“That may be,” he acknowledged, “but the same could be said of any of us here today.” Salazar glanced around at the assembled figures. While the souls under their guidance might find a relatively simple path to redemption, their own repentance would be more complicated. This was fitting since their crimes had invariably impacted the course of humanity over time. Lilith knew, as did all the others, that each time they helped a soul to find peace, they too moved closer to forgiveness.
“It is Anaxandridas. He has answered a call,” Calliope whispered, her eyes glowing with delight.
“This is the one,” Salazar spoke with confidence.
“How could you possibly know that, old man?” Lilith rolled her eyes.
“Because I can feel it,” Salazar replied, “and so can he.”
Chapter Two
It had been more than a year…in fact, eighteen long months, since that horrible night. Eighteen months during which he’d watched her every move, learned to recognize her moods, her expressions, the inflections of her voice. Xander knew her better than he knew himself. Had often ached to reach out to her when the sorrow had overwhelmed her. He’d wanted to console her with pleasure. He knew it was wrong. Those months of mourning were not a time to try to ease his way into her dreams, find a place in her mind, and lodge there, become part of her thoughts.
Tonight was different.
He wasn’t sure why, but he knew the moment had come to change things. She was ready to move past her grief. Ready to begin the next chapter of her life.
“Rebecca.”
The sound of her name whispered over the soft skin of her neck with a warm breath. She stirred beneath the sheets and sighed. Somewhere in the depths of her dreams, the shape of him was taking hold, becoming real to her.
“Rebecca.”
She shifted again, turning her head slightly to expose the length of her throat. That warm breath fluttered along her flesh. A fingertip traced the line from beneath her ear to the curve that met her collarbone.
“Mmmm,” she murmured, still deep within the clutches of sleep. The fingertip traced further, slipping the strap of her nightgown aside. Her skin tingled at the touch, fingers slightly rough; a smattering of gooseflesh rose in their wake. She turned her head again, trailing a tangle of rich, golden curls across her face.
“Angel…” A hand traced up to stroke the curls clear, twining through the silky strands. “So beautiful.” Her lips tilted up in response, the words filtering deep into her subconscious. His fingers followed the curve of her smile, memorizing their shape. He tugged at the sheet that covered her shoulders, sliding the smooth fabric down her chest. The fallen strap of her nightgown left an expanse of bare skin that glowed in the moonlight. He stroked tiny patterns over her breastbone, dipping forward to dot a barely perceptible kiss in the small hollow at the base of her throat. She whimpered slightly and tipped her head back, arching her back up and pressing her chest towards him. The invitation was unmistakable; he tugged at the sheet covering her, pulling it down the length of her body. The silken fabric of her nightgown draped over her sweet curves, moving fluidly as she shifted. A row of little buttons fastened the garment shut, and he flicked the top one loose, trailing the tip of his tongue over the newly exposed skin there. He slipped the next button free and repeated the gesture. Her hands slid over the bedsheet beside her, fingers stroking then curling into the sheets. He flicked open another button and pulled the garment aside to uncover the full curves of her breasts. Her chest heaved as she inhaled when he cupped each lush globe in a warm palm. He stroked his thumbs over the puckering peaks of her dark nipples. Her breath hissed slightly.
“Ohhhh…” It was a silken sigh, her lips parting slightly. He watched her face intently, then leaned forward to brush his own lips against hers. Her lashes flickered slightly as he breathed her name into her mouth.
“Rebecca…” The word was a sigh that came from deep in his chest in a low ripple. “Rebecca, shall I please you?” It seemed odd to ask, but he knew this had to be her choice. Without it, there’d be no point in continuing. He paused, waiting, suspended, still just a shimmering presence in her mind, but beginning to take solid shape.
“Mmmmm….yes…” The soft response came from a place she wouldn’t know existed if she was awake, but it was all he needed. His lips trailed down her cheek to her ear, tongue exploring the delicate shell, teeth nipping at her lobe. Her mouth curled up again, and she shivered. He moved down her body, feeling her moving languidly beneath him. Aware that he had substance now, he took care not to press down on her, stopping as his thighs straddled hers. The woman beneath him writhed slightly, arms curling up a little, a glorious halo of golden locks spreading out around her head. The soft moonlight filtering into the room lit the lines of her face. Broad forehead, high cheekbones, sweetly curved jawline, full lips that parted again now as he gazed at her.
