"All right. Tomorrow at seven, and wear comfortable clothes. We'll be lying on the floor."
The beast snickered in his ear. This journey might be something to look forward to after all...
Chapter Six
Cate had conducted hundreds of soul retrievals, but had never been more apprehensive about one than now. Her constant clock-watching told her he'd be here soon, but nothing she'd done in the past twenty-four hours had calmed her mind or relegated her thoughts of Garran Lux to the proper practitioner-patient compartment. On the contrary, her thoughts of him had been not only constant, but disturbing.
To say he was the most stunning physical male specimen she'd ever seen would be an understatement. To say he was the strangest, most contradictory person she'd ever met would be even more of one. He was young, yet he had no family. He was far from shy, yet had no friends. Sexy beyond words, yet no girlfriend.
How could a man that gorgeous and talented have no girlfriend? And yet she knew that loneliness happened to people all the time. There were any number of problems that could account for his being alone. After all, she knew nothing about him.
Last night he'd chosen not to reveal to her exactly what had precipitated his soul loss. She didn't ask her clients to give her their history, so she hadn't pressed him. Past experience had taught her that asking for too much information ahead of time was a lack of confidence in her own abilities. Those days of self-doubt had been long gone, until tonight.
In a way she was pleased to hear he had no girlfriends. If her big dream was to be believed, she was destined to be his. She'd just have to have blind faith that the reason he was unattached was that she was his destiny. Besides, believing in the big dream was much more pleasant that suspecting that he was some kind of predator.
She prayed that her attraction to him wouldn't hinder her ability to help him. She so badly wanted to help him that she was fearful she wouldn't be able to. It wasn't just the way he looked. No, it was all the things about him that didn't make sense that made her suspect he'd suffered a great abuse or personal loss. It had been the way his eyes had aged a hundred years when she spoke of seeing in the dark, as if he, too, had seen things that normal people shouldn't see.
Of course he's seen dark things. He's a killer. But she didn't want to believe it. There was no proof the image she'd seen meant what she feared it meant. In any case, she somehow felt that his loss was her loss. She wanted to cry for the pain that had put that look in his eyes.
Perhaps his problem was addiction. Drug and alcohol addiction was something her mother and grandmother hadn't really had to deal with, but she found it more and more common among her clients. If substance abuse was Garran's problem, it would explain a lot, especially the lack of a partner and friends. Maybe it was something even darker—a violent streak, or a tendency toward predation.
It was impossible in her job to remain detached from her clients. The journeys she took were by nature intimate beyond description, but the desire to help Garran far overreached her usual aspirations. And she didn't know what to do about it.
She glanced at the clock again, as if it could bring her more answers than the time, but the silent face could only remind her that he'd be here soon.
She opened a cedar chest and carefully removed the ceremonial items she'd need for the retrieval—her blanket, rattle, drum, crystal, and medicine bag. She fingered each item reverently as she took it out, and an immediate sense of calm came over her. All the items were old, having been handed down from Cate's mother and grandmother. The medicine bag was the oldest of all, having belonged to Rosa herself. The leather was nearly black, and the original design was long faded from the years of handling, but Cate wouldn't trade it for a new one for anything in the world.
She unfolded the blanket and spread it on the floor. It was beautifully woven of brown, red, and ivory llama wool in a pattern that alternated a geometric design with depictions of mythical creatures. She placed the rattle and drum on the floor nearby. She wouldn't actually use the drum. She had a CD of shamanic drumming that allowed her hands to be free, but the very presence of the drum always helped facilitate her journey. She stroked the soft doeskin of the medicine bag and was reminded that she wouldn't be alone on her journey. Her power animals and guardian spirits would be there to guide and assist her.
The doorbell startled her, disrupting her thoughts. He was more than ten minutes early. He's as anxious as I am to get started. When she opened the door, his masculine beauty dazed her all over again, as if she were seeing him for the very first time. Luckily he spoke first, giving her time to unknot her tongue.
"Hi. Sorry, I'm early."
"I understand. Come on in. I'm all ready for you.” I've been ready for you my whole life. At the thought, she felt her body react, softening like butter left in the sun. She scolded herself and concentrated instead on the mundane act of taking his coat, noticing in the process that he'd taken her advice on his outfit. He wore blue jeans and a long-sleeved knit blue shirt that seemed to brighten the blue in his eyes tenfold.
"If you could have a seat and remove your, ah...” Her gaze inched down the length of his long, slim legs to his feet, and she almost forgot what she was going to say. His legs, even in the jeans, were delicious to look at. “Ah ... boots, then you can lie down on the blanket, face up. Later in the ceremony I'll be lying next to you, and our bodies will need to be touching...” Oh, God. She cleared her throat and focused on staying professional. With one hand, she pointed to her shoulder, hip, and ankle. “...here, here, and here.” And here and here. In her mind she also touched lips and loin, and she was forced to draw a deep breath in order to continue. “I ask for your consent to do this."
He was pulling off his boots, but his eyes followed every movement of her hand, like a cat watching a bird. “You have it, of course."
