Mystic Realms: A Limited Edition Collection

by Nicole Morgan

  At one point in the night, I thought I tasted the coppery tang of blood on my lips. Then I drifted off again.

  Grace

  The next morning, I couldn't believe how good I felt. How refreshed and invigorated. I sat up and stretched my arms luxuriously over my head. Even though it was past dawn, the heavy drapes were pulled tight, leaving the room in shadows.

  "Morning, love."

  I jumped and blushed to find Stellan lying next to me, head propped on his hand. It was so wonderful to wake up with him next to me.

  "Good morning!" I answered joyfully and slid into his waiting arms.

  He kissed me tenderly, cautiously. "How do you feel, love?"

  I giggled in sheer delight. "Amazing. Incredible. In love. And you?"

  He smiled sadly and tucked one of the bed sheets carefully around me. He'd already donned his gray slacks.

  "What's wrong?" I touched his face, eyeing him with concern.

  "I hurt you last night."

  I frowned. "What do you mean? I'm fine."

  "You weren't. You were bruised from head to toe and . . ." He closed his eyes and seemed to struggle to go on. "I am so sorry. More sorry than words can express. I'll never forgive myself for forgetting how utterly fragile you are in your humanity."

  "If you're freaking over a few blood drops, that's normal," I protested. "It was my first time."

  "Which is all the more reason I should have never taken such a risk with you." He touched his forehead to mine. "I changed the sheets after I healed you, so you wouldn't have to see it this morning."

  Ah. That explained why I'd dreamed about the taste of blood on my lips.

  "Well, I'm fine now." I caressed his chest to soothe. "So quit worrying."

  His cool hand closed over mine and squeezed. "I will never hurt you again like that. I swear it." He raised my hand to his lips. His gaze burned into mine, raw with remorse and concern.

  My heart constricted as the meaning of his words sank in. "You can't be serious," I gasped. "It's not right to deprive us of—"

  "Listen to me, Grace!" he interrupted harshly. "You have no idea what it was like for me to hold your fragile, damaged body last night after . . ." He made a half-strangled, half-choking sound. "I can't ever do that to you again. I love you too dearly."

  "So that's it?" Tears stung my eyelids. The unfairness of our situation constricted my throat. "We're just going to give up on us?"

  "Not even close." He brushed his lips across mine. "Fortunately, there are thousands of other ways to pleasure my wife." His voice grew caressing. "I can't wait to explore every one of them."

  "Wait." I pushed a hand against his chest. "What about you?"

  He shook his head, regretfully. "We can't, Grace. Not after what happened last night. It's too risky."

  "But that's so unfair to you!" I couldn't believe what he was suggesting, and I felt cheated. I wanted our marriage to be a real one in every sense. I wanted it all with him, to include babies some day.

  "Fair!" He made a snorting sound. "I'm married to the most beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, talented, and loving person on the planet. There is no downside to this, love. Not for me."

  I could see he wasn't in the frame of mind to negotiate on the topic at the moment, so I didn't push him further. However, there was no way I was giving up this easily on us. Maybe we just needed more patience, more practice.

  He ordered room service and fed me breakfast in bed again. We spent a lazy day together watching movies, looking through our vacation photos, and making out. I was positive I would never tire of spending time with my husband. He possessed a clever, humorous mind and was well versed on so many topics — from world news to politics to arts and literature.

  When we checked ourselves out of the bed and breakfast, Stellan made a sizable donation to the astonished owners to fix the cracked headboard and replace the shattered lamp. Then we flew back to Ramstein on a red-eye flight. We'd left both his motorcycle and my car parked in the airport, so no one would see us returning to base together with suitcases in hand. He paid a courier to ship his suitcase and helped me load mine into the car.

  I hugged him again as he opened the door to the driver's seat for me, still not ready for our amazing trip to end. It had turned out to be so much more than a birthday trip. Not only had it been the best vacation of my life, we'd gotten married — married! — and enjoyed a wedding night together despite Stellan's attack of remorse the following morning. I intended for us to work our way through every one of his fears about being with me. Starting soon.

