The Chronicles of the 8th Dimension - Limited Edition Box Set (4 Books): A Supernatural Thriller Box Set

by Carissa Andrews

  Dizziness takes hold of my consciousness, yet I still catch the split-second surprise in Lester’s eyes as they then slide into a satisfied glint when he realizes his bullet still hit a mark.

  He feels this worked out more in his favor anyway because it will make Blake weak—fearful. Or perhaps, sadness and devastation will make him easier to overcome.

  Another shot fires and this time, Lester’s gun drops from his left hand as the bullet strikes the place just under his left collar bone. Blake steps forward, hovering just over Lester’s body—his mind is consumed with thoughts of rage and revenge.

  His lips are pressed into a thin line and his nostrils flare as he begins to squeeze the trigger again—this time, to end it.

  I’m flooded with the vision of things going sideways—of us being detained and big problems arising because this is an Interpol agent, not just some random kidnapping mastermind.

  “Blake—don’t do it. I know you want to, but please, we need him alive,” I sputter, blood leaking from my mouth. Shaking, I wipe it away and the deep crimson smears across the dirty flesh on the back of my hand.

  Blake turns his head to look at me, pain and despair clinging to his unguarded eyes.

  Lester tries to scramble backward as he clutches his shoulder, his eyes trained on Blake. Without a word, Blake returns his gaze to Lester and lowers his gun. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, he shoots Lester through the fleshy part of his right thigh.

  The man screams, clutching the new wound with already bloody fingers.

  Behind me, the girls squeal, but I feel one small hand suddenly rest on my shoulder.

  “Does it hurt?” Kaylee asks, her dark hand contrasting against my shirt’s light-colored fabric.

  “A helluva lot,” I say, trying to force a grin.

  Before I realize it, Blake is at my side.

  “How bad is it Diana?” he asks, kneeling down.

  “She’s lost a lot of blood,” Kaylee whispers.

  I glance down at the ground beneath me…and she's right. The puddle is growing fast.

  Flipping open his phone, Blake dials someone on his keypad.

  “Please, we need some help. A civilian—she's been shot and I have the culprit in custody. Interpol should be nearby. Can you get a fix on my coordinates?” he says, not even trying to hide the panic fraying at the edges of his voice. “We need a medic immediately.”

  Voices the size of ants chatter in his ear, but I have no idea what they're saying. I concentrate, instead, on the place where his hand gently rests on my arm. It's warm and pulses against my skin like a metronome.

  My eyelids are heavy, and it's a struggle to keep them open. Commotion beyond my periphery tries to stir me from the black abyss encircling me, but I can't find the will to focus on it.

  If I just close my eyes, maybe I can…

  Darkness beckons me and instead of lingering here, I slip into its comforting embrace.

  “I think she might be coming around,” a voice says somewhere in the vicinity of my head.

  Everything is so heavy. Like I fell asleep when I shouldn’t have—or I used my gifts and pushed them too far again.

  My eyes pop open and I bolt upright. Pain shoots through my abdomen and I clutch at it, trying to claw the pain out.

  “That sonofabitch shot me—” I say, more to myself than anyone who might be nearby.

  I grip at my torso, my fingers searching for the point of entry. Instead, I find a new shirt has been put on and my wound has already begun its accelerated healing process. The gaping hole is now much smaller, thanks in part to the new set of stitches.

  “Lay back down for chrissakes,” Blake says, his hands suddenly on my shoulders and easing me backward.

  As my back touches the bedsheets, I cock an eyebrow and try not to snicker to myself. It would take a helluva lot more than a bullet to keep me down.

  A rush of emotions suddenly wells up, kicking me right in the gut as I stare into the wells of his dark, concerned eyes. I fight off the tears as they brim to the surface, making my eyes sting and my stomach clench.

  He’s alive—I’m alive.

  Blake takes a seat beside me, scooting his chair in closer so he can take my right hand. His thumb caresses the back of my hand, comforting me in more ways than I can even express.

