by Dannika Dark
“What does it matter? I can’t see the bloody puff of air.”
“No, but they have a way of influencing the living from the afterworld. Sometimes through emotions. They can put thoughts in your head, especially when you’re half-asleep. Some figure out how to manipulate electricity, like the idiots that used to live here who were always creating power surges in my game room to shut off the computers. Blasted spooks.”
Christian flicked him on the forehead. “Can we stick to the matter at hand?”
“Do you know a place you can take him? I doubt he’ll get out of the car unless it’s someplace familiar.”
Christian folded his arms. “I can think of a location.”
“Don’t send him to the cemetery,” Wyatt warned. “They get pissed when you do that.”
“Do I get a favor for this?”
“Big-time.” Wyatt spun on his heel. “Hey, John. Christian says he remembers you now. He wants to take you somewhere…. I don’t know, but he says you’ll remember. Isn’t that what you want?” Wyatt stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I guess it’s the end of the line for us… Thanks.”
“What’s he saying?” Christian asked, curious.
Wyatt turned, and a smile touched his lips. “He said he likes my hat.”
As Christian sped down the road in his car, he periodically glanced at the empty passenger seat. There was no draft, the windows weren’t foggy, no ethereal glow or flickering shadow—nothing to indicate a dead person was sitting beside him.
Maybe Wyatt was a raging lunatic.
Which made Christian the bigger lunatic for agreeing to something like this. Despite all the magic in the Breed world, it was hard for a man to believe in something he couldn’t see with his own eyes. But Christian rarely turned down opportunities for a favor owed, and if it kept Wyatt from talking to himself, then he was all for an exorcism by Honda.
He kept thinking about the moment Glass had opened the front door. It replayed in his head over and over during the drive, and Christian fantasized about whether it would have been more satisfying to rip his throat out first or break bones. He normally didn’t have any personal feelings one way or the other about a suspect unless they crossed him, but something about Glass struck a nerve, and it had nothing to do with the previous murders, not even that of Marlene. It was the look in Raven’s eyes.
He’d rarely seen such a strong and capable woman look so conflicted, and it troubled him. She was his partner, and he couldn’t tolerate the thought of working with someone who couldn’t get hold of her emotions. Especially around a Chitah.
Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. On the night of Marlene’s murder, Christian hadn’t been able to stand the thought of sitting at home and imagining what the two of them would be doing all night, so he’d left and found a date of his own. In fact, he’d specifically sought out a Chitah. When he drove past the finest restaurants in town and spotted Glass’s car, he couldn’t help himself. Raven had the right to see whomever she wanted. Why did it vex him so?
It was that fecking kiss. She’d made him wipe her memory of it, and he hadn’t understood why. His jealousy had nothing to do with the influence of blood. That happened before he’d tasted her. Now he found it impossible to look at Raven without imagining her warm body pressed against his and her tongue in his mouth tasting of cherry wine. He remembered the eagerness between both of them—a unique chemistry he didn’t feel with other women. A desire to kiss her over and over, discovering every curve of her body with his hands and mouth. Her breasts were sculpted from perfection, her legs as long as the Nile, and she wasn’t soft like most women. Raven worked out, and if she could kill a man with her thighs, it tempted him to know what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his head.
That fecking kiss.
If only he could look in the mirror and scrub his own memory, but it didn’t work like that. Now he was cursed with maintaining an awkward relationship with his partner, who had no memory of their intimacy, leaving him alone with his foolish thoughts. He should have never drunk from her. Those bullet wounds would have healed on their own—albeit slowly. And now that she’d tasted him, their lives were tangled in a way that couldn’t be undone. It had been so long since he’d taken the vein of another Vampire that he’d forgotten the dark lure of ancient blood, which lived in all of them.
Christian muttered a curse and rolled down the window, inviting a blast of icy wind into the car. Women always had to complicate things. It was all he could do to forget the decadent taste of her salty skin and the sound of her heart racing in his ears. How was it possible to feel that much desire from something as innocuous as a kiss?
He flicked another glance at the empty seat beside him. “If you’re really sitting beside me, then you’re a fortunate man to not have to deal with this shite anymore. Women are nothing but viperous snakes, driving men to do inane things. You and I never got on, but you should do yourself a favor and leave this world. There’s nothing but pain and misery to keep you company. I can’t imagine why you stuck around.”
No one answered, just the sound of wind tunneling through the window. He still couldn’t get Raven off his mind. She liked walking the roof at night, and often he’d lurk in the shadows and watch her. He wasn’t sure why, but she fascinated him with her odd behavior. She was more complicated than any woman he’d ever met, and there was an unshakable feeling that he somehow knew her.
Christian neared the front gates of a mansion but couldn’t get any closer without tipping off the guards.
“End of the line,” he said. “There are too many security checkpoints for my taste. Feck if I believe I’m sitting here talking to myself, but that’s your new home. Don’t come back with me, or else Wyatt’s never going to let me hear the end of it, and I might end up smothering him with a pillow.”
