by Kristie Cook
When Sammy let out a yelp of pain, I pulled my switchblade out of my pocket, turned in the doorway and set one foot on a rung. The whole ladder trembled. I looked down to find a shaved head already halfway up the ladder. Not Micah’s dark hair on that head. Rather, Micah and Billy Idol-dude came into a patch of light on the ground, throwing blows at each other. Even as he punched the other guy, Micah’s foot swung out and kicked the bottom of the ladder. The whole thing slid to the side, then tumbled to the ground, baldy on top of it. I hopped back inside just in time.
Stuck, I could only watch as Micah fought with both men down below. Sammy helped, biting baldy’s leg and yanking as hard as he could until his man went down. Then he went for the man’s face, but baldy’s fist plowed into Sammy’s head. I screamed as my dog flew to the side, but he shot right up and charged again. This time he went directly for the balls. The guy fell to his knees, screaming, trying to push Sammy away but unable. I couldn’t have been prouder of my baby. Micah’s guy, also severely beaten, twisted out of Micah’s grip and dove for the overgrown bushes at the side of the property. Sammy finally let go of baldy, who also jumped into the foliage. Then two black shadows rose from the shrubs and flew off. Very similar to those in the icy alley in Virginia.
Micah let out an angry yell.
In a split second, he had the ladder up and Sammy under one arm, and he was flying up the side of the house. We both dropped to our knees by my dog, checking him for injuries. Blood matted the fur by his shoulder—a cut made by a knife. It wasn’t bad and had already stopped bleeding. Thankfully, we found no other injuries. As we rose to our feet, I couldn’t help but inspect Micah.
When he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me against the wall, I figured he wasn’t hurt.
“Who the hell are they?” he barked. “Who are you?”
I shook my head, my eyes wide. “I don’t know! What do you mean?”
“Something’s going on here, and I want to know what.” He let go of my shoulders, only to grab the bandage on my wrist and yank. I gasped, half at the pain of the little hairs being ripped out and half at surprise. “What the fuck is this? Huh, Jacey? How do you explain it all?”
I pulled my arm across my body. “I told you. I scraped it going down the ladder.”
What was wrong with him?
He leaned closer to me, his face right in mine. “Don’t. Lie. To. Me. That’s not a scrape.”
“What do you—” I held my arm out, and my jaw fell open. He was right. The scrape—the scab I’d so painfully created—was gone. The flame was more defined and brighter than ever.
“Explain it,” Micah ordered. He held up his own arm. “Explain this!”
If my jaw could drop any farther, it’d be bruised from hitting the ground. A flame, identical to mine, marked Micah’s skin directly under his right wrist.
“I . . . I don’t . . .” I shook my head as my mouth stammered over the words. “I have no idea. Where did you get it?” More words began to fight their way out. “And what do you mean, ‘explain’? You explain. You tell me what’s going on, because I have no idea!”
Micah threw his arms up in the air. The open door must have caught his attention because he reached over and slammed it closed. Then he turned back to me and placed one hand against the wall on each side of my head and leaned even closer than before, forcing me to press my back against the wall.
“You give me flack for being here, but you showed up after me. You could have followed me here. Brought your screwed up henchmen with you, pretending to stalk you but it’s really me they’re after, huh? And this mark? It showed up this afternoon out of nowhere. Nowhere! And it won’t go away. What the hell is going on?”
My throat worked at a swallow while my lungs tried to draw in air at the same time. Both functions failed. I stared into Micah’s eyes, drowning in them, completely losing myself in their dark pools, in him. I fought the urge to close the gap separating us, to press into him, become within him. The word dyad tumbled around my head once again.
“Jacey!” His hands were on my shoulders again, shaking me. “Breathe.”
His voice sounded so far away although his eyes were still right there, pulling me in. Pinpricks of light flashed across my vision. My body softened, and I was okay with that because it was only a physical presence that mattered little. My soul was what mattered now. I did have one. We both did. And they were meant to be one. Our souls were two halves of one whole. I believed this with an absolute certainty.
“Jacey, please,” Micah pleaded, his voice coming closer, begging me now rather than yelling. “Just breathe.”
I realized his voice sounded so close now because his lips were against my ear. His muscular arms wrapped around my shoulders and cradled me against his hard chest. His breath caught, and now he seemed to be losing it. His body sagged into mine, and we barely held each other up. He wouldn’t let go of me, but held tightly, and we both fell against the wall, then slid down it. We settled into a heap on the floor, legs entangled, arms wrapped around each other, foreheads pressed together. His eyes still never left mine, but they widened and deepened, and somehow I knew he was experiencing the same thing I had. His hands came to my face, holding me still. We both panted, breathing each other’s air as something both magnificent and terrifying exchanged between us.
Something within me rose, more burning than physical desire, an overwhelming urge straight from the core of my existence. A primal, desperate compulsion to close the space between us until there was nothing, until we became one, indistinguishable mass. The need to bond.
“Jacey,” Micah whispered. His eyes broke away from mine and stared at my lips as his tongue swiped over his own. “I need to . . . Can I . . . ?”
