Saved By Her (Soul Searchers Book 1)

by BE Brouillard

  Yip! Absolutely! she texted back before leaping to her feet. No need for a bath, she’d just had one … yesterday! She raced to her bedroom and hauled on underwear, jeans, and a polo neck.

  ’Unbelievable!’ Her mind was reeling.

  If she made it snappy, she’d be just in time.

  ***

  As she leaped out of her car and jogged up the stairs to Rosie’s apartment, her friend opened the front door, stopped short, and gave her a dark stare.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “What, no ‘Hello, Becks, how’re you doing?’ I took a duvet day and overslept,” she answered.

  “Really?” was the dry response, ignoring her sarcasm completely. “You look like you’ve never slept in your life!”

  Rosie was right. Becky’s cursory glance in the mirror on the way out had revealed a pale, drawn face, and black circles beneath her eyes. Rosie grabbed her bag and locked the door behind her as they headed back out to the parking bay, still waiting for a response.

  “I may have overdone it with the wine on Friday night,” she invented, knowing her friend was more likely to accept this excuse than the alternative.

  “What? You were out partying without me??” Rosie wailed.

  “No, I…” Becky’s voice trailed off. She turned the key in the ignition and maneuvered out to the road, using the action as an excuse to avoid the subject. There was no way she’d get through another interrogation over her love life using her recent spate of ‘weird dream’ explanations. Come to think of it, she barely knew what to believe herself. The previous day’s events were a complete blur.

  “Hey!” Rosie shook her shoulder, jolting her back to reality. “Earth to Becky! You wanna keep your eyes on the road, babe?” The woman eyed her with concern. “Are you going to make it through tea with the Bunster?” Rosie’s vibrant octogenarian grandmother, Eileen – though she preferred to be called Bunny – was still stiletto sharp. Their gatherings were certainly no obligatory visit to some ailing old-timer. She was quick as a whip with her comments and more observant than an FBI profiler, her sparkling blue eyes as alert and alive as a 20-year-old’s.

  She turned into the gates of the retirement home and parked in the little gravel lot in front of the sprawling clubhouse. Bunny’s garden apartment was set near the main entrance, and she arrived at the door the minute they pulled in. Becky was pretty sure she'd spent the past half hour peering through the window to spot their arrival.

  “Girls!” her charmingly accented voice called out – she’d never let go of her British roots. She held out her hands to them, drawing them close and kissing each warmly on both cheeks. “I’ve missed you so! Come in, come in! I’ve put the kettle on,” she chattered, turning and bustling towards the kitchen. Aside from a slight stiffness in her stride – the product of a ‘gamey’ hip – Bunny moved with the grace of a much younger woman, her figure still trim, her back straight.

  “Come on, girls, I’ve got some lovely goodies ready for us today,” Bunny called from inside the kitchen as the women followed her indoors. ‘Lovely goodies’ was an understatement.

  “Holy cow, Bun!” exclaimed Rosie. “What’s the occasion?” The small parlor was decked out in swathes of blossoms, the gleaming dining table laden with a spread of cupcakes, pastries, tiny tarts. Floral teapots dotted the table, each streaming out the fragrant steam of a variety of teas. “When you said you’d put the kettle on, I expected tea and biscuits. Are we expecting the Queen?”

  Bunny grinned and giggled girlishly. “It’s my new hobby!” she explained. “High teas are all the rage, don’t you know! I took a course in baking and thought I’d use you as guinea pigs. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Mind?” Becky joined the exchange. “Heck, Bunny, I’m moving in with you. Today!” Bunny’s blue eyes twinkled and her face dimpled. She hustled the girls to their seats around the table, setting pretty china teacups in front of them and urging them to tuck in.

  “Nom nom nom!” declared Rosie, her mouth filled with sweet, creamy tart. “I’m going to die!” Becky laughed and nodded in agreement, licking icing off her fingers with relish. Bunny was delighted, watching their reactions like a hawk.