Should I open the door? Christian wondered, uncertain if ghosts could slide through walls.
Just in case, he got out of the car and opened the passenger side. “Out of the car. Time for you to saunter on,” he said, pointing toward the gates. He could see the house perfectly with his Vampire eyes, though he wasn’t sure what a ghost could see.
He folded his arms and paced in front of the car. “This is where you belong. Does it look familiar at all? Probably not. Maybe this was a mistake. Anyhow, suit yourself. Either go in or stand on the street, but you’re not coming back with me.” After a quiet moment, Christian reflected on the situation and felt a twinge of empathy. “She’s waiting for you.”
John exited the vehicle and studied the house in the distance. He knew he was dead; it was the reason he’d stayed at Northern Lights. It was the last place in his memory. Each night, he’d search the faces of the patrons in hopes of unraveling this tangled mystery. He couldn’t remember his death, nor could he remember most of the events before and after. His memories were like a spiderweb blowing in the wind, each section overlapping the next.
When he’d died, was there a light? Had he turned away from it? Why? Maybe this was what happened to dead people. What a fucking joke.
“She’s waiting for you,” Christian said.
Christian was a prick. John hadn’t remembered him until the moment he walked into the room and saw the Vampire’s face. It didn’t restore any of his memories outside of a few he had of Christian. He just knew him, and he wasn’t sure who or what had connected them when they were alive.
Christian sure as hell wasn’t any help. The bastard rambled on about female problems, and if John had been of flesh and blood, he would have knocked his lights out and told him to get his shit in check.
When the Vampire got inside his car to leave, John briefly debated on getting back in and returning with him to the mansion. Wyatt was the only person who’d been able to see him, and that somehow restored his sanity. The job had given him a sense of purpose. John knew that if he didn’t get back in the car, he’d never see Wyatt again—never figure out how to return to the mansion.
But Christ
ian’s last words piqued his curiosity, so John decided to go forward instead of back. At that point, he had nothing to lose. The living could never understand the turmoil of limbo.
He walked through the iron bars and passed a few security guards reading magazines. There was a second checkpoint, but these guards had their eyes alert while they smoked their hand-rolled cigarettes. John waved his hand in front of their faces, but neither man reacted.
No one ever did.
John didn’t exist anymore. He had no place in this world, and the world had no place for him. He was a forgotten soul—ignored and forced to watch life happening all around him. He’d witnessed murders, unable to help. Watched couples fall in love, even saw a baby being born in the backseat of an SUV. It made him cry phantom tears. John was a hard man, but something about watching that baby coming into the world was fucking magical.
He glanced at his surroundings. Nothing about this place looked familiar.
Nothing.
He stepped through the front door and then shook off the uncomfortable feeling of passing through inanimate objects. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, but most of the lights were turned off. On the walls were old paintings and art that didn’t go together. If John had been here before, it must not have been an important part of his life. Surely he’d remember what mattered.
As he made a quiet ascent up the stairs, someone made a noise down below. John leaned over the banister and saw the top of a dark-haired man heading toward the back of the house. It was hard to tell if he was security or someone who lived there. Not that it mattered.
John kept going up, his thoughts scattering like marbles rolling across the floor in every direction. His memories were fragmented dreams, and some of them didn’t make sense. He remembered the house he grew up in, yet the faces of his parents were never the same.
“Dementia,” he muttered, realizing he was trapped in this in-between place forever.
Slowly going crazy.
Maybe he should have stayed with Wyatt. It was good to have someone to talk to—someone who could explain things and become an anchor to center himself around. Wyatt wasn’t so bad; he could be a little shit at times, but he’d treated John fairly in the short time they’d known each other.
He poked his head through a door in one room and saw what looked like a study. The next door was a bathroom. Now he felt like a Peeping Tom of the afterlife, wandering around in people’s homes and spying in their bedrooms.
When he reached another door and peered in, something caught his attention. Moonlight shone through the open window straight ahead, and his eyes traveled to a bed on the left side of the room. A spray of wavy blond hair covered a pillow, and John stepped inside, feeling a chill of familiarity.
Even the smell in the room was a distant memory. While it required concentration, John found he could easily pick up odors. It was one reason he liked hanging around the bar. The smell of barbecue, hamburgers, a good cigarette—torturous and yet one of the few luxuries he could indulge in.
He drew closer to the bed, circling around to the other side where the woman was sleeping. When he neared, John stumbled backward, struck with such an incredible pain that he thought he would shatter into a million pieces.
Moonlight painted her angelic face, highlighting her pouty lips and apple cheeks. Though her eyes were closed, he knew with absolute certainty that they were blue. Not just any blue, but sky blue. The color a man gazed up at when he was lying on the grass next to his woman, imagining their future together. Her honey-blond hair was loose and soft around her head, a little longer than he last remembered.