I nodded infinitesimally, and his mouth pressed against mine.
Our eyes closed, but the connection didn’t break. It strengthened. He was gentle at first but only momentarily as the need for more exploded in both of us. His lips parted, and his tongue traced mine before pushing them open. Our tongues danced playfully, his darting in and out, barely brushing against mine, but then I opened my mouth more and let him in. And it was as if I let all of him in.
An intense rush flowed through me, filled me completely as though I’d been an empty vessel, made me feel whole although I’d never felt incomplete before. What I can only call our souls coming together.
I’m not the greatest writer. I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t even know if I could draw or paint what happened to us. Nobody would understand. Like the grief of a loved one’s death, maybe those feelings weren’t meant to be captured. All I can say is I’d never before believed in souls and spirits until then, but I can’t deny ours greeted each other and bonded, melded, became one like they were supposed to be.
The feeling shook me to the core, turning everything I believed in upside down, freaking me out some, but filling me with crazed wonder, too. The dyads are whole again. With this nonsensical thought, a sense of peace washed over me.
It didn’t last for long, though.
Chapter 12
Our hands slid over each other’s faces, necks, shoulders, daring to go further in exploration. The need for each other became more physical than anything, and when this thought registered in my mind, I forced myself to pull away before we went too far. Micah’s eyes opened, and we stared at each other for a moment that lasted an eternity. In my peripheral vision, I saw Sammy sitting behind him, watching us, his head tilted to the side, his ears up, and his tail wagging. I blinked. Micah sucked in a breath. Our connection broke, and in an instant, he was on his feet.
“What the hell was that?” Micah breathed, staring at me like I was some kind of freak. As if I had attacked him or something. The accusation in both his tone and his eyes hurt, and I immediately became defensive.
“Most guys call it the best they’ve ever had,�
� I snapped. “Most” guys as in three of the four I’ve ever even kissed, but that was beside the point.
“You know what I mean,” he growled. His hands flew up and clasped together behind his head, and he began to pace. I slowly rose to my feet, hoping my noodle-like legs would hold me.
I did know what he meant, but I swallowed my pride. “Don’t get your panties in such a bunch. It was just a kiss,” I muttered.
My lips and chin felt swollen and rough, as if it was more than a simple kiss, though. His sexy stubble had done quite the number on my face for just a kiss. I glanced at the clock and couldn’t believe over two hours had passed.
He was suddenly in front of me, his hands on my face gently but firmly. “If it was just a kiss, I’d be begging you for more because that’s all I’ve wanted to do all day. That—what happened just now—was more than a kiss, and you know it.” He let go of me and began to pace again. I leaned against the wall, my legs too wobbly to hold myself up. “So what was it? What’s going on? First the mark . . . tattoo . . . whatever it is. Then those men. And now that . . . not just a kiss thing. You doing some kind of voodoo punk magic shit on me?”
I chuckled darkly. “As if such a thing existed.”
“Then what is it, Jacey?” he yelled.
Adrenaline shot through my veins. I pushed off the wall and stepped in front of him.
“I don’t know,” I said through clenched teeth as I glared up at his face. “But it’s not me doing this, so I’d appreciate it if you’d back the hell off me. This is wigging me out, too, you know.”
He studied my face for several moments, waiting for my expression to break and show my lie. But I wasn’t lying, and he eventually must have realized this. The sharp pierce of his mocha-brown eyes softened before he turned away from me. He walked over to the French doors and stared out into the blackness beyond. Or maybe he watched the bar’s parking lot.
“Why don’t we start with those men?” I suggested, hoping that talking this out would lead to some answers. “What happened?”
Micah heaved out a breath before turning around to face me. “I came over to bring Sammy up. When I came around the corner, he was at the bottom of the ladder, the hair on his back raised and his teeth bared at two men dressed all in black. When I asked who they were, the blond said he was a friend of yours. Sammy started barking like a mad-dog, startling them, and they went into attack mode. The blond came after me while the bald guy ran for the ladder. You know the rest.”
“They’re definitely no friends of mine,” I said. Micah’s eyes showed he wasn’t sure whether to believe me. “Look, the guy was behind me in line at the grocery store. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him, I swear. He creeped me out, so I left the line.”
“They said something about how they should have made the hit in Virginia.”
I threw my hands in the air with exasperation. “What do you want from me, Micah? I’ve never seen them before. I swear it! And why are you so paranoid? Maybe they meant a hit on me. They were at my place, after all.”
“And who would want to kill you?”
The word sent a chill up my spine, and at the same time deflated my bravado. “I . . . I don’t know. None of this makes sense.”
“You’re telling me.” Micah walked over to the living room wall, slid down it to his butt, rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. I went over to my bedding by the opposite wall and sat down with a pillow in my lap, suddenly feeling exhausted. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink.
“So who would want to kill you?” I asked. “Why are you so paranoid? Does it have something to do with the military?”
Micah lifted his head to look at me. “Whoever they are, they didn’t expect me to fight back so hard. They acted surprised by my combat training.”