  I took a step back and rested my hand on the top of the open door. I tipped my face up to his in the dimly lit parking garage. "How soon will you leave for the harbor?"

  "Today." He ran a hand through his tousled hair. "I have the crew to prep, cargo to load, and paperwork to file. It's a process to get everything ready for sailing."

  I smiled, in awe of my husband, the ship captain. And doctor and pilot. Though he considered his existence cursed, from my perspective he'd spent his time wisely — accumulating education, skills, and wealth. His accomplishments were truly impressive.

  "You amaze me, Captain Doctor Romolov." I stretched to my tiptoes to kiss him. "Soon to be chief executive officer of a world-class, cutting-edge, pardon-the-pun surgical center."

  His eyes glowed. "I really like the sound of that." His arms closed around me and he returned my kiss whole-heartedly.

  We parted with great reluctance.

  "No goodbyes," I insisted. "You know how much I hate them."

  He smiled and kissed me one last time. "'Til we meet again, love."

  I went home and crashed face down on my bed. After a few moments, I rolled to my side and didn't move for several hours. My days and nights were totally turned around after spending a week with Stellan. It was past noon when I finally awoke, and that was only because Antjie was pressing the door alarm repeatedly. She'd just returned from her volunteer shift at the hospital and was practically bouncing with impatience as she flew into the entry hall.

  "Tell me everything!" she demanded. As usual, she looked stunning. Today, she wore a short robin-egg blue swing dress and open-toed sandals that revealed matching blue toenail polish. With her tall, thin figure and mane of natural curls and waves, she could seriously take up modeling if she wanted to. However, she was waffling between studying law or journalism. She'd been accepted to Princeton, Harvard, and a half dozen other highly sought after educational institutions. Whatever direction she ultimately decided to take with her life, she would be a rip-roaring success at it, I was sure.

  I led her up the stairs to my room and threw open my suitcase. We oohed and ahh-ed over my souvenirs and pictures until she noticed my new ring.

  "Omigod!" she gasped. "Is that what I think it is?" She snatched up my left hand and frowned over it. "Not exactly my idea of an engagement ring, but . . ."

  "It's a promise ring," I supplied. "Stellan bought it for me in Ireland. The design is called 'caged hearts.' Those are our birthstones."

  "I love it!" she declared, turning my hand this way and that so the gems would better catch the afternoon sun pouring through my bedroom window. "It suits you and him."

  "Thank you."

  "What for?" She raised her brows. "For liking your ring?"

  "No. For not criticizing me about how we're rushing into things."

  She dropped my hand and made a face at me. "It's a promise ring, not a wedding band."

  I turned away guiltily. It was the first time I'd not been able to share what was on my heart with my best friend. I found I didn't enjoy keeping something this important and special from her, but I thought it best under the circumstances to keep certain things like our elopement between Stellan and me.

  "I get what your saying, though," she conceded. "For some people, it might be rushing into things, but not with you and Stellan. You love him and you're sure about him. I've never seen two people more in love although your parents probably played a close s
econd. I totally lost it at our graduation when I saw the picture of your mother in Bax's arms." Tears misted her eyes. "It was the most romantic thing."

  I blinked back tears of my own at the memory. "She was his whole world."

  "Not quite," Antjie corrected. "He's pretty head-over-heels with his only daughter, too. I know, I know—" She held up a hand when I started to splutter. "He's rarely home and all. I get that. Sort of." She made a strange face. "I guess I can't imagine life without my loud and noise, interfering family right smack in the middle of everything, but I do know this." She placed her hands on her hips and faced me squarely. "You mean everything to Bax, and I mean everything now that your mother has passed. He may be absent a lot, but he checks on you all the time. There's very little he doesn't know . . . or figure out . . ." Her voice dwindled suspiciously as she turned away to resume digging through my suitcase.

  "Oh, no you don't!" I lowered the lid of my suitcase, forcing her attention back to me. "What aren't you telling me?"

  We stared at each other for a few seconds. "No!" I sank to a sitting position on my bed, incredulous at her expression. "He's been spying on me through you, hasn't he?"

  "It's not spying," she returned defensively. "He just checks on you now and then to make sure you're okay. . .through me."