“Face of an angel,” he murmured again, voice husky. He traced his fingers from her open mouth, leaving a wet trail down her throat and torso as he headed back to the little buttons. Her chest was bare to her ribcage now, and he tugged the nightdress further, eager to see all of her. He fumbled slightly and yanked harder, cursing as a button flew off. He slowed himself and carefully unhooked the rest of them, then spread the material open. His turn to sigh now as he stared down at her nakedness. She glowed. Skin so smooth and clear, it seemed to be made from the moonlight that touched it. He traced her lines, the subtle ridges of her ribcage, the curve of her waist, the soft flare of her hip. A low groan built in his chest, and she murmured in response.
“You’re perfect,” he breathed, stroking both hands along her curves. Curves that felt utterly familiar, like he’d known her forever, like he already knew every inch of her. In that instant, he was certain this was right, that she’d been made for him. His woman. Her man.
Well, almost.
He trailed a finger down between her ribs to her navel, then further, to where a dark golden triangle formed at the juncture of her thighs. Her hips tilted up slightly and she moved her legs beneath him. He shifted and pushed a knee between her thighs, spreading them open and taking up position between her legs. He felt her slide her feet up the bed, her knees bending as she clasped them against his sides. He watched her face carefully, searching for signs of waking. Still, her eyes stayed shut, mouth parting slightly as she flicked the tip of her tongue along her top lip. He turned and took her foot into his hand, raising her leg and brushing his cheek along the arch of her foot. She stiffened and moaned softly; he took her toes into his mouth and sucked. Her response was almost violent, hips bucking up, body arching. He watched, riveted, as her thighs spread wider, the lips of her sex parting, glistening. He stroked a path up her other leg and slid a finger between those wet lips, up the hot slit behind them. When he withdrew his hand, his fingers shone slickly.
‘How long has it been for her?’ he wondered. She groaned, and he turned his attention back to her face, reaching up to pinch each puckered nipple between his sticky fingers before leaning down to suck the juices off her flesh. Savoring her flavor, learning it …
“Ohhh!” she moaned, arching her back up, thrusting her breast towards his mouth. One hand curled up to the back of his head and pressed his face against her. For an instant, he froze, feeling her fingers tangling into his hair. Would she wake? What if she woke? All his skills had been honed to maintain the illusion of ‘rightness’ for her. There should be no sense of shock or violation…but if she touched him and didn’t recognize him… What if he’d fucked it up? Her other hand strayed up to his shoulder, nails biting into his skin as she moaned and writhed again, and he relaxed. The only thing she was thinking about right now was the sensation of his mouth on her breast. He grazed his teeth lightly over the hard tip, and she twisted, grinding her mound against the hard muscles of his thigh. He lowered his hand over the curve of her belly and cupped her, loving the way his fingers slid easily between her lips. Her pussy gaped open and he dipped his middle fi
nger into the hot entrance. He could feel the moisture seeping out as he pushed deeper. He raised his mouth from her breast to look down at where his hand worked. The skin of her stomach had flushed pink, and a slight sheen of sweat began to form. He crooked his finger and pressed his thumb over her clit, tracing tiny circles over the tingly bundle of nerves. She tossed her head and rocked against him, legs tangling into the bedclothes as her feet sought purchase to raise herself towards him, and then clumsily dropping down. He slid his calf around hers and trapped her thigh, pinning her legs open as he slid another finger into her wetness. The muscles of her pussy clamped and tightened around his fingers and she gasped as he spread them apart, opening her wider.
“Please! Oh! God!” She was eager with the need to get closer to him, hips undulating, fingers raking at the muscles of his biceps. He thrust his fingers deeper into her, thumb still thrumming her clit as he sucked down on her nipple again, hand clasped tightly around the flesh of her breast. Her breath was coming in rough gasps, and he could feel from the spasms deep inside her that it wouldn’t be long now …
Sliding up further, he leaned his forehead against hers, nose to nose, lips almost touching. He pinned her with his body so her wild gyrations wouldn’t dislodge his fingers from her heat.
