Leaving Eden

by Kelly A Walker et al.

  As I set my cup down, I considered the letter on my lap. I had the words memorized now:

  The Wildlands could use a Sarian ambassador, La’Na Lyra. If you wish to stay, I shall make it so. You would be the first Sarian to ever hold that position. I will leave the decision up to you, child.

  My Prima was giving me a choice, one I had no idea how to make. The fact that the Realm were even considering a Sarian ambassador taking permanent residence in this wild land was astounding. That my Prima considered me for the position was a great boon, more than I could ever be grateful for.

  But for some reason, it wasn’t the Realm or my Prima that I wanted guidance and direction from. It was the three men who’d come to mean so much more to me.

  Adon, obviously, had known the Prima had sent me a letter. And since they shared everything, Jonah and Leon probably knew as well. However, they never asked me about it, only asking after my health and my comfort each morning and during dinner.

  Preparations had been underway for an escort to take me back to Eden. Leon and a few guards would be charged with my safety on the journey.

  I should’ve wanted to go home, yet the desire wasn’t there. In its place was a raw, empty feeling. A sadness that left a hole inside me.

  “Lyra?”

  I wiped my eyes, my tears falling without my even knowing, and turned around to face Leon. He was standing at the threshold, holding a crate. Whatever was inside of it was hidden from me.

  “Please, come sit.” I gave him a smile, feeling my heart breaking at the thought that one day soon, I’d never see him again.

  He came onto the veranda and set the crate down on the low table in front of me. “A gift from Molly and Tia.”

  “Oh, thank you.” A few days ago, Tia and Molly had dropped by, both apologizing for Tia’s behavior, explaining that the Tikil Lie had almost destroyed their family. Luckily, all victims of the plant’s influence were healed and unharmed, and all traces of the potent and tainted mixture were gone.

  Leon cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. He sat down across from me, fiddling with a thread that had come loose at the knee. “So, we’re thinking we’ll start the journey to Eden the day after tomorrow. We’ll leave at dawn.”

  “Oh.” I had no other words to offer. I had much to say, but not enough courage to say more—my pride was getting in the way. What if they rejected me? Would they want me to stay even if I weren’t a Sarian? Would they want me for who I was inside, not just what I could do?

  No, I couldn’t risk it. I would be strong, maintain my objectivity, remember my training. I was a Sarian, not a young love-sick fool.

  After a few minutes passed in silence, Leon nodded. “Right. Well, I have things to check on. I’ll see you at dinner?” His green eyes searched my face, and I wondered if he was memorizing my visage like I was his.

  Nodding, I stood. “Yes, I’ll see you then. Thank you, Leon.”

  He stood there, his face impassive, but those eyes… they burned with something I couldn’t name, but something I wanted to know more about and whether or not it matched the fire within me.

  Breaking the contact, he looked down. “You’re welcome, Lyra.” Then he quietly left the room.

  I let out a deep breath, my heart breaking into tiny pieces.

  “By Dovia, I can’t—”

  I cried then, gasping for breath, at the same time saying, “Please, I don’t want to leave—”

  “Then don’t, sweet lady.” Leon caught me as I ran to him, kissing my face all over as he spun me around.

  I felt someone at my back, and heard Jonah speaking, “We don’t want you to leave either, you selfless woman.”

  I pulled away, staring at them both. Just then, I noticed Adon standing in the doorway. He nodded in agreement, then opened his arms. “Come here, woman.”

  I ran to him, shoving myself against him and inhaling his spicy, pine scent. Warmth filled me from the top of my head to my toes.

  “We never want you to leave, Lyra. Ever,” Adon’s deep voice husked in my ear.

  “Will you have us?” Jonah asked, now rubbing my back.

  I looked over my shoulder at him and Leon.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” I laughed, the tears spilling down my cheeks. I closed my eyes in joy, then felt a light caress touch my mind.

  Gana.

  ‘Mother, thank you for letting me love, for this gift. I will treasure it always.’