“So why are you so worried? Why do you think I’d do this to you? Do you have some kind of riches you’re hiding? Did you commit some kind of crime?”
“None of the above.” He rubbed his hand over his head several times. “Look, I’m sorry I blamed you. But all of this started with you.”
I peered at him. “I could say the same, you know. For me, this all started with you.”
He chuckled, though the sound held no humor. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. So what does it all mean? What do you think is going on?”
I’d never forget the odd yet awesome feeling of our souls bonding together, but now that it was over, the idea sounded ridiculous. I wanted to know if he’d felt it, too, but was too embarrassed to ask.
“Do you know what dyad means?” I hedged instead.
His head jerked up. His eyes widened, then narrowed tightly. His voice came out in a whisper. “You heard that, too?”
“Duh. I didn’t pull it out of my ass. So do you know?”
“No idea. You’re the college girl. No dictionary around?”
I was about to shake my head when I remembered I kept a pocket dictionary in my school backpack. Pops had given it to me, telling me to keep it in my bag in case I ever needed it while in class or study group. I crawled over to the pile of stuff I’d taken out of my Jeep and pulled out my backpack. After a few seconds of digging around through all of my important papers, I found the little dictionary stuffed into a bottom corner.
“Totally weird,” I muttered once I’d flipped through the pages to the D section, then found dyad.
“What?” Micah asked, still sitting on the far side of the room and making no effort to come to my side.
“The official definition says, ‘a group of two people, a pair, such as husband and wife.’ But someone’s scribbled in the margins.” I frowned. “Pops gave this to me new. How did this get here?”
“What does it say?” Impatience colored Micah’s tone.
The lines and swirls appeared to be nothing specific at first, but then I was able to make out the words. I swallowed hard and looked up at Micah.
“It . . . um . . . here.” I tossed the book across the room. Apparently, neither of us felt comfortable getting too close to the other. For me, anyway, I wasn’t sure which I feared more—what was going on or losing control again and jumping his bones.
Micah thumbed through the pages until he found the right one. His eyes squinted as he focused on the handwriting. Then he looked up at me, his straight, dark eyebrows high on his forehead. “Twin Flames?”
Simultaneously, we both looked at the other’s wrist and then at our own. Then Micah threw the book across the room, with more force than necessary. I ducked before it nailed me in the forehead.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
I reached for the dictionary and, by chance it was defined, I looked up Twin Flames. No definition given by Merriam-Webster, but another note scrawled in the margin referred to the Appendix. Flipping to the end of the book, I found no official appendix. Instead, ballpoint ink covered the last page of the book. The handwriting was easier to read as I became used to it. I read it aloud.
“Twin Flames: A deeper connection than soul mates. While soul mates are two souls made for each other, Twin Flames are two halves of a single soul that has been divided. The halves pull to each other until they are finally reunited. When they are once again bound to each other, they are stronger than the sum of their parts.”
By the time I dropped the book to my lap, Micah was on his feet and striding for the door.
“I gotta get out of here,” he said. “I can’t do this.”
And then he was gone, pulling the door shut behind him.
I didn’t have to ask if he’d felt the same truth about our souls bonding during the kiss that was more than just a kiss. His reaction to what I read told me. I couldn’t blame him for walking out—the flame tattoos, the definition of Twin Flames, the incredible connection we’d made during the kiss was all a bit much for me
and I wasn’t a guy—but it took everything I had to keep from begging him to stay or lashing out at him and calling him a coward. I wasn’t that type of girl and wasn’t about to become one. If he wanted to go, I wouldn’t force or guilt-trip him into staying, even if it meant never seeing him again.
Based on what I felt as he left, though, I didn’t think he’d go far or stay away for long. I could sense him—as in, I could feel his presence as he moved across the yard to the parking lot and climbed into his truck—and I was sure he could sense me. When he pulled away, my heart, or maybe it was my soul, felt like a rubber band being stretched from the other end. The sensation wasn’t exactly painful, but it didn’t feel good either. I could only hope if he did decide to take off, one of us would figure out how to break the bond. Maybe enough distance and time would cause it to disintegrate or even snap on its own . . . but I doubted it.
I had no idea what to think of all this. I wanted to call Bex and tell her everything, but she would think me totally whacked. The whole scenario was completely nutso. Besides, exhaustion kept me from making the trek to the bar’s pay phone, and, admittedly, a little fear did, too, with those two guys somewhere out there. Micah wouldn’t be here to rescue me this time. Hell, as far as I knew, he could be headed out of town for good. The pull on my soul remained.
So I stretched out on my makeshift bed and tried to think things through. Sammy snuggled beside me as I picked up the dictionary and investigated it. Although the cover was scratched and marked and bent at the corners, you could tell it hadn’t really ever been used. I had always used the full-size dictionary in my dorm room, one of the things Bex had packed and kept in storage for me. The spine on this one was pretty smooth, having been cracked open only twice before—the day Pops gave it to me and tonight. So how did those notes get in there?