And he remembered.
John fell to his knees and reached out to her as if no time had passed between them.
As if death had not separated them.
As if she would open her eyes and fall into his arms.
Her lip began to quiver, even though she was sleeping.
“Can you hear me?” he whispered, stroking her face and wishing he could feel how silky it was beneath the press of his rough fingertips.
He always had to be gentle with her because she reminded him of a glass figurine in the palm of his hand, and John was a big man—a strong man. How had such a beautiful creature ever loved a man such as him?
How had he been so fortunate?
And so cursed.
He lowered his head, tears welling in his eyes. Tears that weren’t real since he no longer had a body, but the visceral grief ignored his ghostly limitations. How many years had passed between them?
Guilt consumed him for having left her behind—for leaving his love alone on this earth without someone to protect her, to hold her, to cherish her like no one else could.
A tear rolled across her nose, and her eyes slowly opened. She stared vacantly through him, and it broke his heart.
“I haven’t forgotten you,” he said, fighting through the sorrow. “I’m here, baby girl.”
Her blinks grew longer as she drifted between awake and asleep. When she rolled over and showed him her back, John circled the bed and crawled onto it, lying beside her.
He hadn’t done this in so long. Memories flooded back of their first night together.
And their last.
He wanted to wipe the tear away from her lashes, but he could only stare at it as a reminder of everything he’d lost.
“You look beautiful,” he said. “Even more than I remember. I missed your smile. Remember that time you made me dance in the middle of an outdoor café? I always had two left feet, and then I knocked over that table.”
She suddenly smiled, her blue eyes glittering.
He placed his hand over hers. “You were my best thing.”
She couldn’t hear him, couldn’t know that he was there, but John hadn’t felt such an overwhelming sense of peace in a long time.
“I miss you,” she whispered, her face contorting as she fought back tears. “But I don’t blame you. I just don’t understand why you had to go.”
“Me either,” he said, his voice cracking.
She blew out a calming breath, her lip swelling as it often did when she was upset. “We’ll be together again someday.”
John knew it to be true. In that moment, the fates somehow bestowed him the knowledge that he would be reborn to live as an immortal. They would find each other in the next life as they had in every life before, because they were meant to be.
He brushed his hand across her face, and she finally closed her eyes. “I’ll find you, baby girl.” He remembered the promise he’d given her on their first night together—that he’d always take care of her.
And he would.
For all eternity in each life.
As her breathing changed and she shifted into a deep slumber, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s time to go,” a voice behind him said.
John didn’t know who was in the room, but he knew they’d come for him. As he remembered his death, he also remembered what happened just after—his refusal to leave his true love’s side. She was hurt, and she needed him to stay.
So much blood.
“Not everyone gets a second chance,” the voice said. “You helped the living, and your actions have saved many lives.”
John stroked her cheek. “Will she also come back as Breed?”
“Yes. But your children will have a different destiny to follow.”
Children.
John took one last lingering look, wishing that a part of him could stay behind with her until they met again. He would miss her sparkling eyes, her gentle smile, and the passionate touch of her lips against his neck. But her heart would know him again.
He rose from the bed, walking backward until he was in the hall. John pressed his hand against the door and couldn’t let go.
“This is not your life anymore,” the voice said.
John slowly turned away and followed the light down the hall. It grew brighter, warmer, and filled him with the peace he had long sought
. As he passed by a room, he noticed a toy truck at the foot of the door. John stepped into the room and stood between two small beds that held the precious lives of his twin children.
“We made beautiful babies,” he said proudly, looking between them as a burst of light enveloped him.
The little boy opened his eyes and smiled… just as John disappeared.
Chapter 26
“Again, Raven. Not good enough.” Niko circled around me in the center of our training room.
Viktor had ordered everyone downstairs that morning to sharpen our skills. He worked out for a little while before taking a seat on the sidelines and watching our moves. Every so often, he would switch up partners.
Right now, I had the simple task of removing a knit hat from Niko’s head. The only problem was I’d been trying to take it off for the past hour.
Nothing got by Niko.
He had on his usual black pants—sans shirt and shoes. His hair was tied back in a thin braid, and his body glistened with sweat.
I didn’t glisten; I perspired. Sweat formed nice circular patches around my armpits and a line down the center of my back. A grey shirt probably hadn’t been the best choice.
Gem and Wyatt were tossing knives at a wood plank on the wall while Shepherd gave them pointers.
My body ached, and I decided not to use my flashing ability anymore. Those bursts of energy weren’t getting me any closer to that hat, and Niko anticipated every move I made.
When I advanced, he stepped back, matching my pace.
“What is the point of this?” I asked, flustered.
Viktor looked up from where he was sitting on the floor. “If your opponent has a weapon or something you want, how will you take it from them if they refuse to fight?”
“I can get anyone to fight,” I said. “I find their buttons and push them.”