  “She sure is a fighter,” a nurse says to my left, her face buried in my medical chart.

  Without a word, he nods. Instead, his eyebrows crumple inward, then flick up in the middle.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks, his words soft.

  I don’t know how to tell him I feel fine—that in a couple of days it will be like nothing ever happened at all. It’s not the sorta thing you talk about—especially with the nurse standing by.

  “I’ve been better,” I say, my lips curving upward in a slow smirk.

  “I bet,” he says, nodding. His thumb continues its siren song on my body—both relaxing me and making me hyper-aware of where his body touches mine.

  The nurse sets down her chart and says, “I’ll be back in a minute. Are you hungry for anything, dear?”

  I shake my head. “No, not yet. My stomach feels a little queasy.”

  The nurse nods, turning on her heel to walk out of the room.

  Turning back to Blake, I search his eyes for details.

  “How are the girls? They okay?” I ask.

  “They’re all fine—safe. Lester’s been apprehended as well.”

  “Good, I hope he rots,” I say, fire spitting from my lips. Not only for being the disgusting kind of human that traffics children in multiple countries—which in and of itself is horrifying. But also for shooting me—and aiming for Blake.

  Blake’s eyes fall to our hands, his lips curving slightly—but not enough to force his dimples out of hiding.

  “What about you?” I say, waiting for him to return eye contact with me.

  “What about me?”

  “Are you okay?” I say, raising an eyebrow again.

  He takes a long, deep inhalation and leans back slightly in his chair. For the longest time, I take in his mannerisms, trying hard not to invade his mind—but his thoughts begin to tumble out at me easily.

  He’s been beside himself with worry. With the amount of blood I’d lost, he doesn’t understand how I could even be alive. Much less as healed as I appear and even talking with him now. He has his own questions and he has no idea how to ask any of them.

  I watch as he finally licks his lower lip and nods.

  “Yeah, I’ve been better, too. I was worried—everything was very touch and go for a while. I was worried you weren’t going to stick around to have that cup of coffee you promised.”

  “You can’t get rid of me that easily. You should know that by now,” I say, smirking.

  “Very true. You can certainly be a stubborn pain in the ass when you want to be,” he says, his dimples finally shining through.

  “You’re one to talk.”

  I take a moment, deciding how much to say right now. There’s nothing I want more than to blurt it all out—that we’re soul mates, he’s my reincarnated husband and we have to make up for lost time… That I screwed up my memory because I couldn’t stand to be without him. All of it.

  I bite my lower lip.

  “He was gonna shoot you,” I say.

  “Well, yeah. I did actually get that,” he says, his nostrils twitching to the side in deflection.

  “No, I mean—you would have died.”

  I lift my gaze to his, waiting for the revelation to seep into the creases of his eyes. When his eyes widen, I tip my head in acknowledgement.

  “So instead, you took a bullet for me?”

  “Yeah, well… I guess I also knew I wouldn’t die,” I say, settling on a partial truth.

  He lets go of my hand, pressing his fingertips to his mouth.

  Sighing, he leans forward, dropping his head to the place beside my hand. Reaching out, I run my fingertips through his dark strands, pl
aying with the length.

  “You shouldn’t worry so much,” I say.

  “Easy for you to say. You can see everything,” he says, his voice muffled by the fabric of the bedding. Abruptly his head pops up. “Hey, wait… How did you know I would have died? Did you—see me die? As in, your gifts…”

  Blinking back my apprehension, I nod.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Hang on, I thought—”

  “Think, process. I’ll give you a minute,” I say, rolling my eyes playfully.

  “But—how? I thought I was a blind spot to you—?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

  “It’s really a long story. And I want to tell you all of it—I do,” I turn my head toward the nurse who reenters the room with a new bag of saline.

  Without needing to explain any further, Blake nods. The look in his eyes alone tells me he gets where I’m going with this.

