Enlightened (Love and Light Series)

by Melissa Lummis

  She could detect subtle energy in people for as long as she could remember, but Loti was eleven years old when her little sister started throwing up for no apparent reason. When Calla ended up in the hospital from dehydration, the doctors ran tests looking for something wrong with her stomach. Loti knew the problem wasn’t her seven-year-old sister’s stomach, because what she felt was pressure in her head, like a bloated lake straining against a dam. Blinking, Loti wound her way to Jeremy, one of her fair-weather yogis.

  “May I touch you, Jeremy?”

  “Be gentle.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to touch your shoulder blades.”

  “I have some better places in mind,” he teased.

  He sounded like he might be grinning, and she shook her head. His sun-streaked hair hung loose between his tanned arms as his backside stuck up in the air. His biceps and triceps bulged with the effort to hold the inverted V position as she steeled herself and placed her hands on his sweaty back. Like having a TENS machine hooked up to her hands, electricity crawled across her fingers in multiple lines. She closed her eyes focusing on the sensation of ants marching from her chest to her finger tips, using slow breaths to empty her mind one exhale at a time. Jeremy shifted his weight.

  “That tingles.”

  “Shhh, almost done.” When the electric ants started to bite her hands, they scurried out her fingertips and into his back, leaving behind a ghostly tingle.

  “Whoa,” Jeremy barked.

  Loti lifted her hands with a satisfied nod and strode toward the front of the group, encouraging the class to lower into child’s pose.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  After class, as everyone chit-chatted and packed up, Jeremy strolled up, tugging his gray hoodie over his head. A big hug from another student snapped her attention away from him, and Loti closed her eyes to steady herself, but couldn’t help stealing another glance at Jeremy. When he winked with an amused smile, her stomach fluttered. He inched closer, claiming his turn.

  “That was pretty cool.” His more gray than blue eyes twinkled.

  Disarmed by the genuine admiration in his voice, Loti smiled in surprise. Knock it off; what do you think you’re doing? She tamped the smile down a notch.

  “You can do that anytime you want.” Jeremy laughed as he patted her arm.

  Loti’s sigh wobbled as she shook her head. “You kill me, Jeremy. That’s so inappropriate.”

  “Ah, come on. You know you love it,” he said with a big, fat bird-eating grin.

  Biting her lip to heel a disloyal grin, she leaned away from the handsome, young man, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

  “So,” Jeremy’s tone sobered. “I guess we won’t see you for a while.” He crossed his own arms over his chest, his grin faltering.

  “Why, Jeremy, I didn’t think you cared.” She winked then slapped a hand to her eye.

  Jeremy’s grin bordered on a smirk bordered on a smirk, while her throat tightened. Life had become so somber that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been even remotely playful. She was so absorbed in navigating the dark and stormy waters since David’s diagnosis that the thought of fun, much less flirting, was little more than a theory.

  “You will come back, won’t you?” Another student appeared beside Jeremy.

  “I plan on it.” Relief mixed with disappointment as Loti turned her attention to the younger woman who had practiced with Loti since the studio opened four years ago.

  “Good,” she said. “You’re my favorite yoga teacher. No one measures up.”

  “That’s sweet, but I don’t do anything different.” Loti waved off the uncomfortable compliment, fingering her lip with the other hand.

  Jeremy chuckled. “Don’t be so humble. Who else maxes out the studio?” He waved a hand at all the people lining up behind him.

  Frowning, she took a moment to glance around at the line forming behind Jeremy. That was odd. Most folks packed up and left right away. Oh, a few would hang around chatting with her while she closed up the studio, but never like this.

  “Loti, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She jerked her head around and forced a rigid smile at the older woman who had her fists jammed to her bony hips.

  “I’m so sorry. What’s wrong?” Loti’s eyes flared.

  “Don’t give me that.” She flapped a bird-like hand in Loti’s face and whined, “What am I supposed to do now? I can’t stand any of the other instructors.”