  I spread my hands. "How long has this been going on?" So much for guilting myself out about keeping important things from my best friend. She'd been keeping a heck of a lot more from me, apparently.

  "Not 'til your mother left town to start her treatments."

  "That was two year ago!" I expelled a breath of pent-up air. My head was spinning from her betrayal. "What sort of things do you report to him?"

  "It's not like that. Really. He just calls now and then and asks if I think you seem okay. That's it." She sounded miserable. "Listen, he hasn't called in a while. The most he called was right after your mother's funeral. I think he was terrified you would be clinically depressed . . . or ah . . ."

  "Suicidal?"

  "Something like that."

  "Oh." It was weird to find out my best friend and my father had been talking behind my back about me, but her explanation made it seem a little less weird. "Has he ever asked you about Stellan?"

  "No. Not once. I swear it! I would never betray your confidence like that. Something tells me Bax wouldn't either. I honestly think he's just been trying to be the best long-distance father possible. It was not his intention to spy on you per se."

  Right. Antjie had no idea who she was dealing with. Bax was a spy. It's what he did for a living. I wondered who else in our neighborhood he'd enlisted into his keep-an-eye-on-Grace network. I wasn't the least happy about it.

  An awkward silence fell between us.

  "So what's next for you two?" she finally asked. "Did you have your long overdue heart-to-heart with your man about your college plans?"

  I nodded, not near as in the mood to confide in her as when she'd first arrived.

  "He's leaving town again. Going to spend the next few weeks helping out an uncle who's having heart surgery."

  I reached for my TV remote, clicked on the weather channel, and hoped they would give a forecast for the northern coastal regions soon. Maybe it was silly of me, but keeping track of the weather along Stellan's sailing route would make me feel more connected to him while he was away. In at least a small way.

  "Good looking and noble," Antjie said wistfully. "The guy just doesn't have a bad side, huh?"

  A chuckle escaped me as I started to unpack. Does having a deadly side count?

  "Where's he sailing to this time?"

  "He's departing Hamburg Harbor. Said something about handling a contract dispute for his uncle but didn't say where he was headed exactly." I tossed a pile of dirty laundry into the basket outside my bathroom door.

  "You didn't ask?" My friend looked at me like she thought I was crazy. She plopped down in my scoop chair and rested her arms on the sides.

  I shrugged and unzipped the pocket containing my toiletries. "Does it really matter?"

  "Yes. No. I don't know." She let out a huff of air. "I'm naturally curious. Guess that's why I'm thinking about pursuing a career in journalism. I like to know things. Chase down a good story, make sure I have the whole scoop, paw my way through the juicy details. Whereas you're fine with . . ." She made a sound of frustration and threw up her hands. "You know what I mean. You're one of those contented souls who quietly accepts things the way they are."

  Contented soul? Ha! "You think I'm content with my existence?" I gave a huff of disgust as I walked past her again to put away my shampoo. I thought she knew me better than that.

  "That's not what I said. I was referring to the fact you never kick up a fuss about anything. No matter how bad things are."

  "What good would that do?" I muttered, depositing my shampoo and conditioner bottles in my shower caddy beneath the sink. Wouldn't change a thing. I lingered in the bathroom, rearranging bottles and straightening towels.

  "Get back in here, Grace!" Antjie called anxiously. "I think there's something on the news about Stellan's ship."

  "What?" I dashed back to my bedroom.

  She was standing over the television, remote in hand, cranking up the volume.

  The words BREAKING NEWS were splashed across the bottom of the screen with instant updates scrolling past. It had something to do with an explosion that had just taken place in Hamburg Harbor.

  "Switch to the news channel," I commanded feverishly. Fear shot through me like bolts of electricity as she surfed the channels. It didn't take long to find one covering the incident live.

  We stared in horrible fascination at the screen as a windblown female reporter holding a microphone pointed to the choppy harbor waters behind her.