  “When you’re feeling better, then,” he says, nodding.

  I bow my head in agreement, keeping my gaze trained on him.

  “Agreed.”

  Casting his eyes to the floor, he leans forward again in his chair—shifting his elbows to his knees.

  “Really, there will be time,” I say, reaching out and placing my hand over the top of his forearm.

  “I know—there’s just been a lot to contend with these past few weeks,” he says, sighing. “You really are a surprise, you know?”

  “Thank you?” I say, quirking an eyebrow.

  “No, no—it’s a good thing.”

  A gentleman I’ve never seen walks into the room. The air around him exudes authority and you don’t need to be psychic to know he’s an agent of some kind. Though my gifts immediately tell me he’s from Interpol and his name is Bruce Dexter. He’s 50 years old, has a wife he adores and four kids all entering college.

  Blake stands up, shaking his hand.

  “Good to see you again,” Bruce says, as he releases his grip.

  “You as well,” Blake says, nodding.

  “So, this must be Diana. Nice to see you on the mend,” he says, walking over to me and extending his hand. “I’m Bruce—”

  “Dexter. I know,” I say, unable to help myself. Sometimes it’s just fun to see the look of surprise on someone’s face.

  He blinks rapidly, but nods, “Right. Did Mr. Wilson tell you about me?”

  “He must have,” I say, smiling sweetly and throwing a sideways glance at Blake, who scratches his forehead.

  “What can we do for you, Agent Dexter?” Blake says, returning to his seat.

  “After all the commotion, I wanted to check in and make sure you’re all doing well. We sure do appreciate the help on this case. I’m sure it goes without saying, but we’ve been looking for a way in on this ring for a while now. They’ve been hard to pin down because they never go to the same place twice. Sure as hell didn’t think one of our own was involved—or that it would be Americans who cracked the case.”

  Blake smiles sardonically, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The Agent slips into a sly smirk but doesn’t say a word. His thoughts on the other hand—he doesn’t typically trust Americans further than he can throw them. And he has a few of his own concerns over how we happened to unravel everything when they’ve spent years on the case. It’s not that he isn’t grateful—he is, but he’s still skeptical.

  I shake my head, my lips twitching into a smile. “I’m not entirely American—I just live there now.”

  My mind casts itself back to the ruins of the Temple of Apollo. I suppose one would say I’m Greek.

  Agent Dexter’s eyebrows flick upward in surprise, but he smiles.

  “Where are you from originally, then?”

  “Here, actually,” I say, letting my gaze fall on Blake. His face flashes through surprise but settles on rolling his eyes.

  “Really? Where were you born? Did you grow up with one of my kids?” Agent Dexter asks.

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  “Huh. Well, what are your plans once everyone is back to health? You planning on staying in Greece for a while? Or heading back to the States?”

  “Probably head back to the States,” Blake says at the same time I say, “Stay here for a bit.”

  Surprise floods Blake’s features.

  “You plan on staying?” he says.

  I shrug. “I dunno. Maybe?”

  “Well, I can see you both have a lot to talk about. I don’t mean to cause any havoc. But if either of you are ever this way again, please give me a call,” Agent Dexter says, brandishing his card to both of us.

  Blake takes the card, glancing at the face of it briefly, before nodding.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the card and immediately place it on the rolling side table used to deliver meals.

  “Well, whenever you head out, have a safe flight. Until next time,” Agent Dexter says, shaking hands with Blake and shooting me a quick wink.

  “Thanks for stopping in,” I say, waving with my fingertips.

  As soon as he’s left the room, Blake turns back to me and repeats, “You plan on staying?”

  “Well, as it turns out, there’s a lot here I need to rediscover.”

  “Like what?”

  I take a deep breath. For whatever reason, this isn’t the time to have this conversation. Instead, my insights flash me forward to a different time and place—one that will help deliver the information in a way that makes sense in Blake’s mind.

  “Blake, I’m actually feeling really tired. Can we—is it okay if we talk more about this later? I think I need to rest.”