  Loti sighed and clasped her hands over her heart, her smile softening a bit. “I’m so sorry, Charlaigne. Really, I am, but I’ve got to take some time off.”

  Charlaigne’s hands drooped to her side as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Well, I guess, but first Peter, now you.”

  Loti had no idea what to say, so she peered around her at the people lining up. Of course Charlaigne would complain; Charlaigne always complained about something, but that didn’t change the fact that she spoke to Loti’s self-doubt—that she was being selfish. Her eyes flitted around the room as she fought the urge to apologize.

  “Charlaigne, knock it off. You know why.” Rachel elbowed herself to the front of the line, poking Charlaigne in the ribs. She wrapped Loti in a bear hug. “Don’t let her rent space in your head,” Rachel whispered into her ear. “You do what you need to and when you’re done here, meet me at the cafe. I’ll snag a table in the alley.” She gave Loti one more little squeeze before walking away.

  Loti tightened the lid on her emotions as she hugged and shook hands for the next thirty minutes. When the last person walked out the door, she freed a long, noisy breath. She rolled up her mat, all the tension draining out of her shoulders. All the energy and work she put in with her students made her responsible for them and leaving wasn’t easy. Adrift in her thoughts, she scooped up the pile of blankets.

  “Let me help.” Jeremy’s voice startled her.

  She’d lost track of him at some point and assumed he’d left, but there he was, leaning against the wall by the stereo behind her. He pushed himself away and took some of the blankets from her. Her mouth slack, she followed him to the storage room, staring at his back, warring with something that spiraled low in her belly. Then David’s ghost flashed in her thoughts like a cartoon light bulb. She sucked in a breath. David’s dead. The thought splashed like ice water, and she dropped her gaze to the blankets they were stacking on the rack in the closet. In the tight space, Loti’s hip bumped his leg.

  “Oh, ‘scuse me,” she mumbled, careful to keep her eyes averted.

  “No problem.”

  His husky voice hitched her breath. They were so close she could smell the soap he’d washed with and the musky, workout sweat drying on his skin. She exhaled sharply, turning to escape as fast as she could. But she tripped into his arms. Wide-eyed and shaking, she froze. He didn’t toss some flirty line at her. He stared down, his eyes asking questions she couldn’t—or didn’t want to—answer.

  “I need to go. Rachel’s waiting for—”

  He pressed warm lips to her trembling ones. Her head swam with panic as he slid his arms around her, deepening the kiss. His hands wandered over her back, skating under her shirt hem and over her warm, bare skin. When his fingers grazed her flesh, it dawned on her that she was kissing him back. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, and their stomachs, and lower things, were melded together. Horrified, she shoved Jeremy’s hips away, breaking the kiss and hissed through gritted teeth, “Stop.”

  Jeremy’s eyes were glazed and half hidden by his shaggy hair. His breath was shallow as one arm fell away from her and the other gripped the storage rack behind her. She turned away from his broad chest into his hard, muscular arm.

  “Don’t be mad, okay?” he whispered.

  Lust and revulsion tangled in her belly as she mumbled, “Jeremy...please.” She caught her breath. “David. . .”

  His arm dropped out of the way, and his fevered eyes cooled into a careful concern. “Hey, I ge
t it. No explanation necessary.” He wrapped a hand around hers, giving it a mollifying squeeze. When she didn’t pull back right away, he leaned his forehead against hers. For a second they both closed their eyes, Loti yielding to his comforting gesture. When he crept closer, she splayed her free hand against his chest and shoved.

  “That’s enough, Don Juan.”

  He stumbled back and she swallowed down the confusing mix of emotions. Holding him at bay, she extracted her other hand from his as she scuttled out the door. His chin dropped, eyes still closed, as he drooped against the wall. Out in the open space of the studio, she took a deep breath and turned to face him. He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, his hair hiding his eyes as he studied his flip flops. His long surfer shorts showed off muscular calves. How old is he, anyway? 25? She was only 30, but she felt so much older.

  “I know I’m a fool, Jeremy.” Her voice shook despite her careful control.

