Rebecca blinked, realizing that she didn’t have the faintest idea of how to breastfeed her child. Everything had happened so fast, she hadn’t had time to prepare. Martha was already bustling around her, dropping her gown to expose a breast and raising her baby towards a nipple.
“Once your little one knows how to latch, the rest is easy,” she encouraged then grinned as Rebecca give a little start. “And from the looks of things, that’s not going to be a problem at all.
Becky gazed down at the dark downy head of her baby, feeling the tiny mouth close on her skin and then give a powerful tug. Her eyes widened.
“Yup, she’s going to be just fine!” The other nurses murmured their reassurances and continued to bustle around her.
***
The smell was the first thing he was aware of. Sharp, antiseptic…while it wasn’t overly offensive, he didn’t find it pleasant. He frowned slightly, slowly becoming aware of a rhythmic beeping sound. He was lying flat, eyes still shut as consciousness began to dawn. He flexed his muscles, stretched his limbs, feeling crisp cotton against his skin.
Cotton? I can feel cotton.
Eyes slowly opening, he took in the room around him. Colorful prints couldn’t hide the utilitarian nature of the space. He was back in the hospital, lying in a bed. The rhythmic beeping was echoing his heartbeat.
Heartbeat?
He blinked, tried to sit up, but realized he was attached to a monitor. A needle in the vein at the top of his hand led to a drip bag beside his bed. He shook his head, confused.
“Mr. North! You’re awake!” a cheerful voice called out as a sturdy woman brushed aside the curtain surrounding his bed and stepped towards him. “You gave us quite a scare back there,” she tutted, smoothing his pillow as she checked the bag attached to his drip.
“I…Where…” he started, still trying to find his bearings. “I’m alive,” he whispered.
“Well, of course you are!” the nurse chuckled. “Though I’ll admit, it was touch and go there for a while. We’re still trying to understand exactly what happened. But there’s nothing to worry about. Doctor will be round in a minute to chat with you. He’s going to be thrilled to see— Wait just a minute!” She stopped short and pressed a palm against his chest as he struggled to sit up. “Now now, Mr. North, I realize you’re feeling better, but there’ll be no running around for a good while!”
He frowned darkly, resisting her surprisingly firm grip. “Becky…I need to see—”
“Mrs. North is absolutely fine,” she reassured him. “She and Baby are in the maternity wing and doing very well.” She smiled wryly. “It’s not often we get to host an entire family at one time – particularly under happy circumstances! I’m just delighted that all is working out well.” Her hand moved to his shoulder, and she patted him gently. “Everything is going to be all right.”
He allowed her to settle him back, straightening the sheets around his chest.
‘They’re ok,’ his mind raced. He struggled to make sense of it all, but things were slowly starting to fall into place. The baby had been born healthy, Rebecca was strong and well…he had met with the Council, and they’d allowed him to return to her. It barely felt real, and yet here he was, being tended to by living souls who could see him, touch him.
“I’ll go tell Doctor the good news,” the bustling nurse said cheerily as she headed out of his cubicle, “you stay put and get some rest! You’re going to need it when you and Mrs. North get home with that brand-new baby!”
Xander nodded, no longer trying to find words. He glanced around him, taking in his surroundings more clearly. On the nightstand beside his bed was a glass and a jug of water. Beside them was a sleek, leather pouch engraved with the letters ‘X.N.’ Gingerly holding the length of tubing still embedded in his vein, he reached for it, pulled it onto his lap and flipped it open. Inside was a sheaf of papers that he flipped through.
Identification documentation, registration papers, a passport bearing an image of his face, a number, and the name ‘Xander North’ printed in it. He blinked in confusion. A pale purple envelope slipped out from among the papers. His name was printed on the front of this, too, and he slipped it open, withdrawing a folded sheet of paper with a pink floral border. A small safety deposit box key was taped to the sheet, along with the address, headed by the name of a banking institute. He read the words written across the page.
‘All you need to start your new life. Don’t fuck it up.’ The words were punctuated by a perfect cupid’s bow of red lipstick. Lilith. He smiled as realization settled in.
***
From a place above, two souls circled, looking on. Salazar chuckled.
“So, you do have a soft streak, after all, old woman,” he teased. Lilith tossed him a mock scowl, but it did little to mask her expression of tenderness.
“Get lost, you old ass! There’s nothing soft about me,” she bit back.
“What’s in the box?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Small cash stash. Couple of title deeds to some properties they might like.” She smiled as she imagined a dark-haired little girl romping through the lush gardens of a home in the country. “And a little gem I think the woman will like. The idiot probably doesn’t know the first thing about modern betrothal customs.” She rolled her eyes but was secretly thrilled at the thought of the ring on Rebecca’s finger. It had been the prized possession of a French empress with a penchant for diamonds and sapphires. It would match the color of her eyes.
Salazar chuckled again. “You are going soft! Don’t deny it. You’re pleased this is working out.”
