Beyond Secret Worlds: Ten Stories of Paranormal Fantasy and Romance

by Aimee Easterling

  It was him.

  She held her breath and spun around. Moonlight lit the sky behind him. He stood unmoving, his gaze covering every inch of her, her emotions swaying slowly from disbelief to desire.

  “Ophelia,” he said, with more confidence.

  He strode over to her, and she threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply. He pressed her back against the wall in the alley, his hands sliding around her waist. He stopped, tilting his forehead against hers, his eyelashes tickling her brow.

  “You’ve come to me,” he said. He kissed her again, as though unable to keep his lips from her mouth. Finally he broke away and pulled her a few steps further down the alley to a wooden door and then inside.

  Neither of them said a word until after he’d led her down the hall, up the stairs, and into a small, bare room that contained little more than cot, end table, and washbasin. He locked the door and turned to her again, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  She stepped up to him, closing the distance between them, and kissed him with the passion she’d been holding back for far too long. She did not know when she would see him again, but she knew she would not give him up, knew she would not sacrifice him.

  He put his hands to her shoulders, as if to stop her, but then held her tight and deepened the kiss, backing her up until her calves hit the foot of the bed. She cupped her hands around his face, breaking the kiss. His skin was paler than usual, his hair unkempt and the circles beneath his eyes dark.

  “Ye are not well,” she said.

  “I will be fine, my love. I will be fine.”

  “What of the work ye are supposed to do?”

  He shook his head slowly. “It is done. There was no calling for me beyond your delivery to the Maltorim. That is it for me.”

  “Oh, Ethan,” she breathed, frowning. “‘ow could ye say such a thing?”

  “I have failed even that, if you are here now. What happened?”

  He had not failed. No matter what anyone said, they deserved the hope they found in each other’s company. “I am with them still! I am sure I can hold my place with them for many years.”

  He pulled back. “You need to return immediately. You cannot stay here.”

  “We are together,” Ophelia said fiercely. “Don’t tell me that is wrong.”

  He stared at her a long moment, unspeaking, and she feared her chest might cave beneath the silence. “You should go. I shouldn’t have allowed this, shouldn’t have entertained these ideas.”

  As he stepped away, Ophelia reached out and grasped his hand to tug him back. “Don’t ye dare say that.”

  He was too close to her now to look at her as a package to be delivered. He could only look into her eyes. He could only face down her soul. Let him try to back away to that, let him try to back away from his own heart.

  “Would ye still be standing here if this was not meant to be? Would not the Universe ‘ave taken ye from me?”

  For a long moment, Ethan stared at her, his pained expression softening. Ophelia knew she was right, and surely he knew as well. The Universe would grant them this one gift in their otherwise dire existence. They would have each other.

  Ethan lifted her onto the bed, climbing between her knees as he lay her back and pressed his mouth to hers. His hands, shaky and uncertain, fumbled to undo her dress. He swept her hair away from her neck, leaving it to fan out its inky blackness on his sheets.

  He removed her gown, kissed her ribs, grazed his lips over her breasts. As he placed kisses along her jaw and neck, she tilted her head back.

  Then, they were falling. Falling through time and space. But this was different from when Ethan had moved her this way before. This time they moved through space as though floating through water toward the bottom of a lake.

  She kissed the space behind his ear, traced her lips against his shoulder. His hands explored her body, the fullness of her breasts, the contour of her hips, the insides of her thighs. As his fingertips traced over her hips, she closed her eyes. Soon she was lost in touch, in the way his fingertips brushed across her skin, lost in this space with him where no harm could come to them and no obstacle could prevent them from being together.

  Ethan’s fingers dipped into her, gently exploring her depths and sending notes of arousal through her body. As Ethan entered her, pressing himself into her body, she gasped. His need swelled with an urgency, his breaths coming heavier. He slowed, stopped, pulled back before trying to press in again, more fully, until his hips pressed flush with her own. For Ophelia, the moment was a surrender, and she knew it was for Ethan as well.

  When finally they lie still, Ethan whispered in her ear. “Are you all right?”

  “I am,” she said.

  He grinned widely. “Oh, Ophelia. I could die that I didn’t think of this sooner.”

  The realization swept over her as well. Here, they were safe to be together. When moving through time and space—when they were here in the inbetween—time did not exist. She could spend days with him and still return to the Maltorim’s asylum within hours.

  For all of Ethan’s ability, she could return to Maltorim minutes before she’d even left, if she so chose.

  “I will not live without ye,” she said, pulling him closer.

  “I will never ask it again,” he promised.

  To no longer have to deny her feelings sent a rush through Ophelia, and in that moment, Ophelia’s heart fluttered in her chest. The heat between them intensified, and even the serpent’s mark on her neck burned once again with ferocity. But she didn’t care. Not now.

  In these moments, she was human again.

  Human, and very much in love.

  If it were up to Ophelia, she would remain in his space, suspended for eternity with Ethan, her love, her sweetest downfall.

  Read more from The Forever Girl series in the Secret Worlds boxed set, available for a limited time!