  ‘You are most deserving, child. Love them with all your heart. I know they do.’

  The End.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  About Petra J. Knox

  A lover of cats and books, equally, Petra is an author of Dark Romance, including the bestselling Reverse Harem seven-book series, Saving Setora, co-written with author Raven Dark. Editor, wife, and mom, she lives in the desert of Eastern Washington, dreaming of thunderstorms and rolling, green pastures.

  Petra loves to hear from her fans and can be found here on Facebook:

  Facebook Author Page:

  https://www.facebook.com/authorPetraJKnox/

  Facebook Group: Petra’s House of Sinners:

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/403650650206327/

  DREAM MY WAY

  By Serena Lindahl

  SLOTH

  SLOTH

  The sin of sloth encompasses four characteristics: (1) carelessness, (2) unwillingness to act, (3) half-hearted effort, and (4) becoming easily discouraged by any possible difficulty.

  - Brian G. Hedges, Hit List: Taking Aim at the Seven Deadly Sins

  Diligence overcomes difficulties; sloth makes them.

  - Benjamin Franklin

  1

  AISLYNN

  My professor hasn’t looked at me for a week. That might not seem odd, but there are only ten of us in the theoretical psych course; he’s always been kind to everyone. As my advisor, we’ve had lots of friendly interactions.

  It’s obviously just a coincidence, but his newfound avoidance seemed to start the same time I had a dream about him. My cheeks flame as I stir in my seat. That dream has been on my mind a lot. Professor Reece is the subject of so many college-girl crushes that it isn’t surprising he showed up in my subconscious. The man is one of the cutest guys I’ve ever seen. Maybe a decade older than me, he seems to be graying a little early, but the silver at his temples only enhances his appeal. He has a nervous habit of playing with his glasses and running his hands through the thick, wavy brown hair on his head, and his body is toned like a runner’s. According to the college rumor vine, he's also unmarried.

  I doodle in my notebook as I take in his lecture, loving the musical tone of his voice and how it echoes inside the cinder block classroom in one of the oldest buildings on campus. His excitement is sexy. I adore watching his eyes sparkle when he gets fired up about new genetics research, budding experiments, or debatable parapsychology topics.

  Today, I try to concentrate, but my attention wanders. I look around the room, picturing each of my classmates and wondering what their lives are like. Some of them I’ve had several classes with, others I barely know. I feel like an outsider looking in. They seem to have their shit together as we enter the last years of our graduate work, but I’m the opposite. My shit is just starting to fall apart. Over the past six months, my life has been going downhill. I’m surprised my head is still above water.

  “Miss Suarez? Aislynn?”

  My body jerks as the voice I was just admiring speaks next to me. My vision takes a second to clear, and I look around me in confusion. The class is empty except for Professor Reece. He’s standing over me, a concerned look on his face and something else behind his eyes – wariness?

  “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “Is class over? Did I fall asleep?” I didn’t feel like I had, but I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been so tired lately.

  Professor Reece shakes his head and pushes up his glasses, the muscles flexing under his fancy button-down. I’m distracted for a second, remembering the dream in
which I stripped off that shirt and ran my hands over those toned muscles. Dream Reece had been both confused and slightly hesitant. I’d had to convince him it was a dream before he’d given in. Then, his passion matched my own. Unfortunately, we didn’t share more than an intense make-out session before sirens outside my apartment window woke me up. I’d been pissed. But the real Reece is standing in front of me. There’s no way he’d react like he did in my dream.

  I scramble to put my books together, my hands shaking slightly. I don’t know what happened, but it seems like I lost several minutes. Maybe it’s time to see a doctor. When the fatigue settled in, I considered it, but I’ve also been too lazy to make an appointment.

  “You didn’t look like you were sleeping,” Reece says, reminding me that I asked him a question. “You didn’t react to the bell.”

  “Daydreaming,” I say with a quick smile, recovering from the initial shock. His slate-gray eyes sharpen as they rove my face. Did I drool while I was out of it?