  "The smoke and flames you see rising in the distance are all that's left of a ship named the SS Majestic. It could take days or even weeks for a dive team to retrieve more of the wreckage to determine the cause of the explosion. So far, no survivors have been recovered, though according to the ship's manifest, there may have been more than a dozen crewmembers on board at the time of the explosion. Authorities have yet to make an official statement, but rumors are already surfacing that this may have been an act of terrorism. The ship's captain, a man by the name of Stellan Romolov, is the nephew of Captain Anatoly Romolov, the owner of Majestic Shipping, Incorporated, a business currently under investigation for its alleged ties to the Russian mafia. Stay tuned for more details concerning this tragic event."

  I stared in disbelief at the screen as it flashed to a commercial break. "No!" I gasped.

  "Oh, sweetie!" Antjie reached for me, white-faced.

  "No!" I said again, louder this time, and shoved her hands away. "No!" I screamed, holding my head with my hands. "This can't be happening." I sank to my knees on the fluffy throw rug beside my bed, still holding my head.

  "I'm so sorry," my friend gulped and crouched next to me.

  I rocked back and forth. Deep ugly sobs wrenched their way up my throat, practically gagging me. "It's not fair!" I shouted between sobs. "I've already paid my fair share of . . ." Of heartache. My mother was dead. My father was always gone. "Stellan was the one good thing in my life, and now he's gone too."

  "Maybe there's been a mistake." Through streaming eyes, Antjie feverishly switched channels.

  More news stations had picked up on the story. In fact, it seemed to be the biggest headline on the air. The words TERRORISM and MAFIA TIES flashed from the screen in bold red lettering on station after station.

  I tried calling Stellan's cell phone at least a dozen times, but he didn't pick up. Surely, if was alive he would have had the decency to call me, considering what was happening in the news. There was only one good explanation for his silence.

  My husband was dead.

  Stellan

  Hamburg, Germany

  My extraordinary sense of smell was my first clue that something on the SS Majestic was off. I knew the scents of all
my employees. A vampire never forgets. Once we pick up the scent of a human, we can track it over long distances. It never expires either. The scent is stamped in our memory for the life of the human, only fading after their death.

  The problem was I didn't recognize the scent of one of my crewmembers today.

  "You there," I called to him. He wore our standard white button-up shirt bearing a navy and red collar and the SS Majestic logo embroidered on his breast pocket.

  He seemed jittery when he jogged over to respond to my summons. "Yes, s-sir!"

  "May I see your badge, sailor?"

  He handed it over without hesitation. "I-I know what this about, sir, and I'm terribly s-sorry," he stuttered. "I'm not Johann. He's sick today, and he couldn't afford to take the day off so he b-begged me to fill in for him." He was a dark-headed kid in his mid to late teens.

  "Your real badge then, sailor."

  The scared crewman handed me a second badge with a hand that was starting to shake. That's when I noticed his pasty-white flawless skin. He was a vampire!

  Instantly discerning something ugly was afoot, I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away from the helm. "Who really sent you here?" I demanded.

  When the vampire didn't immediately respond, I took a silver ink pen reserved for emergencies from my pocket with a gloved hand and stabbed his arm.

  He screamed in pain but still refused to answer.

  I bent him over the ship's railing and held the bloody silver point over his eyeball. "Last chance to get it right, champ."

  "It's too late," the creature babbled. "For all of us. It was a suicide mission to begin with—"

  Before he could finish his sentence, I threw him across the deck and sprinted to the helm to bellow an evacuation warning over the speaker system, but it was too late. An explosion erupted like a volcano through the belly of the ship, spewing steel poles and wooden beams like toys.

  Using my inhuman speed, I raced to the edge of the deck and dove overboard, shooting like a rocket through the water to distance myself from the burning carnage. I surfaced a quarter mile away and watched aghast as the ship imploded on itself and folded like a wallet in the middle. Several of my crewman jumped screaming from the bow and stern, but a second explosion rendered any chance of their survival impossible. Water, smoke, steam, and fire spewed upward in a deathly storm. Shards of deck planks, barrels, railing, and other segments of my dying ship littered the surrounding waters and formed an eddy of wreckage around its fast disappearing skeleton. With a loud sucking sound, the SS Majestic disappeared from view. A large plop of oxygen, smoke, and steam broke through the surface of the sea and rose in ghastly tendrils like an enormous candle that had just been blown out.