  About the Author

  Rebecca Hamilton is a USA Today Bestselling Paranormal Romance author who writes books for teens through adult. She lives in Florida with her husband and four kids and enjoys dancing with her kids to television show theme songs. Having a child diagnosed with autism has inspired her to illuminate the world through the eyes of characters who see things differently.

  Rebecca is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA and has been published internationally, in three languages. You can follow her on twitter @InkMuse

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  Take Me

  A Purgatory Novella

  By Susan Stec

  Take ME (a PURGATORY novella)

  Copyrighted © 2014 by Susan Stec

  ~~~~

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and places are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of the characters to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  ~~~~

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  ~~~~

  Doppelganger

  I am who you are.

  ~~~~

  I push myself into your body, absorb everything that is you, and wear it like a glove.

  Then there are two of us.

  ONE

  I glide along pavement under a blanket of night and cling to the shadow of a youn
g woman with perky tits. It's Friday evening and we are waiting in a line outside a bar in Orlando. She's with several friends, all of whom she clearly feels are beneath her, given her constant chatter and their rapt devotion. All she can talk about is a European vacation her family is going on in less than two days: the long plane ride, places they will stay, sexy foreign men with "to die for" accents, and the shopping she will be doing.

  I am a myth—a night fright—a demon's blunder. I have no name, no sex, no flesh...unless I wear one of you, a human. I will be wearing this one by the time she boards her plane.

  The line moves. I move with it.

  ***

  Another bar, another Friday night, a different town—I've been wearing perky tits for five days.

  "So, CeCe, your whole family was, like, dead when you got home?" the guy on the barstool next to me says. "Crap. That had to be hard."

  Yeah, my host's name is CeCe. A bit too...adorable for me, but anyone who can drag attention from a bunch of guys in a sports bar during happy hour is my kind of wardrobe.

  All shoulders and ass, Mr. I'm-Doing-You-A-Favor, looks at me with dreamy blue eyes through jet-black bangs that hang to his lower lids. He has a chin screaming to be nibbled on and a little strip of chest peeking out of his half unbuttoned shirt that makes me want to explore.

  "Yes." I take a sip of my White Russian. "It was."

  Waitresses with plastic smiles—scantily clad—rush from table to table with cumbersome trays of jostling liquids, overflowing ashtrays, and half-empty tip jars. Loud music pulses overhead and a group of college kids working the free food source knock it up a notch with riotous laughter and taunts. I need to get Dreamy-Eyes out of here and into me, big time.

  "So, like, you had to be totally freaked," he presses on. "I mean, hell, I'd be brain-dead if that happened to me."

  I don't want to tell him he's tipping the cranial scales on brain matter already. And I sure as hell don't want to tell him the girl with chestnut hair and eyes he's so superficially concerned with is actually on a thirty-day tour of Europe—I'm just a carbon copy. Nor do I care to mention the dead family thing is only a fantasy of mine—so wish my wannabe mother was in a body bag. Unfortunately, I'm sure Mommy is Down Under, perched on one of Purgatory's barstools and probably sipping her beverage of choice. I take another sip of mine and catch a reflection of my host in the half empty glass.

  When I borrowed/cloned/absorbed CeCe's persona—my kind calls it doubling up—she was sitting on a toilet at Orlando International Airport, illegally smoking a clove cigarette. The smell was horrid; the taste was worse. Sometimes, being a doppelganger is a pain in the ass.

  My poor relationship choice clears his throat. One side of his mouth turns up in a nasty little grin. I take another sip of my drink, briefly contemplate walking—very briefly—and then continue to make small talk with Blue Eyes.

  "Yep, when I found my family, I wanted to crawl into a hole and die."

  Not a lie since I live in the sewers.

  "Where were you the night they got killed?" He just wouldn't let up. If only they could just shut up and put out.

  Humans! Why all the chatter? All I want is a little steam.

  "Met this chick," I say. "I was absorbed by the possibility of a lasting friendship. We hung out half the night, found out she had to leave three days later; I made the best of it. Can we leave it at that?"

  There. Not a lie. I'd followed CeCe around all weekend, watched her party last Friday and Saturday nights, and then I took her; if I could've stayed longer, I would've held her head while she puked into the toilet at the airport Sunday morning. But getting caught is not an option since I'm supposed to kill the host before donning it. My kind is not fond of doubling up. Mother says I should be a good little doppelganger; hit hard and run fast is her motto. Screw that.

  Just to add a little smite to my recklessness, I briefly thought about leaving the real CeCe in the restroom, and then boarding the plane with her family. Sure glad that didn't happen. It was a stupid idea. I don't know what I was thinking; like the chick was going to wake up, be happy she'd missed the flight, party down, and not worry in the least when no one from her family calls to check on her from Europe? Duh! What happens when Mommy and Daddy start Facebooking family vacation pictures with HER in them? Talk about serious drugs and a very confusing afterward.

  "You're not gay, are you?" Blue Eyes blurts.

  God help me, I laugh. I could tell him the gender of my sexual partner, or for that matter, the body I choose to wear really doesn't matter much. I'm down for the ride, male or female if they piqué my attention. Evidently my laugh is enough to quell his concerns.