Lilith allowed herself a happy little laugh. “Oh, of course, Sal! Who doesn’t like a good love story? And let’s face it, we’re here to save souls. This will look good on your resumé.” She winked at him.
Salazar nodded. “The Powers will be pleased.” He took a breath. “Another step closer to absolution for me, too, perhaps.”
She brushed his arm, an unusual gesture of warmth. “Perhaps. There is still the other ‘matter’ to attend to, though.” Her mouth set into a hard line.
He nodded. “I haven’t forgotten. We may have a difficult road ahead if someone is plotting against us. It’s time to figure out who…and why.”
***
Rebecca woke to the soft sound of crooning, interrupted by the occasional tiny gurgle. She stretched out and rubbed her eyes, taking a moment to remember where she was – it had been two nights, but each time she woke, she had to bring her thoughts back to her hospital room. The crooning made her smile. A deep, masculine sound. She opened her eyes and turned her head. Her gaze traveled over a smooth arc of muscled shoulder leading up to the firm jut of a jawline that had become so familiar. Her brow furrowed as she noticed the stubble darkening his cheeks. She’d never seen him this roughly unshaven before. He’d always appeared the same way – a hint of bristle, perhaps, but never unkempt.
Her blue eyes met his dark ones as he glanced up from where he’d been gazing down. His hair was tousled, a dark curl falling over his forehead. His skin was paler than she remembered, dark smudges beneath his eyes. But that was the only sign that he’d spent two days on the brink of death. And now, somehow, he’d managed to fit that impossibly large body of his onto her narrow hospital bed. And even more impossibly, he was cradling their daughter between them.
“Xander?” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears threatened to spill.
“She’s so perfect,” he murmured, his palm cupping the tiny head of their child, who was staring up at his face with huge, unblinking eyes. At the sound of his voice, she released another little gurgle.
“She’s talking to you,” Becky whispered, smiling through tears that were now streaming down her cheeks unchecked.
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” he replied, dipping his head forward and brushing his lips against their baby’s downy head. He was so close she could smell him, past the scent of hospital fumes and whatever he’d been doused with during his tre
atment. She suddenly realized she didn’t recognize his scent; at first, it had been Ryan, but after, just a smokiness. Now she inhaled deeply, soaking in the fragrance of him. It was earthy, warm, a little musky. She loved it.
“What…happened?” she asked, still confused about the events of the past few days.
“I can’t really answer that,” he shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure myself. All I know is that I’m here…truly here…and I’m never leaving you.”
“Never?” she pressed.
His lips curved up slightly before he leaned towards her and slanted them across hers.
“I’m yours…forever. I will love you, and I will grow old with you, and I will watch our daughter grow into a woman as beautiful as her mother,” he whispered against her mouth. A small, demanding movement drew their attention down to the little bundle who was squirming between them.
“Lila,” he murmured and smiled into her eyes.
She nodded and smiled back. “Lila North. It’s perfect.”
“Mr. North!” an outraged voice exclaimed from the doorway.
“Sister Watermann!” Becky choked back a shocked laugh.
“Just what do you think you’re doing? And…and…” the generally unflappable woman spluttered, “where are your clothes?”
“I think I’m going to have to spend a bit of time getting you accustomed to our real world, my love,” she grinned at him.
“I’m looking forward to every lesson,” he winked and tugged the sheet over the three of them, creating a safe little cocoon for his family. Becky giggled and snuggled closer, and he inhaled deeply.
“Yours. Forever.”
“Mine. Forever,” she sighed.
He pulled her closer and shut out the world.
___________________________________ The end. __________________________
Preview: Book 2
Developing a taste for demon lovers? Here’s a hint at what’s next in the Soul Searchers Series…
Saving Her...Axel’s story
The shot rang out almost in the same instant that he felt the shattering impact of the bullet as it smashed into his skull. Another explosion rang out and heat blossomed in his chest. His lips moved soundlessly. Somewhere, deep in what was left of his consciousness, he knew there was little left of his head, yet he was certain he could feel the bullet ricochet around his skull.
You’re dead, dude.
‘Fuck off,’ his mind responded.
Dead…
And then a growing sense of horror as the reality of it sank in. The lights went out. He was gone.
All these decades later, it still seemed surreal.
He was dead.
Dead, and in hell…or rather, Purgatory. Kinda like hell’s waiting room.
Axel’s mind reeled back the filmstrip of that night, feeling each emotion, each physical sensation as clearly as the moment it had all happened. Stumbling into that dark alley… They’d known it was a bullshit idea. Streetlights guttering out, footsteps scraping across asphalt.
What the hell was he even doing there with those losers?
Drugs had never been his thing. He’d hooked up with these assholes for the bikes. The chicks. Now it was all fucked up. And he was in a dark alley surrounded by the scuffling of feet and hoarsely whispered exchanges that made every nerve-ending sizzle into high-alert
Then he heard it. The unmistakable metallic scrape of a revolver being drawn and cocked. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck had prickled.