  His eyelids flutter, but he nods. “Of course. I’m sorry—I don’t know what I was thinking. You must be exhausted. Do you want me to get you anything?”

  “No, I’m good. I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes, if that’s okay.”

  “It’s more than okay. Do you want me to go—or?”

  I pull his hand back toward me as he makes a move to stand.

  “Don’t even think about it. There’s room here,” I say, patting the minuscule spot on the bed beside me.

  Without batting an eye, he grins and slides onto the bed right alongside me. I curl on my side, resting my head on his broad chest. As I drift off, my mind is consumed with the memories I’ve shared with his soul—spanning across time and space.

  Chapter 21

  “WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?” Blake asks, his eyes filled with curiosity.

  “You’ll see,” I say, playing coy. He never was good at surprises.

  “You don’t know, do you?” he laughs.

  “Of course I do—and you should, too. If you’d have been paying attention,” I say, gripping the steering wheel tight rounding another bend in the road.

  As Mount Parnassus begins to take center stage, Blake leans back in his seat.

  “Ah—you’re bringing us back to the cave,” he says.

  “Not exactly, but warm,” I say, smiling

  “Hmmm…”

  He adjusts in his seat, looking out the window and hunting for clues of his own. Part of me hopes this place jogs some of his own cellular or psychic memory—but even I’m not sure if it works like that. The other part of me worries about whether or not he’ll believe a word I’m about to tell him.

  After a few minutes driving in silence, I turn left on the last leg of our journey. The view of the Temple can be seen—though not nearly as impressive as it once was. Pulling into the tourist parking lot, trepidation begins to flood my veins. I want him to understand. No, I need him to understand.

  “The Temple of Apollo?” he says, pointing to the sign.

  “Yup.” I pull the handle and kick the driver’s side door open.

  Blake follows after me, confusion playing across all of his features as he surveys the surroundings.

  “You know this place is closed for the night, right?” he says.

  “Temples never close, silly,” I say, smirking and walking ahead.

  I try to settle m
y racing heart by breathing in deeply the smells of home. I didn’t realize how much I missed these smells—a mix of olive branches and earth.

  “Wait up for me,” he says, jogging to catch up. The moonlight glows off the top of his head, giving him an ethereal vibe suiting to the man who broke my heart—and healed my memory.

  Standing still, I reach out, taking Blake’s hand. I lead him away from the parking lot and toward the ruins of the Temple of Apollo and the theatre. There’s so much we need to discuss and I’m not sure exactly how to break the news to him that he’s really the reincarnated soul of my super-late husband.

  How will he respond? Will he think I’m nuts? Or will he accept this as another weird quirk?

  “Where are you taking me, Diana?” Blake finally says as we meander the footpaths to the sacred sites.

  The moon has risen—full, proud, and beautiful—and it casts its light upon the entire sanctuary. Shadows dance through the once magnificent structures. Now, they echo with the haunting memories of times past. I could have brought him in the daytime, but this will mean more. I know it will.

  Sliding my tongue between my lips, I sigh.

  “Blake—I need to talk to you and truthfully, I dunno how you’re going to take some of the information. Frankly, you’re gonna probably think I’ve tipped off my rocker when you hear it.”

  “Oooh, intrigue,” he says, tilting his head. His lips shift into a half-smirk, half-smile.

  I let go of his hand, walking into the main Temple of Apollo. Meandering toward its hestia, I pause, taking in the scenery and the way everything has changed from their original glory.

  It’s strange to be able to see ancient locations with these eyes—my new modern perception overlays the freshly returned ancient memories from when it was once a thriving venue. Not that the Temple doesn’t still bring its draw of people, it does—just for far different reasons.

  I wonder if Apollo would be pleased or appalled.

  Blake walks up beside me, searching my face for answers. My forehead creases and I look away. How do I explain everything that’s happened to me without sounding utterly and completely insane?