Never Again

by Michele Bardsley

“Shush.” Gray released one of her hands so he could put a finger to her lips. “We’ll talk about everything later, I promise. I want you to relax. Are you hungry?”

  Oh, yes. She was hungry, but not for food. Her gaze flicked to his, and she saw the desire glimmering in his eyes. He wanted her, and she could let him take her. Right here on the white sandy beach with the purple ocean lapping at their legs.

  She couldn’t stop the image from forming. Gray’s mouth on her breasts, his big, tanned hand slipping between her thighs, stealing underneath the triangle of fabric . . .

  Before she could wipe it out of her mind, Gray pulled her into his embrace and held her close. Being in his arms felt foreign, but she melted against him anyway. It had been too long since she felt the touch of another, too long since someone had cared about her. Even if it wasn’t real, she wanted it.

  Gray’s lips caressed the shell of her ear. “Is that what will make you feel better? You want me to give you pleasure, baby?”

  Dark thrills shot through her.

  This is Gray, she thought wildly. He would never want me. Nobody wants me.

  “Stop,” he murmured. “This place is different. There is no hiding. No secrets. No lies. We don’t have to protect our hearts here. Please, Lucy. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

  Somehow, he was reading her thoughts. Maybe being in his dream had given him access to every part of her. She felt too vulnerable. She didn’t want a pity fuck, but even that would be better than his unbearable kindness. Tears seeped out of her eyes. She felt pathetic for wanting something simple, and that she had to ask Gray of all people to do it. She couldn’t stop the words, though. She had no pride left.

  “Hold me, Gray.”

  He sat down on the beach and pulled her down with him. Then he scooped her into his arms and settled her onto his lap. She curled up like a purring kitten, pressing the side of her face against his chest and listening to the rhythmic pounding of his heart.

  “Lucy,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her temple. “Sweet Lucy.”

  “If you call me Juicy Lucy,” she muttered darkly, “I will punch you.”

  He laughed, and the rumble of sound in his chest sounded like happy thunder. “I won’t call you Juicy Lucy today.” He tightened his arms around her. “But tomorrow I might just risk it.”

  “It’s your funeral,” she said, hiding her smile.

  For the first time in a very, very long while, she felt safe.

  Then lightning zigzagged out of the pretty pink sky, and shattered her into a thousand, molten pieces.

  She heard Gray’s anguished shout, but she was already floating free of his grip. He tried to keep her with him—she could feel the strength of his will as well as the strength of his arms. But she was a ghost now, drifting upward, every inch of her on fire, burning, burning like retribution.

  Gray jolted awake, and sat up, turning toward the writhing form of Lucy beside him. Her eyes were open, but glazed over, and he knew she couldn’t see him. But she was seeing something. Visions? Did the curse include screwing with her mind, too? Her lips trembled, tears streaming like tiny rivers, as she whispered, “No. No, don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything. Please.”

  “Gods-be-damned!” He scrambled toward her, wanting so badly to take away her pain he couldn’t breathe. “Lucy.”

  She stiffened, and then her body arched and started to undulate. The seizure was so violent that he had to pin her shoulders down to keep her from flopping onto the floor. The moment she stopped, he let go and backed off. Her throat worked as if her screams were trapped there.

  He had never seen anyone suffer like this before. Not even he had endured this kind of agony when Kerren had plunged her dagger into his heart and offered his soul to her demon lover. He’d known nine minutes of unbelievable torment as he fought for his life. Nine minutes. And Lucy had hours, days ahead.

  No. He hated to leave her, but he had to talk to Grit. The old man was wily as hell, and if anyone knew how to circumvent this curse, he would. “I’ll be right back, baby.”

  She didn’t respond, but he hadn’t really expected her to.

  Grit and Dutch were in the kitchen right where he’d left them, but he cut off their complaining, and hurriedly explained what had unfolded over the last few hours, including all the details he had about Franco’s curse.

  “Cain’t undo demon magic, son,” said Grit. “It’s like Ember said—she’ll have to do the suffering.”