  My professor simply nods and steps backward, taking the tantalizing scent of cedar with him. “I’ve wanted to speak with you if you have just a second,” he says, surprising me after his recent inattention. Maybe he’s just had a rough week.

  “Now?”

  “Is that okay?”

  I think about it, stumbling when I can’t remember what day it is or if I have any plans before I nod. “Sure.”

  “I think it’s time we’ve discussed your grades and your thesis.”

  My smile turns into a grimace. “Yeah, about that…” I know my grades have been falling and I’m way behind in my scheduled goals for my thesis.

  Reece, as he insists we call him, takes a seat in the student desk in front of me, and I stop gathering my books to give him my attention. I’ve met him in his faculty office before, but evidently, this is where our talk is going to be.

  He doesn’t speak for a minute, and I start to get nervous. When I get nervous, I babble. “I’m sorry I zoned out in class. And I know I was late...”

  “That’s only part of what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve been tardy a lot recently and absent several times.”

  I almost start to fade away again – this time intentionally. I’ve heard this same lecture repeated enough times in my life. It wasn’t as bad when my parents were alive, but I’ve never been a very dedicated student or worker. It’s probably the main reason I’m nearing thirty and still two years away from finishing my graduate work.

  I force myself to be present. I respect Reece too much to brush him off, although I really want to. Thankfully, he doesn’t start in on the whole ‘if you just apply yourself” speech.

  “This didn’t start being a problem until about six months ago - after you came back from an administrated approved leave. Did something happen, Aislynn?”

  “My parents died.” I try to make my voice as nonchalant as possible, but the last word cracks embarrassingly. “We haven’t been super close for the last few years,” I start, but the look on Reece’s face stops me. He doesn’t pity me, but his apparent concern almost breaks me. Although the relationship I had with my parents eroded over the years, they were all I had after I broke out of the abusive relationship I stayed in for far too long. But that’s also what tore us apart – the fact I didn’t leave sooner or that they didn’t step in sooner to help me. As a younger woman, I blamed them. Now, I was overcome with guilt I could never apologize for.

  “I’m sorry,” Reece starts, “I didn’t realize. Why didn’t you take more time off? The administration is pretty accommodating.”

  I shrug – my universal and oft-repeated gesture that means I don’t know anything. Life is confusing; life is exhausting. “I’m getting old, Professor. I didn’t want to delay my classes anymore. Besides, I’ve been dealing with it.”

  “Have you started on your thesis?”

  My backpack, heavy with books, sits on my lap, and I play with the hole that’s starting to form in the bottom seam. I really shouldn’t, but I can’t help but fidget. “Not yet, not really, but I know what I want to write about. I’ve done some research.” That isn’t entirely true unless I can be really liberal with what’s considered research.

  Reece sits forward. His shirt is perfectly tailored to fit his trim body, and the muscles of his forearms are outlined as he leans over the back of the hard chair. “What’s your subject?”

  “Dreams,” I reply, looking up at him with the first spark of excitement I’ve felt for days. His smile slips, allowing several emotions to cross through his expression.

  “Is that not ok?” I ask in confusion. “I want to write about the effect dreams have on our consciousness when we’re awake and whether they can affect interpersonal relationships.”

  Reece clears his throat, not meeting my eyes again as he pulls off his glasses and cleans them with the cloth he keeps in his trouser pocket. His eyes are more blue than gray as he examines me before he puts them back on.

  “I think that’s a great subject. Do you dream a lot? Some people don’t.”

  I nod, feeling energetic for the first time in days. “I’ve always found dreams fascinating. I’ve been a lucid dreamer since I was a teenager.”

  His eyes spark with interest. “You can control what you dream about? Do you remember them?”

  I nod. “I can usually control it. Not always. Sometimes I’m just too tired. And yes, I remember almost all my dreams. I have more than ten dream journals sitting next to my bed.” My cheeks flame with sudden embarrassment. “I guess that’s a pretty dorky thing to admit.”