His voice was like a swallow of fine Merlot—soft, easy going down, and full of all the same kind of subtleties she'd been aware of when he'd danced at the Pony Express. Latent power. Controlled desire. It was a good thing he wouldn't be doing any speaking. She didn't need the distraction of his intoxicating voice. Like his body won't be a total distraction. She lit a pillared candle on the table and chastised herself again for her unprofessional thoughts.
"I'll be turning off the light in a minute and starting the drumming. I'll also be singing and using the rattle. It's all to alter my state of consciousness so I can travel to the other worlds. You can lie down now. When you do, remain quiet and try to stay in the present. By that I mean the world of ordinary reality. Understand? Are you ready?"
Garran stretched out on one side of the blanket, his long legs extending three feet beyond the blanket's edge. “Ready."
She could hear the Irish burr in the single word, and with that signal, she turned out the light, hit play on the CD player, and invited the spirits. She knelt on the blanket by Garran's side, picked up the rattle, and began her power song, a song that had come to her in a dream long, long ago. The song called to her spirits, and as she felt herself slip into her altered state, she joined Garran on the blanket, making sure her body touched his.
The entire length of her body was pressed against his side, and she was acutely aware of every point of contact. They both wore long sleeves, but the back of her hand touched his, and she delighted in the simple touch. His skin was cool, and he seemed relaxed, yet she was intensely aware of the size and power of his body.
The drumming began.
I am looking for lost parts of Garran's soul. I am looking for Garran's soul...
She repeated the words over and over, until the drumming opened a path to the other worlds. She felt the familiar physical tug from the pit of her stomach that started her on her journey.
It was to the Lower World, but she knew immediately something was wrong. Cate's strongest power animal, her black wolf, appeared, blocking the path.
I will not guide you. It is too dangerous.
I've been to the Land of the Dead be
fore.
The wolf swung its massive head. Not like this. There are too many dead souls that would take your life and not let you return. I cannot allow it.
I will guide her.
Cate turned at the sound of the new voice and cried out in surprise. It was Garran's own spirit, which had ignored her instructions to Garran to stay in the world of ordinary reality. A client's spirit often accompanied her on her journeys—that wasn't the shock. The surprise was the form of Garran's spirit, unlike any she'd ever seen. He wasn't quite a skeleton, but more like a body that'd had all the life sucked out of it.
Was Garran terminally ill? Had his soul already departed to the Land of the Dead?
The wolf did not give ground. This corpse-spirit is evil, Cate. Can you not see that? Look at him!
She did. His skin was gray and mottled and clung to his bones like seaweed on driftwood. Instead of beautiful blue eyes, there were hollow sockets, and instead of shiny long hair, there were strands of gray. But he was her client. He was sick, not evil, and she had vowed to help him. Garran, can you help me find the lost parts of your soul?
The lipless mouth moved. I can. The wolf is right. It is dangerous. But I know what to do. I can protect you and see that you return safely.
She believed him. Why would he try to deceive her? She turned back to the wolf. She valued her power animal's guidance, but she had to try. Please, if you will not help us, at least allow us to pass.
The thick mane of hair on the wolf's neck flared, but the animal turned and trotted down the path. I will take you as far as I can.
Wait. The corpse-spirit reached out a skeletal hand to restrain her. Put this on. He pulled a black cloak from beneath the folds of his own voluminous shroud. When we reach our destination you will need to cover your energy and appear as a soul of the dead. The wolf is right about one thing. I am a master of deception. But trust me, Cate.
She put the cloak on, knowing he was right. But how did he know? Garran, how do you know about the Land of the Dead?
He ignored her. Hurry. We must not lose our guide.
She did her best to keep up with the wolf and the long-strides of the corpse-spirit, but she couldn't forget her question. Just how did Garran know about the Land of the Dead? Had he had a near death experience? It would explain a lot, perhaps even the appearance of his spirit.
But the wolf halted, and Cate saw before them the murky waters of the River of Woe. The wolf looked up at her with its yellow eyes. I can go no farther, but I will wait for you here.
I understand. Thank you for your help. She turned to the corpse-spirit. I must go alone.
No! I can help you.
She couldn't allow that. Garran, I've been here before. I know what to do. I know to hide my life-force. I trusted you. Now you must trust me.
All right. I'll wait with the wolf. Here, give the ferryman this. His bony fingers pressed something into her palm. It's triple the usual fare. He won't care if you're dead or alive, and it'll ensure your return trip.
She looked down at the coin in her hand and then up at the empty eye sockets. Thank you. She pulled the hood of the cloak over her head, lowered her gaze, and shuffled to the bank of the river.
An old man waited there, his skin ashen and more creased than the furrowed surface of the black water he guarded. But he took the coin she offered and said nothing. She climbed into the boat and waited, head bowed and silent, until the boat was full of dark souls. A skeletal boatman poled them across the river, and the souls disembarked on the far shore as silently as they had crossed.
The Land of the Dead was a black desert. The ground was dry and cracked, like aged skin, with only occasional black rocks relieving the flat land. A gray sky mirrored the desert, but there was no sunshine.
The ferryman may not have cared if she was alive, but the souls of the dead would. If they discovered her, at worst they would try to steal her life-force. At best, they would not allow her to return. So she became as one of the dead, shielding her face, dragging her feet, and assuming an attitude of despair. But how to find one lost soul among so many drab, lifeless creatures?
