Free Spirit: Book Two of The Bound Spirit Series

by H. A. Wills

  “I love you both,” Nolan groans with humor, “but could you tone it down a little. Callie and I would like to be able to keep down dinner.”

  “Can’t be helped, son,” his father gloats while looking with open adoration at his wife. “Your mother is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, and every day I can’t imagine that I could love her more, but I do.”

  “I love you too, mi amor,” she replies with equal affection, then cups his face so that she may place a proper kiss on his lips.

  “You’ll understand one day when you find that special person who brings you light even in the darkest times,” he tells Nolan while still looking into his wife’s eyes.

  A mischievous smirk crosses Mrs. Campbell’s lips, and she winks at her son. “Unless you’ve already found them.” Her gaze shifts to me with a playful raised brow, in case we missed the hint.

  A full body blush burns down my skin, and I nearly choke on a bite of calamari.

  “For the hundredth time, we’re just friends,” Nolan sighs into his hands that scrub down his face.

  I nod in agreement, because I’m finding it hard to breathe. My eyes flit across the room, not really knowing where to settle. This is apparently the ‘family’ dining room with a table that seats eight, a full mini bar on one wall, and a crystal chandelier that looks like it’d be right at home in any palace.

  The dining room designated for dinner parties seats eighty.

  The bizarre lives of really rich people, I mentally chuckle, then remember that technically, I’m one as well. Too weird.

  Nolan’s mother releases a dramatic sigh, and I’m starting to see where he gets it. “Too bad. Callie, you seem delightful.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Campbell,” I murmur, not sure what else to say.

  Whatever that was in the gym earlier flashes before my eyes, and I don’t know what it means. Nolan’s making it clear we’re just friends, but is that still true with Donovan? Nothing happened, but it felt like something was going to. Or it could be completely in my imagination, and this is simply another side to his personality. Ugh. Why is this so complicated?

  “Please, call me Lillian,” Nolan’s mother insists with a sweep of her hand, bringing me back to the present. She taps one well-manicured finger against her lips. “Though a witch for a daughter-in-law would hamper our chances for grandchildren.”

  My spoon clatters into my bowl, and I shoot Nolan a look that could very well sear skin off. How could he?

  He gives me a meaningful look back, eyes wide in communication, and subtly shakes his head no-- which I’m banking means he didn’t fully tell his parents what I am.

  Mr. Campbell gives me a kind smile. “Nolan mentioned that you lived most of your life as a human, but being a witch isn’t something you have to hide from us. There’re no secrets in our family, and also, no judgement. You’re safe here.”

  My heart hurts remembering that there’s a big secret his parents don’t know. One that’s completely changed Nolan’s life.

  “Thank you, Mr. Campbell,” I mumble back.

  “Robert, please,” he corrects with warmth. “Or Rob, if you prefer. We’re rather informal around here.”

  I think his definition of informal versus mine are very different.

  I nod again, because apparently, I’ve become mute. It’s been so easy with the guys that I forgot how awkward I am around new people. The situation reminds me too much of old dinner parties my father dragged me to so I could perform the role of perfect daughter. It’s difficult to fight the survival instinct to be as invisible as possible.

  “So how did the gala go?” Nolan jumps in, before any more uncomfortable conversation can ensue.

  The question quickly leads into his parents talking excitedly not only about the event, but funny anecdotes that include everything from outrageous requests from the client to the scandals of whom they found canoodling in behind not so closed doors.

  I’m so grateful for the subject change that I have to fight the urge to reach out and hold Nolan’s hand. Though to be honest, it’d be as much to draw strength from him as it would be to thank him. His nonchalant behavior regarding these small physical contacts has helped greatly toward my goal of enjoying these intimacies. I’m finding I really enjoy hugs.

  His parents gesture wildly, speak in exaggerated voices, and have dramatic expressions as they share their stories. Soon my nervousness is gone, and I’m laughing so hard my face hurts. Despite their fine clothes and refined features, they’re just like their son-- full of light and good humor.