  He looked up through the curtain of bangs. His light-hearted smile absolved her. “I’ve had a thing for you for a while.” He shrugged it off and reached down for his yoga mat.

  She forced herself to look in his eyes as he straightened. “I’m not ready.”

  He cleared his throat. “So when will you be?” And he flung the mat over his shoulder.

  Her stomach did a flip and she licked the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know. It’s still fresh.” Her gaze wavered.

  Jeremy flicked the hair out of his eyes. “I’m not going to push it. Don’t worry.” He smiled wider, showing teeth. “But you’ve got to know how damn hot you are. Maybe when you get back from this trip.”

  Loti relaxed the hands she’d balled up. A warm blush bloomed across her cheeks, and she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Loti replayed the interlude with Jeremy as she walked down Main Street staring at the sidewalk. Oblivious to the cars whizzing by, she zipped her fleece jacket up to her chin and stuffed her hands in the pockets. It was one of those pre-spring mountain nights: crisp, clear and smelling like damp earth and new growth. The air was like a cool compress on a fresh bruise, easing her overheated and throbbing thoughts. Glancing at her Uggs, she was grateful she wore them instead of the funky dance shoes she often bummed around in.

  At the corner of Main and Davis, she bit her lip and her eyes clouded over, unseeing. She flashed back on Jeremy’s eager hands, his clean and musky scent, and his warm lips. She smashed cold fingers to her mouth. If I live a hundred lifetimes, I can never earn the right to feel anything like that, again—ever. Her husband of five years had been cremated a few months ago, and the ashes were still in a wooden box on her altar at their house. She’d taken them home until she could spread him at their favorite vista in the Blue Ridge Mountains—MaKaffee’s Knob. She planned to spend part of her sabbatical hiking there. She scratched at her cheek which was pink with cold and narrowed her eyes. How long has it been since the memorial service? June 11th and today was—

  “No,” she gasped, covering her eyes with her hand. It had been over nine months since the quiet, uncomfortable gathering at Gram Dupree’s house.

  David’s grandmother wore the simple black dress with the white lace collar. Her soft voice and gracious demeanor permitted everyone to murmur their condolences to Loti, then with great care she steered them away. Loti didn’t ask Gram to do that. But she was grateful because she had no idea how to respond to: “We’re praying for you” and “We’re so sorry for your loss.” The words made her angry for some ungodly reason, but the most heartless was, “We have to trust that God has a plan.” The only condolences that made any sense were: “There are no words,” or a simple, “We love you”. There weren’t words in any language to offer comfort when someone just picked out a pine box to cremate her husband in.

  Loti still stood at the corner of Main and Davis when the light changed to red. She’d missed a whole cycle. “Damn it,” she mum-bled. I’m such a space cadet.

  Slapping the pedestrian walk button, she glared at the blinking red hand while tapping her fingers against her thigh as cars whisked thoughtlessly by. A chill flowed up her spine, and she shivered, snapping her out of her pity party. A rumbling motorcycle slowed at the light. It’s too damn cold to ride. Her own little Honda Ascot sat in the shed next to David’s BMW, unridden since she passed her motorcycle test the fall before David got sick. She hadn’t the heart or inclination to ride. It was his dream to ride to the Sturgis motorcycle rally. The Harley Fat Boy and its rider turned down Davis Street, and she cringed that the rider wore no helmet, his long braid trailing behind.

  When the light changed, she crossed the street, keeping her eyes on the biker as he coasted into the space under the Rosemary and Thyme Café’s green and white awning. Bracing the bike with muscular, jean-clad legs, he worked his fingers out of his gloves. Rachel appeared between the alley gates, exclaiming in a startled way. Concerned, Loti picked up her pace. She couldn’t make out his face, or Rachel’s from this distance, but their body language didn’t speak of threat or fear—or even apprehension—just surprise.

