singing: Girl, give
me time to cover my tracks.
       I laugh. "Never," I say. If my beast thinks to leave me, I will track him. He is mine. I
tell him so.
       His eyes narrow. He lunges from the bed and is on me. I exhilarate him. I see it in his
face, feel it in his body. He dances with me. I am struck again by how strong and
powerful and sure of himself he is. On a predator scale of one to ten, I have enticed a
ten. That means I, too, am a ten. I am proud.
      Our sex is fierce. We will both be bruised.
      "I want it to always be like this," I tell him.
      His nostrils flare, obsidian eyes mock. "Try holding on to that thought."
      "I do not need to try. I will never feel differently."
      "Ah, Mac," he says, and his laughter is as dark and cold as the place of which I
dream, "one day you will wonder if it's possible to hate me more."
    My beast adores music. He has a pink thing he calls an