Souls wrapped in black cloaks milled like cattle, showing no purpose or direction. She wandered among them, scuffling her feet and trying to imitate their attitude of despondency. She called Garran's name softly, not daring to speak too loudly, and when she could glimpse a face, she looked for that of a young man. But none answered her calls, and Cate found herself growing weaker and gasping for air. In a land that knew no time, she was out of time. If she didn't leave now, she wouldn't have the energy to return. She stumbled back to the river, where the boatman waited. She climbed into the boat with the last of her energy and curled into a ball in the prow, praying that the corpse-spirit's coin was indeed enough to guarantee her return voyage.
She didn't know how she made it back, but she did. The wolf was waiting for her on the far shore, but when she fell to the ground, it was the corpse-spirit that picked her up. She felt no life in the spirit, but strangely he felt strong and sure, and she took comfort in his presence. Eyes closed, she felt herself being carried up the path toward the world of ordinary reality.
Chapter Seven
She felt the heat of a thousand flames lap at her like hungry tongues, but she was being carried by strong arms and felt safe. When she opened her eyes, she was in Garran's arms. He held her close, one hand cradling her head and the other wrapped around her waist. She felt like a child in the arms of a firefighter who had just brought them to safety, not with the strength of youth, but with the experience of a veteran who had been battling fires for years.
She was back in ordinary reality, but there was nothing at all ordinary about the present moment. And he definitely wasn't treating her like a child now. They were on the floor, and Garran rolled her so that she was on her back again. But this time he was on top of her, and she felt his lips against her temple.
"Forgive me, Cate. Forgive me."
She didn't hear the words as much as she felt them vibrate all along her skin. He's disoriented from the spirit journey.
Cate knew the embrace was wrong, but she knew Garran didn't know what he was doing, nor did she have the energy to push at him. Or the desire. Besides, wasn't he apologizing? And shouldn't she be the one to apologize? She'd failed to find and bring back the lost parts of his soul.
His lips felt surprisingly cool as he lowered his head to kiss her mouth. She parted her lips to catch the unexpected kiss. Cool, because I'm so hot, she thought. Her body felt as though she had indeed just been inside a burning building. She trembled, unsure whether it was the fatigue of the journey or the intimacy of her body feeling the marvelous parts of him that only her gaze had touched two nights ago at the Pony Express.
Heat washed over her in waves, and her sweater felt tight and confining, almost like the high neckline was choking her. But he came to her rescue again, yanking the sweater up and over her head. Before she could react, he unhooked her bra, and his cool hands cupped her breasts. She drew in deep breaths, feeling free, aware that every breath molded her to his palms that much more. It was wrong, but it felt so good, and she didn't want him to stop.
His breath shuddered against her cheek, and his body shook. In the back of her mind a voice told her that to continue would be wrong. Perhaps he, too, was realizing his mistake. But she had no will against the assault of sensation, and she arched against him, wanting his mouth to do the work his hands were doing. She knew she should stop. She knew the spirit journey was disorienting, but she was the responsible party, not Garran. It was up to her to help him adjust to reality. But no man had ever made her feel this wanted, and she couldn't summon the energy to push him away.
When his tongue flicked at her nipple, pushing him away was the last thing on her mind. She arched again, thrusting her breast at him, begging silently for more. The cool air on her damp nipple primed her, and when his tongue teased her again, her nipples hardened to a painful tightness. Was her embarrassment about her ni
pples only yesterday?
His teeth tugged and nipped, and he moved from one nipple to the other. The pleasure drove her mad, and in her madness, she struggled to find the satisfaction she'd always yearned for. She lifted her hips, trying to press herself against him, and she tried to encircle him with her legs, but her skirt was like a straitjacket, preventing movement.
He took one nipple between his lips and gently sucked her. For a moment she held her body still, not wanting to break the magic of the perfect sensation. When he drew the nipple deep into his mouth and suckled harder, she fought again to respond to him, and her legs thrashed uselessly under her skirt.
Suddenly the confining material was ripped away, and cool air danced over her hips and thighs. She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the play of air against her heated flesh. She blinked, and his clothes, too, were gone. His speed surprised her until she remembered he stripped for a living. But the part of him that was pointed at her like a weapon at the ready surprised her even more. She had no idea men could be that large.
But before she could cinch her legs around his waist, he took one thigh in each strong hand. She strained against his hold, but he held her legs in a V position, slowly spreading them farther apart. She throbbed, and the desire made her want to thrash, but his arms were so strong she could do no more than push against the floor with her hands and bow her back like a fish on a hook. He held her like that for long seconds, and all she heard was her sexual throbbing, louder even than her heartbeat. Still, he waited, and her legs trembled in his grasp. She knew he could see all of her, even in the candlelight, and that her lips were spread wide to reveal her wet flesh. Knowing what he was seeing excited her even more, and she tried once more to move her legs, but all strength was gone from them now. All that was left was wanting and waiting, but if he made her wait much longer, she'd go mad.
Dance with Me, My Lovely Page 5