  He heaved himself off the bike, taking his time to turn the wheel at an angle and settle it on its kickstand. Rachel took a tentative step toward him, saying something, and he rumbled a response in a deep voice that matched the Fat Boy. There was a pause as the two stood there looking at each other, and Loti stopped short with anticipation. Then they embraced and blood rushed in her ears. As Rachel clung to the dark giant, her shoulder-length, blonde shag fluttered in the night breeze.

  Loti’s heart sped up at the thought that her friend might be in danger. But as she picked up her pace, a strange energy bubbled up her spine to the base of her skull. She stumbled. Bending over and bracing her hands on her thighs, she inhaled a cleansing, cool gulp of air. Her eyes unfocused and—POP—there it was. He’s not human. He’s vampire. Maybe it was her building anxiety, but the bubbling in her spine morphed into sharp tingles that surged from her tailbone to the crown of her head.

  Her body buzzed until the nerves shut down. Numbed and afraid, she strained to focus on the vampire holding Rachel’s face in his hands. He leaned in, his cheek brushing hers, and Rachel nodded enthusiastically. He kissed her forehead and wrapped his arms around her, again. The image blurred, and just like that, he sat on the bike, putting his gloves back on. Before Loti could figure out how he’d gotten there or how to move, the bike roared to life and sped down the street. The numbing electrical buzz faded, leaving behind painful prickles like when her leg fell asleep.

  “Rachel!” she hollered.

  Rachel lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the glaring streetlights, and a smile spread as she waved.

  They settled at their regular table in the alleyway with the gas heater blowing warm air over them. The waiter took their drink order and they were alone, Rachel studying the menu while Loti rooted in her purse. She fished out a tube of hand cream and took her time rubbing it in, glad to have a moment to collect herself. The soothing smell of coconut and almond wafted in the air, easing some of the knots out of Loti’s shoulders and neck. Rachel lifted her clouded, hazel eyes to Loti.

  “That was my uncle. I haven’t seen him in ten years,” she confessed.

  “Which uncle?” Loti cocked her head. She had known Rachel since college. She had been to many Brown family gatherings over the years, but had never met an uncle who happened to be a vampire. Maybe one of them had been turned? Rachel wasn’t the type to keep secrets, not from Loti.

  Rachel shook her head and waved a hand. “He’s not actually my uncle. That’s what I call him. He’s an old friend of my family’s, and I guess it was easier for my folks to call him Uncle Wolf.”

  Loti snorted. “Uncle Wolf?” She started to laugh, but Rachel’s eyes narrowed. Loti lifted her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. It struck me as odd, that’s all. I’m sorry.”

  Rachel’s hurt expression sobered her fast. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I haven’t seen him in a long time, and I’m a little thrown,
actually.” She paused as the waiter approached with their wine.

  “Are you ready to order?” He adopted a bored smile, and Loti suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

  “I’ll have the grilled tuna with the fennel au gratin potatoes and broccoli rabe.” Rachel folded her menu and handed it to the waiter.

  “The chicken tortilla soup.” Loti handed him her menu with a hard smile.

  “With the house salad?”

  The waiter's tone was trite, as if he anticipated her order. Loti grimaced as he crossed his forearms over the menus against his stomach. Had she gotten that predictable? After turning down his appetizer offer—to spice things up, as he put it—Loti sniffed the wine and wondered when it became fashionable, even expected, for waiters to be so petulant. She preferred the low key but attentive ministrations at the town diner. She and David used to go there every Sunday—no, nope, not going there.

  Clearing her throat, she swirled the red liquid around the glass. She sipped the shiraz, holding it in her mouth for a moment to taste the things David liked to talk about: raspberries and pepper, chocolate and espresso. She almost got it. Sighing, she set the glass on the table, fidgeting in her seat. Rachel sipped her zinfandel.

  “How is it,” Loti asked.

  “Good.” Rachel eyed Loti’s glass.

  “Go ahead.” As Rachel tasted Loti’s wine, Loti gathered up the courage to broach the delicate subject of Uncle Wolf’s state of being.

  “He’s a vampire, Rachel,” she blurted out. She crossed her legs, one booted foot twitching.