  “So tell me, what’s news?” she asked, eager for exciting stories of their young lives. “You know I live vicariously through you party animals!” She winked at Rosie, then turned to look at Becky, eyes narrowing slightly. “You seem to be burning the candle at both ends, my dear,” she observed. “Been pushing yourself a little hard?” She’d been a pillar of support in those first weeks after Ryan’s death, and she’d learned to spot signs of distress on the younger woman’s face, even when she tried to hide it. No chance of hiding anything right now – Becky couldn’t deny the hollows beneath her cheekbones, her drawn face. She smiled brightly, trying to brush it aside, but Bunny wasn’t convinced.

  “What’s going on with our Becky, Roseanne?” she turned to Rosie. “You know she needs our special care. When you came ‘round last week, I thought she looked tired. Now she’s positively peaked!”

  Rosie gave an exasperated sigh. “I know, right? But she refuses to tell me what’s wrong!” She threw her hands in the air in typically dramatic style. “At first, I thought she’d met a man and was indulging in some wholesome shag sessions, then I thought she’d been hitting the party circuit without me. Zip, zilch, nada! She swears she’s just been having strange dreams.”

  Bunny turned her eyes towards Rebecca, who dropped hers and began studiously examining the glittery speckles in her cupcake. “Come on, darling, spit it out! What’s going on? Are you unwell? Have you been hurting over Ryan again?” Her concern was so sincere it was all Becky could do to bite back the tears.

  “Oh, Bunny, I don’t know what to say!” she cried. “It’s just that …” She paused, wondering if she should try to explain things. Needing a sane ear – someone who might help her convince herself she wasn’t going crazy. “Not hurting so much, but … dreaming. I’ve been dreaming of him coming to me…” She felt her cheeks start to burn. “And, well…it’s been sexual.” Bunny stirred her tea contemplatively, not a flicker of surprise on her face. She nodded, encouraging her to go on.

  “The thing is, it feels like more than just dreams,” Becky continued. “They feel so real! I can literally feel him touching me. And when I wake up, I’m all … I’m …” She trailed off, cleared her throat. “Lord, this seems so ridiculous!” There were some things you just couldn’t tell a grandmother. Bunny wasn’t just any grandmother, however. She set her cup down and put a cool, bird-like hand over Rebecca’s.

  “My dear, the mind is a powerful thing. Its influence over our bodies is something many of us overlook. There’s a reason we use the term ‘mind over matter’. Remember that your brain is ultimately the source of everything your body feels. If your yearning for Ryan is so intense that you believe he is touching you, it’s because your brain is producing those feelings to console you.”

  Becky nodded slowly, in contemplation. “You’re right, of course. It’s just that, I’m starting to think it’s not …” She ground to a halt, the nagging thoughts that had been with her all day beginning to unfurl.

  “Not what?” Rosie pressed, as intent on Becky as her grandmother was.

  “It’s not him anymore,” Rebecca admitted, her voice cracking. “I’m dreaming of a man who isn’t Ryan.” She buried her face in her hands, shame overwhelming her. Bunny’s hand moved to her shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze.

  “Oh, my dear, don’t cry! You’ve nothing to be ashamed of!” she consoled.

  Becky’s shoulders shook. “How can I feel this way, Bunny? The things he does to me—” She sucked in a shuddering breath, overwhelmed by the memories of those feelings. “It’s not right! I’ve never done anything like that, nor known such pleasure!” Her cheeks burned again, but she had to get the words out. “How can I be true to Ryan’s memory if I’m dreaming of doing those things with another man?”

  Her mind w
as reeling as she tried to unravel what she was feeling. The image in her dreams was Ryan; she knew it and recognized every inch of him. But the essence was not. Her fiancé had been her first real love, her first lover, and she was his. Their lovemaking had been sweet, gentle, fulfilling…they’d traveled their journey of discovery together, from those early fumbling explorations to the point where they fit together perfectly. She knew every tender movement in his erotic repertoire.

  Yesterday, he’d done things to her that made her mind want to shut down, overloaded by the thought of it.

  Why would her imagination recreate him as a lover who would pin her down and pleasure her until she screamed? Ryan would barely kiss her without asking for permission. Last night, when she’d tried to still his relentless mouth, he’d forced her to submit to the sensations. She raised a hand to her flaming cheek and remembered how she’d sobbed and begged for release, babbled mindlessly as he’d given it…and then more.