  “Shouldn’t have turned her away, your royal doucheness,” said Dutch. “Bet you’re sorry now.”

  “Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut you.” Gray glowered at the surfer’s blue cover. Neither of the books actually had eyes, but they could still see. He didn’t need to be reminded that he’d been a dumb ass. True, he might’ve spared Lucy the decision to enact the curse if she’d been tucked safely inside his house. But Marcy would still be dead. All he could do now was try to help Lucy, damn it.

  “The dream walking worked?” asked Grit.

  “Yeah. Except she can’t sleep for long. No doubt Franco made it part of the curse—keeping her awake to suffer.”

  “All we got to do, then, is put her in a deeper sleep.” Grit sounded thoughtful. “Magic one-oh-one, boy. Every spell has limits, and so do curses. Cain’t account for every little thing when you’re creating spells, right? Yep. Gotta be a place Lucy can go in her subconscious that the curse cain’t reach.”

  Hope surged through Gray. Franco’s curse was heinous, but it couldn’t self-correct. No spell could. All spells had parameters, and no magic could do more than directed. Magic was alive, but it wasn’t intelligent. It didn’t have morals or ethics. It relied on its master to tell it what to do, how to behave.

  “I prefer Sugandi root,” Grit was muttering, “but we don’t got any. Shoot. Have to make do with Holy Basil.”

  Obeying his grandfather’s instructions, Gray took precious time to create incense from Holy Basil and a few other ingredients. He added the spellwork Grit insisted on, too, which took even more time. Every so often, he heard Lucy scream, and his heart would skip a beat.

  Finally, it was done.

  “Burn it as close as you can to her so she’s breathing it in,” said Grit. “And you gotta do the dream walking with her. Otherwise, she might not come out of it. This is comatose stuff, boy. Don’t forget you’re dreaming, neither! You and that girl could be trapped in your own minds if you stop payin’ attention.” His grandfather’s worry was evident in his sharply delivered words.

  “It won’t be like that again,” said Gray. “I’ll come back. And so will she.”

  “Good luck, son.”

  “Yeah, dude,” chimed in Dutch. “See you on the flip side.”

  Gray took the bowl of incense and hurried back to his bedroom. He hoped that Lucy would remain unconscious for the duration of the curse’s effects. He had no doubt she’d feel like she’d been trampled by elephants when she woke up, but he’d worry about that when the time came. All Lucy had to do was get through the next three days.

  All she had to do was survive.

  Chapter 5

  Ember never doubted her Goddess, but sometimes she didn’t like Her methods. “So much sufferin’,” she murmured as she lit the fragrant candles on the altar. She felt an answer deep within: Necessary. “I know,” she whispered as she watched the flames dance, her heart heavy. “I know.”

  Figuring out how the world worked was complex and often confusing. Many cultures had come up with different explanations of what was essentially the same thing. The magicals had even gone so far as to claim lineage to immortal beings, because people born with powers needed explanations, too.

  The Creator Mother, the Goddess, was the best part of everybody. She inspired wisdom, compassion, nurturing, courage, and kindness. She had called Ember into Her service, and Ember had gone willingly, honored to be one of Her prophets.

  The Goddess’s gift had cost half of her human vision. She’d
taken off her glasses before she’d entered the sanctuary, a chapel created in what had once been a walk-in closet in the master bedroom. Now she traced the skin under her blind eye, and wondered if she was strong enough to do what must be done.

  Yes, my Chosen. The surety of the Goddess lifted the burden of her worry.

  Ember’s grandmother had taught her that the destination wasn’t as important as the journey. Don’t matter what road they use, chil’. All paths lead to the Divine.

  Well. Not all paths.

  Everything in the universe had its opposite—a requirement to maintain the balance. What was joy if you’d never known sorrow? And how could you experience peace if you’d never been troubled?

  This world was a learning place. There were worlds beyond this one offering tranquillity and enlightenment. Absolute, continuous joy could be attained, if that was what a soul truly wanted. Humph. Ember thought nirvana would be a boring way to spend eternity.