  Nolan is a perfect blend of his parents in both wit and looks. The sharp model like features, with broad shoulders and lean frame come directly from his father, whereas his hair, eyes, and lithe movements come from his mother. I’m envious of their relationships, but it’s no longer such a stabbing ache as it was the first time. Maybe because I’m developing a loving family of my own?

  Time flies, and before I realize it, an hour has passed and my dinner and dessert plate, a lemon raspberry cheesecake with a chocolate drizzle, has long since been empty.

  When they finish their story about how the Ambassador of France took quite a shine to a very flustered Senator from New Hampshire, they signal for the waiting servants to clear the table.

  With a suggestive purr in his wife’s ear, he asks, “My love, would you accompany me for a private nightcap?”

  She giggles and coos, “That’s sounds wonderful, light of my life.”

  “You’re impossible,” Nolan mutters, rubbing at his eyes.

  They both smile back at their son, obviously enjoying flustering him. They’re so unabashedly in love, that for the first time, I wonder if one day that could be me.

  Once the servants take away our empty plates and are out of earshot, Mrs. Campbell looks over at her son and stage whispers, “Darling, you’re looking a little peckish. There’s a fresh supply of blood in the private refrigerator.”

  “Mom!” Nolan chides, eyes wide. “We have a guest.”

  She makes a dismissive flapping motion with her hand. “Please, she’s a witch and it’s not like it’s a secret. Callie won’t mind. Will you, dear?”

  I shake my head and clear my throat. “No, I don’t mind.”

  A flash of pain crosses his features, before they’re schooled back into an affable smile.

  “Dinner was so good that I’m stuffed,” he says, lightly patting his stomach, “but I promise to grab a bag before bed. First, Callie and I are going to go watch a movie.” He gets up, kisses his mother on the cheek, and gives his father an over the shoulder hug. “Night... And for the love of god, keep it down.”

  They both smile up at him with amused grins and wish us both goodnights. Their affection for their son is clearly visible on their faces.

  I mumble my own farewells, and quickly follow Nolan out.

  Once we’re in the elevator, I ask, “What are you going to do when they see you in the morning and can tell you haven’t fed?”

  Nolan runs a hand through his hair and releases a heavy sigh. “I’ll tell them I forgot… that I fell asleep or something.”

  It’s at the same moment I realize I’m not supposed to know about the curse that he gives me a sharp look. Like a predator zeroing in on their prey, he inquires, “Why are you so sure I won’t feed before bed?”

  “Uhhhhh…” I stammer, backing up into the metal wall of the elevator, and there’s a sinking free fall sensation in my stomach.

  “Callie…” He purrs, caging me against the wall with hands braced on either side of my head. His arctic blue eyes pin me in place. “Why wouldn’t I feed?”

  The door slides open when we’ve reached the proper level, but he doesn’t move.

  My mouth suddenly feels dry, and I breathily stutter out, “Why don’t we talk about this in your room?”

  “Who. Told. You?” He enunciates each word with a quiet anger that has my heart racing.

  “Connor,” I whisper, his name falling at our fee
t.

  Surprise washes his features. His muscles bunch, he grits his teeth, and spins on his heel, storming out of the elevator with tight fists at his sides. I rush after him, scared of what trusts I’ve broken.

  Nolan has a really long stride when he’s angry, and it’s not until his suite that I finally catch up with him.

  “It’s not his fault,” I wheeze, attempting to catch my breath.

  He leans against the back of the black leather couch, hands braced on either side, and stares out at the dark night-- our reflections more visible in the floor to ceiling windows than the shadowed forest outside. The lights are low, bright enough to see, but it casts everything in sharp contrasts.

  “Was he talking to someone else and you overheard him?” he asks, his gaze still focused on the glass.

  I tug on the sleeves of my long sleeved t-shirt, rubbing the thin, soft fabric between my fingers.