  Most troubling, there’d been the sense that it hadn’t been Ryan. Yet how could she feel so connected to anyone other than him?

  She jerked herself back to the present, looking up into Bunny’s astute eyes. “If it’s Ryan, he’s come back with new skills. And he’s real … I swear it! There are things that make no sense. Look—” She raised the hem of her shirt and rolled the waistband of her jeans down to expose three faint purple streaks at the point of her hip. They were mirrored by three more on her other hip. Bunny’s eyebrows shot up, and Rosie took a breath.

  “Rebecca!” she gasped.

  “Rosie, I swear! I didn’t do this to myself! They were there when I woke up this morning … woke up after falling asleep at 11am yesterday! I was ‘lights out’ for a day. And yet look at me – it’s like I never slept a wink, and that’s the way I feel too. Like I was up all night indulging in …” She blushed again.

  “We need to call the police,” Rosie blustered, “this can’t be right. If someone is getting into your apartment, drugging you, molesting you—” She was ranting.

  “No, Rosie, I can’t believe that could happen!” Rebecca interrupted. “There’s no way anyone can get in.” Her friend was still shaking her head. Bunny tutted and hushed her.

  “Calm down, Roseanne, there may be another explanation. Let’s talk this through,” she added a voice of reason, turning back to Rebecca. “Darling, have you spoken to anyone else about this? Your parents? A therapist?”

  Becky shook her head, no. “I could never discuss this with my folks! As for therapy, well…I hadn’t thought about it, but it’s not a bad idea.” Bunny nodded.

  “May I also suggest some sort of…” she hesitated, “spiritual counselor?” Becky frown in confusion.

  “You mean like a priest?”

  “Perhaps. Or whatever other source of spiritual wisdom you prefer,” Bunny continued, tapping a finger on her lips. “I know this may sound a little odd but humor an old woman with a lot of years behind her.” She winked. Becky nodded at her to go on.

  “I grew up in a time when people were incredibly conservative in many ways. In others, they were much more open to the possibility of ‘alternative’ explanations for events,” she explained, picking her words carefully. “Nowadays, we want a scientific understanding of everything, but back then, people believed strongly in the spirit world. Ghosts, witches, angels, demons. Some still believe in these, but most of us blow them off. Who’s to say that there isn’t some truth to it?” She stopped for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “My dear…I have the strangest sense of…a presence around you.” She paused, searching for words. “I sense that you are not alone, that even now, you are accompanied by…someone.” Becky’s eyes were wide.

  “What are you getting at, Gran!” Rosie interrupted abruptly. She only used that term for her grandmother when she was really serious about something. “Are you trying to tell Becky she has a ghost lover? That’s absolutely ridiculous!” She slapped her hand on the table. Teacups jumped and rattled with the force.

  “Calm down, my dear,” Bunny soothed. “I’m not saying that’s an absolute certainty. I’m simply suggesting that there may be another reason for Becky’s experiences that isn’t based on either her being insane, or a victim of a dangerous intruder.” Rosie shook her head in exasperation, but the little woman continued. “There are more things in heaven and earth than we will ever truly understand.

  Rosie took a sip of tea, set her cup down with a clatter, and huffed. “Well, I’m not buying it! Rebecca’s not some crazy who thinks she has a demon lover! This is probably just another stress reaction after Ryan’s death.” She folded her hands across her chest in typical ‘Roseanne has spoken’ stance. Bunny smiled gently and nodded.

  “You’re probably right, dear. Now pour me a fresh cup of tea and pass me an éclair. I need to know more about that gorgeous boss of yours!” Becky had to hand it to her, the woman knew exactly how to change the topic with grace.

  Chapter Eleven

  He prowled silently around the bed, gazing down at her sleeping form, dimly lit by the strands of moonlight filtering through her curtains. Her face was framed by those golden curls, and she’d lifted a hand to her cheek, curled fingers against her face. He swallowed hard, biting back the emotions that rose whenever he looked at her. The pang of tenderness was almost painful.