  The Dark One was the opposite of the Goddess. His nature was as unchangeable as Hers, but because He was impatience, greed, selfishness, violence, and hatred, He always wanted what He couldn’t have. And He inspired others to feel the same way.

  The balance had shifted dangerously in Nevermore, right under the nose of the Guardian. Gray Calhoun had his own journey to take, but he and Lucinda were integral to the drama that would soon unfold.

  They would need her.

  But for now, she was just the owner of a tea shop, which had gotten a surge in business thanks to the Guardian closing the café.

  Ember blew a kiss to the silver statue of the Goddess and rose. Then she gathered energy and used it to blow out all the candles. Return, she told the magic, and thank you. She ambled out of the chapel and into her bedroom.

  Rilton sat on the bed, waiting for her.

  He was a tall glass of milk, her husband. Rilton Sanders was as pale and soft as white bread and nearly half a foot taller than her, but thin—almost like someone had tied willow branches together and slapped a cardboard face on top. He was younger than her by nearly a decade, his blond hair pulled back into a single braid that hit him midback. He was immensely kind, was handsome in his own way, and loved her without question.

  Rilton was her other half.

  Once she devoted herself to the Goddess, she put aside all her other dreams. She never thought she would fall in love. And she certainly wouldn’t have believed anyone who tried to tell her that her soul mate was an overeducated white boy who’d grown up on a wheat farm in Kansas. Sometimes, Ember suspected the Goddess was a romantic. Or She liked a good joke.

  “You all right?” he asked softly.

  “No,” she said. “Dis one gonna be difficult.”

  “What can I do?” He stroked her hair. That was Rilton. He offered instant support free of reservations. He was a thoughtful man, and whenever she asked his advice, he never gave a quick answer. It could be frustrating, waiting for him to examine all the angles before coming up with a suggestion. He’d told her the quickest decision he’d ever made was to marry her—and that decision had been made within the first minute of meeting her.

  Rilton never lied, either. He didn’t like hurting people, so he often kept truths to himself. He was a man who had no secrets of his own, but he could be trusted to keep those of others. He knew all of hers, and loved her still.

  Ember leaned against him, and he slipped an arm around her shoulder. “We should get back,” she said, unable to keep the sigh out of her voice. “Lots of people need tendin’.”

  “So do you.”

  The smoky tone of his voice told her what kind of tending he wanted to give her. She looked at him, her right eye seeing his physical body, and the left seeing his spiritual form. He was a whole man, in sync with himself and the world. It was why she could look at him, but not others. Some people were so out of balance with their spirit side, it hurt to look at them. Rilton had the glasses made for her, so that her left eye would be protected from all the ugly of people’s souls.

  He kissed her tenderly, and lowered her to the bed. Ember wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  Life was about living . . . even in the tiniest moments. And life without love . . . Well, that was no life at all.

  Lucinda woke up on the silky, white sand, the pearlescent pink sky above, and the purple sea tickling her feet.

  For a moment, she did nothing but enjoy the steady beat of her own heart, and the rhythm of her own breathing.

  She was safe. The absolute knowledge of that wrapped around her like a fuzzy, warm blanket. She embraced the feeling because it felt so good, and it had been so long since she’d felt anything except exhaustion and fear.

  The great thing about a dream beach, she decided as she sat up and stretched, was that the sand didn’t creep into unwanted places. In fact, this sand didn’t cling to her at all. She noted she was in the silver bikini again—only it had been modified quite a bit. The tiny triangles of the top barely covered the areolas of her thirty-six-C breasts. And the bottoms were a joke. The teeny front triangle was all the coverage she got—the sides looked like floss, and nothing covered her booty. She had no doubt Gray was responsible for this ridiculous outfit. Even in dreams, men were men.

  She rose to her feet and looked around.

  She was alone.

  Disappointment wiggled through her. She wasn’t sure how Gray had managed to bring her into his dream again, but she was glad. Then she had another thought: Was she dead?