  “No,” I answer quietly, “but I saw you at the party… with that girl. Not that I care about you with other girls or anything… it’s just, I could tell that you didn’t like the girl-- well, like like her.”

  I fidget, because he’s still not looking at me-- his sharp features appearing as if they’ve been cast from stone.

  “I knew that you were going to feed from her, and I saw how strong your charming abilities were... are?... from that asshole at the party, and it…” This part I whisper so softly, I’m unsure if he’ll hear me, “It bothered me a lot.”

  The muscles in his back tense and his head falls forward, now gazing at the hardwood floors between his feet, but he still remains silent.

  Stealing all the nerve I have left, I walk over and perch on the back of the couch next to him, my legs dangling. “Apparently, what I was thinking was written all over my face, so Connor took me outside to explain that this was your only option. That Gina had cursed you, and now you could only feed… uh, fresh from the vein, so to speak.”

  That last bit earns me a twitch of his lips, which I consider a good sign. He shakes his head ruefully. “Of all people, there’s a kind of strange irony that it’d be Connor. The one time he decides to string more than a few words together, it’s to rat me out.”

  I laugh, but it comes out quiet and awkward.

  He glances up at me, his brows knit together with concern, and murmurs, “Do I scare you?”

  “What? No, of course not,” I reply vehemently. “If anything, I’m royally pissed off for you.” I wince. “Which was why I accidently killed the Whitaker’s dining room table.”

  He chuckles, and it feels like I can breathe again. Then I remember I planned to offer myself up so he didn’t have to hunt for people, and I get nervous for completely different reasons.

  “So I don’t scare you, but you’re still uncomfortable with me?” he questions, looking into my eyes, and it’s evident how important my answer is.

  “I’m not uncomfortable with you,” I respond, carefully choosing my words, “but watching someone’s free will drain away is unnerving.”

  “I never use my abilities to make someone do anything sexual with me,” he vows with widely frantic eyes. “Whatever we do, the person is willing. Always. I only charm them to forget what I am.”

  “I know,” I answer gently, then with a wry smirk add, “You have an army of admirers who follow you around. I doubt finding a willing partner would be difficult.”

  He smiles, but it’s tight around the eyes. The pain of his dual lives crashing into each other evident in his furrowed brow.

  Everything feels mixed up inside me, as I slide from the back of the couch and stand in front of Nolan. I’m ready to go through what I promised myself on Saturday.

  Confusion colors his features watching me fidget and twist my fingers in front of him, and he’s only able to hold my gaze for a few seconds before my eyes skitter off.

  Grow a backbone and say it! He deserves control of his own life, and I can give that to him.

  “You okay…” he asks at the same time I blurt, “I want to help you.”

  With narrowed eyes, he tips his head to the side, even more confused. “What do you mean by help me?”

  “I...uh.”

  Why is this so difficult? He needs to feed, and I magically heal. Get a grip!

  I clear my throat. “You need blood to survive… and I’m… offering to be your source.” I square my shoulders and lift my chin, ready to make my case. “I’m willing, so you won’t have to charm me to forget, and with my magic, you won’t have to worry about hurting me. You can take what you need guilt-free.” I pause, the last part of my argument strangely stuck in my throat. “Th... that way who you’re with romantically is your choice, not because it’s the means to survive.”

  His gaze drops to my neck then back up again. In a slow sultry tone, he purrs, “What makes you think I don’t enjoy the arrangement I have now? If I wanted only one source, I could choose to feed from one person.”

  What he says surprises me, and my nervousness burns up in my stomach, replaced with annoyance. “Bullshit. I bet $1,000 bucks there’s a reason you haven’t stuck to one person.”

  An amused thought flashes across my mind, once again recalling I can actually make good on that. My life is so weird.

  “Yeah, I don’t do relationships,” he replies flippantly, shifting into a pose that screams ‘I couldn’t care less’, and it’s not nearly as amusing when it’s pointed at me.