  His lips tilt into a smile. “You’re talking to someone that has the first editions of all of Tolkien’s books.” Of course he does. I won’t admit that they were too flowery for me to read. I loved the movies, though. “Do you feel that your dreams affect your interactions with people in real life?” There’s something besides academic interest behind his words, but I can’t tell what it is.

  I think of how my nipples tighten just being around him and nod. He isn’t the only man I dream about, but he’s the most recent, and the images are still fresh in my mind. “Definitely.”

  There’s a moment of quiet neither of us wants to break. I don’t want to reveal the most prominent theme of my dreams and who stars in them. I don’t know what his reasons are.

  “I think that you have a fascinating start to your thesis, Aislynn, but I was wondering if you’d do me a favor.”

  My eyebrows rise. “A favor?” What could I possibly do for him?

  He nods. “I have a colleague, a good friend, that offers assistance when students are having difficulties. I’d like you to talk to him.”

  I sink back into my chair. “Like a shrink?” I start to shake my head. “No. I’ve done that before. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” I shudder just thinking about all the things some stranger will want to know about my past. It’s best if it stays there - hidden in my past and locked up in my mind.

  “James is a little more holistic with his sessions. He’ll help you process how your parents' deaths are affecting your studies, but he won’t delve into anything else if you don’t want him to. He also doesn’t discount the idea that dreams can be a message from our subconscious.” He seems like he’s speaking from experience and I wonder what kind of dreams my sexy professor has that need interpreting.

  I shake my head again. “I don’t…”

  “Please, Aislynn. You’re a brilliant woman, and you’re going to become a brilliant psychologist if this roadblock doesn’t stop you. Just meet with him at least once.”

  I stare at Reece, memorizing the bow of his lips and remembering how they felt under mine, how his flat chest and taut abs rippled beneath my hands. I wish we’d done more, but I can always dream again. I nod absently, barely understanding what I agree to. I want to make him happy, and maybe it will be a good thing. Perhaps I do need a little intervention.

  “Okay, fine,” I relent.

  Reece smiles and I stand with him. When he hands m
e a card, his fingers brush against mine. Shivers course up my arm and lead directly to my core; my pussy throbs from the simple, innocent touch. My body sways as the sensation takes me by surprise.

  “Aislynn?”

  “Sorry, head rush,” I mumble as I grab my book bag and swing it over my shoulder before I turn back to him.

  He’s still standing close, having reached for me when I started to stumble. I think he’s going to move, but he doesn’t. His eyes stray downward and back up just as quickly. I follow his gaze and notice that the strap of my messenger bag has pulled my loose shirt aside, revealing the black lace of my bra. My face heats as I adjust it quickly. In the meantime, he moves away from me so fast I think I’m on fire. He doesn’t look at me again as I say goodbye and leave.

  He really is acting weird. Or am I just imagining it because of how much I enjoyed touching and kissing him in the dream? I shake my head at myself. It’s official. I’m going crazy.

  2

  AISLYNN

  So close. I’m almost done.

  I wipe the last table, probably not very well, and throw the dishrag into the back sink while my manager stares disapprovingly. He’s a short guy, balding and paunchy, and he loves the control his position affords him.

  “Aislynn.” His voice stops me just as I’m about ready to leave. My hand is on the back door, and my feet are screaming for mercy. My brain threatens to combust with an overload of complaints, things to do, and problems that plague my every waking minute.

  I try to gather enough energy to care as I look back at him, but I can’t make any words come out of my mouth. I really don’t give a shit. He glares at me from two inches below me.

  “You haven’t been moving fast enough, Aislynn. This is your third warning.”

  When I just stare at him, he turns his face into that I’m older and so disappointed in the younger generation look. I see it all the time.

  “Do you hear what I’m saying?” he asks slowly. I shrug. I just want to go. I want to go home. I want to go to bed. The whole day has been exhausting. When I don’t provide the proper response, he puts a hand on his hip. “Why don’t you take a couple days to think about it? Don’t come in tomorrow or the next day. When you return to work, maybe you’ll have a better attitude.”