  "Cool, because I like you." He runs a hand seductively up the inside of my left thigh—face moving toward mine—fingertips taunting the edge of my black lace panties. "And because I do, I'm gonna tell you right up front, if you're looking for a high-priority, total commitment, long-term relationship kinda thing, I'm not your man." His grin curls into a borderline purvey-smirk that's lasciviously delicious. "See, I can only concentrate on one thing at a time."

  Yeah, I get that. I got it the first time he opened his mouth.

  His middle finger flicks the elastic on my panties. "And I concentrate real hard."

  His other hand reaches for mine.

  Damn him all to hell. The guy is yummy enough to eat if he would just keep his mouth shut.

  "Well, then, I guess you're my man," I say and give his raised zipper a little squeeze.

  It takes him a few seconds. I can hear cogs roll as he probably plays his comment and my answer over and over in his head. I'm about ready to spell it out for him, but he finally figures it out.

  "So, your place or mine?"

  "How about the alley behind the bar?" I toss a twenty on the bar and lift my glass.

  "You're shitting me, right?"

  "I would never do that." Setting the empty glass on the bar, I stand—chest not an inch from his lips—and run CeCe's store bought fingernails along his leg. His hand slides out from under my skirt and lands on his knee. I give it a little pat as I toss my leather jacket over my shoulder and head for the bright red exit sign.

  Glancing at the mirror over the bar, I watch him chug his beer, slap money on the bar, and scramble to his feet.

  Outside, I strut past a dumpster and down an alley alongside the building. When I turn, Blue Eyes pushes me against the wall and runs his lips up my neck to just under my ear. The noise from the bar is nothing more than a vibration through the brick at my back. As he nibbles, I stare at the dumpster ten feet down the alley. It reeks of stale beer, rank food, cigarettes, wet cardboard, mold, and vermin.

  Rats to be exact. Ah, the smells of the street. It almost makes me feel like I'm down in the sewer—home sweet home.

  He stands over me with both hands spread on the brick wall by my head, his jeans rough as he knees my legs apart. I drop my shoulder and my jacket falls beside our feet. Blue Eyes works the buttons on CeCe's silk shirt, and his thumb finds her nipple under a black lace bra. A moan escapes my lips as his tongue muscles them apart.

  I open my legs to his caressing fingers. CeCe's breaths are short and shallow. Her heart thumps under the shell I'm wearing like a second skin. Together we experience a rising need, a surge of sensation from deep within.

  Blue Eyes pulls back and I moan with a strong desire to have him close again. He locks eyes with mine, reaches under my ass, and lifts me until I'm riding his hips. Head on my shoulder, teeth grazing my neck, his chest pins me to the wall while he unzips his jeans. Sliding CeCe's skirt over my hips, he reaches under her panties and pulls them aside.

  When he grabs a fist full of my hair, a whimper of desire escapes as Blue Eyes slides inside. My legs tighten around his hips and pull him deeper.

  He was right back there in the bar when he said he could only concentrate on one thing. I have a hunger to feed and he's doing a fine job nourishing it.

  ***

  Two days and three guys
later, I'm lying by the pool behind CeCe's tri-level home on Lake Harris, soaking up the rays. I'm thinking about Blue Eyes when my mother appears beside me.

  "Get out of that body and get into this box." She shoves an empty and soggy Tampax box at me. It smells like sewer water. "You're coming home with me, young lady."

  Although the smell of the sewer is an appealing reprieve from the overly chlorinated swimming pool, I am where I want to be at the moment. "I'm not getting in that box, Mother." I could bolt, but if I do I'll have to leave the CeCe double behind evaporating in a cloud of black smoke. Humans are not made for speed. "Look," I say, pointing at CeCe's body, "I'm nineteen. I don't have to go anywhere with you."

  "You're a doppelganger, not a human, age makes no difference. You're a fledgling and you are body jumping, imbibing in alcohol, having sexual relations with whatever crosses your path—I saw your little gutter-slut with that man in the alley the other night! Don't tell me it wasn't you!—and most of all, you're leaving a trail of unexplainable situations a mile long! Move it." She shakes the box at me. I wonder if she even knows what was originally packaged in it and what it was used for.

  "Gutter-slut," I point at my host's body again, "has a name, CeCe. The real CeCe was not sucking down the drinks or fornicating in an alley. I was, with her borrowed body. It could be worse, Mother. The real CeCe could be shopping across the street, or I could have told the real CeCe about us, taken her Down Under, and both of us could've joined you at Purgatory. But none of that happened—did it?—because the real CeCe is in Europe for the month. My last body was in the hospital in a coma for, like, forever! So, I AM NOT BODY JUMPING!

  "And, if you can tell me one thing I've done that is worse than killing every human you dress yourself in, I'll hit the sewer and stay there." I stare at the stupid tampon box and shudder. "If I shed the human double I'm wearing, the sunlight will turn me into gray powder. Mother will scoop me up, carry my remains to the nearest sewer grate and toss me in. Once out of the sun—and the eyes of humans—I will reform into my dark, ugly, ghoulish, scare-up-a-heart-attack doppelganger self. Not going to happen.