  He traced the line of her body beneath her bed covers, watched as her limbs moved sinuously, knees lifting then parting slightly. She sighed, and he saw how her eyes fluttered under her eyelids, a dream unfurling within her sleep-dimmed mind. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to waft into those misty images that had begun to take shape in her subconscious, allowed himself to take the form she sought out.

  “Ryan…” she murmured, and her fingers straightened, reached out.

  “Shhhh…” he soothed, brushing her hair from her face, fingers trailing down her neck and sliding the covers over her breasts. He brushed the top of her sleep shirt down, traced his finger around one areola, watched as her nipple began to darken and pucker at his touch. She moaned, arching her back, and he slid the other side of her shirt down, baring both full orbs. He cupped them in his hands and kneaded the flesh, loving the way it spilled between his fingers. He settled onto the bed, kneeling between her splayed thighs, and pulled the covers further down her body, which remained covered by her nightshirt. It was smooth and silky and slithered beneath his hands as he ran them down her torso, feeling the slight ripples as he made his way over her ribs.

  She lay on her back before him, one arm curled over her head, the other draped over her belly, fingertips tracing little circles over the swell of her stomach. He watched their movement, then lifted her hand to his face. He rubbed his rough cheek against her palm before taking her fingers into his mouth, swirling his hot tongue over them.

  “Oh, my love…” she sighed, still lost in the dream.

  He pressed his lips to her palm and echoed the words silently, ‘My love…’ he mouthed, feeling like a fraud. How could he spin out this fantasy, these moments that bound her more firmly to her dead lover? How could he exploit her desire…her need…to see that man, who could never return to her life, force her to stay trapped in her past? He felt himself shimmering, his form changing, desperately wanting to show himself to her, afraid that she might be traumatized by the shock.

  “Rebecca…” he heard the timbre of his voice deepen, so different to Ryan’s…

  Would she notice?

  He wanted her to notice. But part of him did not. She frowned slightly, and he froze.

  What if she’s not ready?

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered, and he returned his attention to her hand, running his lips over her wrist, tracking the delicate blue veins with his tongue. He dropped his eyes to where the satin shorts covered her mound and saw the dampness darkening the fabric. He cupped his hand over her and pressed lightly, watching as she bobbed her hips up, whimpering. He yanked at the silky material of her shorts, noticing the muscles of his forearm flexing b
eneath a dark smattering of fine hair…not golden and downy like Ryan’s.

  If she opens her eyes now…

  He slid his fingers past the torn garment and skimmed over her naked flesh. Slick lips spread moistly, unfurling at his touch. It wouldn’t take much to bring her to the edge – these past weeks had brought a change in her body, kept her senses honed for pleasure, even while her strength ebbed.

  He knew it was his own doing, and it shamed him. He knew that ultimately Rebecca would crave him more than air itself if he chose to take that path. He also knew that he would lose his chance at absolution if he did so. The Council was waiting for him to prove that he understood what was expected of him, but more than that, they were waiting for him to want to make this choice because it was the right one. Hold her in thrall to his erotic powers, or allow her to accept him, want him, choose him. Redemption lay in her pure love for him, and he couldn’t extract it with demonic magic.

  He felt her reaching for him, running fingers over broad shoulders, down his arms to draw him closer. There was a difference to her touch now…exploratory, curious.

  “Please…” She was reaching for him again, sitting up and winding an arm around his neck. The scrap of cloth that was her nightshirt was an annoyance to him, and he grasped the neckline and yanked it, satisfied when he heard fabric tear. He held both edges and ripped harder, stripping the torn edges away from her heaving chest.

  “Ahhhh …” His sigh was almost euphoric as he gazed down on her heaving breasts.

  “Yesssss…” she hissed, holding him tighter to her, hips pushing up towards him. The tip of his cock was brushing against her heat, and he groaned.

  “Slowly, love…slowly,” he ground between clenched teeth. He hadn’t penetrated a woman in centuries. Barely trusted himself to do it after his last fatal mistake – that moment when the force of his climax had literally drained the life from his lover. He would rather burn in hell than see Rebecca meet the same fate.