“Come. Rebecca… Come for me,” he whispered.
It wasn’t an instruction, but she responded as if she had no option. Like a bow strung taut, she arched, froze … and then released a hoarse cry as the sensations unwound in her belly, rippled down her thighs. Xander inhaled the sounds she made, sucking in the tiny sobs that mirrored the spasms in her deepest parts. He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, feeling the tears streaked there mingling with perspiration. He licked the salty mixture, pulling her face into the crook of his neck and cradling her as her breathing returned to normal, his hand still cupped over her throbbing sex. She curled into him, nuzzling her face into his skin and murmuring softly, like a child. Xander gathered her against his chest as a wave of need overwhelmed him, a need to shield and protect her.
“Angel. My angel,” he whispered.
“Ryan…I love you,” she breathed, sighing.
He forced his body to remain relaxed as he frowned into the darkness.
“I love you too, angel,” he replied. He waited for her to sink back into slumber before carefully rebuttoning her nightdress and pulling the covers back over her sleeping form. The air around him crackled slightly, took on a misty haze, surrounding him with a faint, gold light. He shut his eyes, knowing in his heart that she would be the one to save him.
My salvation.
The room went cold, as if a winter wind had swept through it, and then he was gone. In the darkness, the curtains swished open and then fluttered shut.
***
Sensing the change in the room, Rebecca stirred.
“Ryan?” She sat up and took a deep breath, turning to sweep a hand over the pillows beside her, eyes bleary. “Ryan, are you there?” Her words met with silence, and she hugged her arms around herself, rocking slightly. As consciousness dawned, depression came with it, along with tears. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. The dream had been so real. She’d felt him. Even now, her body still hummed with pleasure. He’d been there with her. She sniffed and took a deep breath, dashing away the tears and sinking back against the pillows.
Just a dream.
She turned onto her side and pulled her knees up, curling like a child beneath the covers. The warm throb between her thighs a reminder of the vivid images of her dream.
So real.
Her mind was playing tricks on her. Ryan’s side of the bed was empty, his bedsheets as cool as his body had been on the day she’d gone to identify him all those months ago. He’d been waxy, pale. Of course he’d been pale. The life had been snuffed from him by some senseless maniac who’d thought it would be ok to have one more drink before getting behind the wheel. She shivered as she remembered Ryan’s face. The smooth, features strangely untouched, giving no hint at the mangled mess his body was beneath the discretely-positioned sheet. Dead on impact – she prayed they hadn’t just said that to console her. His car had been a wreck, barely recognizable as something that a human could fit into and drive. She hadn’t been to see it, but her father had seen photos from the insurance assessment and, for some reason, seen fit to show her. A write-off, obviously. She tossed beneath her sheets, then rolled into a sitting position.
“Dammit, enough!” It was early, but light was filtering into the room and she knew there’d be no chance of sleep now. With a sigh, she swung her feet to the floor and shuffled to the bathroom.
“Might as well get moving, I need a shower,” she mumbled to herself, staring hazily at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess around her shoulders. She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear her vision; sky-blue blinked back at her from behind dark lashes. She frowned slightly. Her skin had a slight glow that hadn’t been there before, lips rosy, cheeks pink, which made a pleasant change from the paleness of the past few months.
“Mom will be pleased,” she muttered before moving her fingers to the buttons of her nightdress and fumbling to undo them. Then stopped.
“What?” She furrowed her brow and examined her pajamas. A tiny piece of fabric had torn loose where a button used to be. She inhaled sharply as a rush of images flooded through her mind, warm hands stroking down her chest, grabbing at the dress and yanking it open …
She sat down on the side of the bath abruptly, knees suddenly weak.
“It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream,” Becky repeated the words like a mantra. After so many months of existing like a zombie, she’d finally started to think it was possible for life to feel normal again. She was absolutely not allowing herself to succumb to the insanity that had seemed to lurk on the fringes of her mind since Ryan’s death.
“You’re not going mad,” she whispered to herself.