“What the fuck, man?” Wolfman had cursed.
Next, the hail of bullets.
The men had scattered like skittles. Wolfie dropped, then Bazz was down. Axel ducked, held up his arms in a futile gesture of self-protection. How the fuck was he going to ward off bullets with his bare hands?
When he thought about it now, it made him laugh. Although generally that was after he’d jolted his consciousness back to the present, biting back bile. Or the memory of bile. No vomiting for the undead, he reminded himself mirthlessly.
‘Yip, we’ll laugh about this later,’ he thought to himself.
One bullet in his brain, another in his chest. Both had shattered bone and turned vital organs into pulp. The autopsy had revealed more entry and exit points, but it didn’t matter. Those first two were enough to finish him.
Talk about overkill.
Another mirthless chuckle.
“What did you expect, fool? A medal? You walked into a drug deal with nothing but your idiot gangster attitude and a leather jacket with a badass nickname stuck to the back of it.” The voice that intruded was female. Mocking. Words crisply enunciated. Like she had a stick up her ass.
‘Aw, fuck. Lillith,’ he thought.
He hated that bitch.
“I heard that,” she answered, reminding him that nothing about his world was private anymore. He existed on her whim and she was an evil succubus who delighted in tormenting him. She continued now. “If you’d known that was your last day, would you have spent it differently?” Her tone remained mocking.
He couldn’t answer her, his brain rewinding the events before those last fateful moments. What had he done? Not much, if he was honest with himself. Lay around the clubhouse smoking weed, most like. Maybe got a bit on the side with that sweet blonde they’d picked up that weekend.
“Did you call your family? Old friends? Did you tell someone you loved them?” she continued.
He shrugged, made a ‘pshaw’ sound.
“Fuck that shit, man, the Axe never loved nobody,” he scoffed. His bloodied ‘cut’ – the leather half-jacket he’d worn when he rode – had carried the nickname he’d borne with pride. ‘Axeman’. He’d been seriously stoked when the name had stuck – remembered taking his patch to the chicks at the little seamstress shop down the road from his digs. They’d eyed checked him out when he asked them to stitch it to his cut. He could sense it in them. Chicks loved him even if he didn’t love them back.
Well he did, in a way. Loved the shit out of them. Loved fucking them. Loved wielding his ‘axe’ with practiced ease. The guys in the club thought he was a legend. Heard the pleasure screams of his women and had taken him into their fold like a prized cock in a fighting ring.
His prized cock.
He chuckled again.
“Nah, never loved nobody,” he repeated.
“Aside from yourself, darling.” Her tone was so dry he almost felt a thirst rise. He shrugged. Badass attitude didn’t hold much sway here; she had him by the balls, spiritually speaking. Right now, he could literally feel the waves of annoyance shimmering from her, like heatwaves off desert sand. As suddenly as her presence had emerged, it disappeared, leaving a strange vacuum in the air around him. He shook his head.
“Fucking chicks,” he muttered, building a shield of nonchalance to hide his simmering disquiet.
***
“God, he’s such a dick! Wish you could change your mind now?” Jezebel asked, quirking a dark brow.
“Mmph!” Lillith snorted. “He’ll come ‘round.” Despite her appearance of confidence, she wasn’t feeling entirely sure.
“Just because he’s pretty, doesn’t mean he has the ability to be good,” Jezebel added.
“He’s not pretty,” Lillith snapped, flicking a curl over her shoulder.
Jezebel inclined her head in assent. ‘Pretty’ hardly described the man. He was fucking breathtaking. Cover model good looks had been given a bad-boy edge by a perpetual smudge of dark stubble that defined a jawline that hinted at his arrogance. The look was softened by tousled caramel curls that picked up golden streaks from the sun, and eyes that were as close to turquoise as a human’s could be.
“No, not pretty. But those eyes…” she sighed, uncharacteristically girlish.
The kid’s eyes were too pretty by half, hiding depths of self-absorption that should have been emblazoned on his face more clearly – as a warning to those who met him. The bad-boy image was enhanced by a generous smattering of dark ink – tat
toos that defined a body that he’d taken pride in honing to perfection. Of course, Mother Nature had a hand in the whole mix – he’d been naturally lean and athletic to start with. Legs that stretched for miles had happily held toned muscle without much effort; the taut lines of his belly had developed definition with only the slightest effort and his shoulders and biceps would thicken and rope if he’d merely looked at a dumbbell. But he’d done more than that, probably because he’d taken such pleasure in watching his body in motion as he’d stood before the sweat-blurred mirrors in the steamy gyms where he’d trained.
Women had fallen at his feet.
“I hate men like him,” Jezebel muttered.
“No, you don’t,” Lillith shot back.
Jezebel sighed. “You’re right. I love them. But unlike you, I don’t believe I can fix them.”
Lillith shook her head. “He has…potential. Just wait.”
About The Author
BE Brouillard
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Saved By Her (Soul Searchers Book 1) Page 20