  The last thing she remembered was the alternating sensations of being dipped in freezing water and then feeling as though she’d been stuck in a microwave on the high setting. After being forced to endure the horrible, painful process of the cursing itself, she’d thought she understood the hellish torture in store for her for accessing her thaumaturgy.

  No. Not even close.

  She shuddered. How long did she have here? How much respite could she drink in before being yanked back into her tormented body?

  Her gift had saved a life once. For a few precious minutes. Still. What made her think she could save Marcy, especially with a curse-warped ability?

  Sadness prickled her contentment. She shouldn’t be on a beach enjoying the feel of warm sand beneath her feet, and inhaling the languid, sweet-scented air. Marcy was dead.

  Why would someone want to kill her?

  For whatever was in the red bag.

  Her heart skipped a beat. What had happened to it? Was it still tucked into her jean pocket? She wasn’t sure she’d be able to honor her promise to Marcy. Nevermore wasn’t her concern. In fact, being here for any length of time would eventually draw Bernard’s notice—and there’d been enough casualties of his wrath. Anguish crept through her. She had enough secrets in her keeping. . . . She wasn’t sure she could accept the burden of one more.

  “Hey!” called out a male voice.

  Gray strode toward her, wearing a pair of black swim trunks and a cocky grin. Even here he emitted strength, virility, danger. Her knees threatened to buckle, and her stomach pitched.

  In lust with Gray.

  She really was dreaming. There was nothing she could do about Marcy, or the mysterious red bag, or even her own possible demise. All she had was now, here, with a man who had no reason to give her the time of day, much less share a dream state with her. He was a Dragon, she remembered, and of course, he’d be a dream walker, too. Overachiever, she thought grumpily.

  He stopped and gave her a slow look that set her blood on fire. Oh, Goddess. He knew how he was affecting her. In fact, he was doing it on purpose. She didn’t know what to do about that. Or about him.

  He widened his grin. “How ya doin’, Juicy Lucy?”

  She put a hand on her cocked hip and pretended annoyance. “I told you not to call me that.”

  “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

  She stalked toward him, eyes narrowed. He stood firm, legs apart, arms crossed, gaze sparkling with challenge. When she finally got up clo
se enough to poke him in the chest, he scooped her into his arms and, with one big heave, tossed her into the purple ocean.

  She came up spluttering. By then, he’d joined her, and as she gulped in some air, he dove under, grabbing her ankle and dunking her again.

  He darted away, doing a backstroke, and laughed.

  Why, that—

  Lucinda forgot about everything. No more worries about Bernard’s curse, her crappy luck, poor Marcy, the red pouch, or her stupid attraction to Gray. It all left her mind. She knew only one thing: She was sooooo going to get him.

  It took a while—an hour, an afternoon?—but Lucinda finally managed to dunk Gray. She swam up behind him and, using all her weight, shoved him down hard. He sank into the purple water with a satisfying splutter.

  Even though she was sure he’d let her get the best of him, she still felt triumphant. But not stupid. She headed toward the shore as fast as she could. By the time she’d gotten out of the water, he was splashing onto the shore right behind her.

  Lucinda turned to run, but she wasn’t fast enough. She squealed when she felt his fingers snag the bikini bottoms. Then he swiped at her ankles and she fell into the sand, laughing. She rolled onto her back and stared up at Gray. He stood above her, his chest heaving, his eyes sparkling.

  “Gotcha,” he said. Then he fell on the sand beside her. He rolled onto his back, too, and they lay on the warm sand shoulder to shoulder and enjoyed the view above them.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” she murmured. “How could you ever go back to the real world?”

  “I almost didn’t.”

  Lucinda turned on her side and looked at him. His gaze remained on the sky, but she could see the turmoil in his eyes all the same. “Tell me.”

  For a moment, she didn’t think he would tell her anything. Why should he? He might be helping her now, but she was under no illusion there wasn’t a price to be paid. He wouldn’t have changed his mind if he hadn’t thought of a way he could use her. It was just the way the real world worked.

  But this place was not the real world.