Chapter Three
Rebecca drove to work in a trance. Luckily, she’d driven the route so often it had become ingrained. The walk across the parking lot, through security to her office, passed in a blur. She was vaguely aware of greeting coworkers, smiling at people in the corridors…although if she’d been asked to repeat a word she’d said, she’d be stumped.
“Well, look at you! Oy! Becky! You in there?” A bright voice snapped her out of her reverie.
“Hmmm? What? Oh! Hi, Rosie.” She smiled absently at Roseanne Will, her favorite colleague and dearest friend. The tiny brunette made up for her small stature with a personality that could fill a room. A bustling bundle of energy, Rebecca had never seen her looking bleak. Today, the contrast to her own mood seemed more evident than ever, and she pulled her shoulders back and plastered a smile on her face. “Sorry, hun, got a lot on my mind.” She headed to her desk and dropped her briefcase beside her chair.
“Oh, really? And what would that be, pray tell? Auntie Roseanne wants to know all about it,” the little woman pressed, following her into the cubicle and leaning against her desk. “You’re not getting up to some new mischief without telling me, are you? Bingo? Quilting? A new man?” Rebecca felt her cheeks color, and Rosie’s eyes widened. “No! Really? You’ve met someone? Tell me it’s true!”
“No, nothing like that, really!” she protested.
“Well, that blush tells a different story, darlin’,” Rosie teased, crossing her arms over her chest and resting back against the desk as if getting ready to settle in. “Someone has that ‘freshly fucked’ look about her.”
“Rosie!” Rebecca gasped. “What rubbish! I just had a rough night, that’s all.”
“Rough nights don’t result in such a slutty glow,” Rosie laughed. “Unless it’s that kind of rough night.” She winked.
“Seriously, Rose, I haven’t met anyone,” Becky assured her. She slid into her chair and flicked the power switch on her workstation. “I didn’t sleep well, had some really vivid dreams, and now my head feels foggy.”
“What kind of vivid dreams?” Rosie was relentless. “Wet ones? Then maybe it’s time to find a new man after all!”
“Honestly, Roseanne! Do you ever think of anything other than sex?” Becky huffed, directing her mouse across her computer screen and clicking irritably at icons. She only used her friend’s full name when she was chastising her. Everyone loved to tease the little woman about her name, and ‘Rosie’ had stuck since school. “Rosie Will. Oh yeah, Rosie will alright!” Rather than rejecting it, the woman had reveled in the attention. Her sexual confidence was almost intimidating, and people were often amazed that the two were such firm friends. Almost impossibly sweet-natured, Rebecca North had earned the nickname True North when she took a vow of chastity at the age of 14. It was a vow she’d broken some years later when she’d lost her heart to Ryan Truman, football hero and school heartthrob. Nobody ever gave her a tough time over that broken vow – who could blame her? He’d been so damn gorgeous! But the nickname stuck. When the couple announced their engagement after she’d graduated from art college, everyone insisted that they should both change their surnames to Tru-North after the wedding. “For sure!” Ryan had laughed. “Becky’s my moral compass, so it makes perfect sense.”
At the time, it had felt right for them to decide that they’d wait until their careers were established before tying the knot. Ryan had wanted her to build her own world before they created a new one together. She’d loved him for having so much respect for her independence but ultimately regretted it. The wedding had never happened. The car-crash that claimed him had shattered her dreams of their future together.
Becky smiled wistfully at the sudden flood of memories and then heaved a shuddering sigh. Rosie looked at her sharply, her expression changing.
“Are you ok, hun? Not going into that ‘dark place’ again?” Despite her flippant manner, Rosie had a heart the size of Texas and took loyalty to new heights. It was the reason Rebecca had always been drawn to her. When Ryan had died, it was to Rosie she had turned, first while the numbness descended and then when the tears had come, weeping floods cradled against the woman’s ample chest. She adored her parents, and they doted on her, but Rosie was her safe harbor. The woman would go to war for her. Self-preservation was a trait Rebecca had never mastered. She’d gone through life expecting the best from everyone and every situation. When life had let her down, rather than building stronger defenses, she’d allowed Ryan and Rosie to shelter her. ‘R n R n R’, they’d laughed – the trifecta of happiness. And then Ryan was gone.
Saved By Her (Soul Searchers Book 1) Page 3