  I can’t figure out why he’s being this way, until I remember Connor also told me Nolan doesn’t like feeding from his friends and avoids it if at all possible. Sighing, I move closer and put my hand on top of his. There’s a subtle tremble that resonates from him into me.

  “Nolan, you don’t have to protect me. You’re not taking; I’m offering,” I insist, ducking my head so he has to look me in the eye. “If you want to sleep with the entire school, that’s your business. But it will be because you want to, not because you have to.”

  He makes a face at the ‘entire school’ remark, but doesn’t comment-- or deny it.

  After what feels like hours, but could only be a few seconds, he releases a shuddering breath. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

  “I do. And it’s my choice,” I assure, all my uncertainty gone.

  All pretense falls away, and he stares at me with an open hunger I haven’t seen before.

  Oh Nolan. Are you always starving and have been hiding it from us the whole time?

  Like my fingers have minds of their own, they reach up and gently touch his cheek. “What do you need me to do?”

  His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and I can feel another tremor ricochet through him. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I… go sit on the couch for me, please.”

  I nod and do what he asks. In an attempt not to fidget more, I trap my hands between my knees.

  He walks over to the front of the couch and looks at me for a long moment. He has his left arm crossed over his chest and his right hand pressed against his lips, like he’s trying to figure out what to do.

  I guess his normal methods might not work so well. A blush I can’t control burns across my cheeks.

  Finally, he seems to come to a decision and pulls his white, V-neck shirt up over his head and hands it to me. “Put that on over your shirt. Should help keep blood from getting on your clothes. Your wrists are small, so I think your neck is probably best.”

  Somehow my blush spreads, while I feel like all the blood has drained from my head. First Donovan is half naked in the gym, and now Nolan is standing in front of me with the well-toned body of a swimmer on full display.

  Oh, he has a birthmark on his hip. That’s... interesting. And there’s that tattoo on his upper right arm again. Should really ask about that… later. My hormones are on high alert, and I feel like my brain might be melting. My friends seriously need to be uglier. And I’m buying them all giant, baggy sweaters for Christmas that I’ll insist they wear at all times.

  Quickly, I put the shirt on
, desperately hoping that my reaction to him is more internal and not painted all over my face. It smells of the spicy black pepper of his cologne and engine grease. I resist the urge to bury my nose in it.

  He sits down next to me, the leather creaking with his weight. After a few false starts of him leaning his head at different angles, he sighs. “Okay, so the easiest way would probably be you sitting on my lap--” He clears his throat. “Straddling me, preferably.”

  There’s that free fall sensation again, but I vowed I wasn’t going to make this awkward for him and I won’t. Trying my best for nonchalance, I nod then move so my knees are on either side of his jean clad thighs. Butterflies take flight inside me, because this feels a whole lot different than when I normally sit on one of the guys’ laps.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, looking into my eyes while his hands rest on my hips.

  With more bravado than I’m feeling, I give him a ‘please stop asking dumb questions’ face, and answer, “Yes, I’m sure. It’s fine. Really.”

  “Okay,” he breathes, once again looking at my neck. “Okay.”

  Nolan pulls me down, so I’m sitting instead of hovering over him. Now, I’m just above eye level with him, and I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

  Suddenly, I feel like I’m sweltering under my layers of clothes.

  He brushes my hair back, and with a feather light touch, runs his fingers down my neck. Dancing shivers follow in their wake and spread throughout my body. Despite my wish to remain casual about the whole thing, I can’t seem to stop shaking.

  It’s just blood. You’ve bled all of over the place. At least this time it’s for a good cause. That sounds so dumb-- even in my own head-- I barely keep from giggling like a crazy person.

  “If you want me to stop, just say so,” Nolan declares, his voice now it’s normal low, sultry tone that seems to infuse into my very bones, and I’m pretty sure my palms are starting to sweat.

  Well, that’s attractive. Stealthily, I run my hands along my jeans. Be normal. Don’t act weird. Everything will be fine.

  Leaning forward, his next words are spoken against my neck, “Try to relax and don’t fight against the feeling.”