In one fluid movement, he rose to his feet and peeled his T-shirt over his head. “Lie back on the bed,” he ordered. I willingly complied, my fingers aching to touch him. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he stripped. Naked, he planted one knee on the mattress. He snatched up the condom and the foil crinkled as he tore it open, then rolled it over his rigid shaft. I wriggled, anticipation heating my blood.
Lifting my foot, he kissed the arch. His lips sketched a chain of kisses from my ankle to my knee. His fingers gentle, but insistent, he pressed my knees apart, widening my thighs. Kyle crawled up between my spread legs until we were face-to-face. Supporting his weight on his bent arms, he gazed down at me, his eyes incandescent.
“I’m yours,” he vowed. “And I will love you every day for the rest of my life.”
For the rest of his life. I shivered at this allusion to mortality, at this reminder of the peril we still faced. My lips trembled. “We still have to fight Elliot Allsop.”
He touched my cheek. “Yeah, we do. And when the battle comes, we’ll face it with our friends, and we’ll come out intact on the other side. I know it. But tonight it’s just us. Together. Safe. So stay with me, Sunny. Stay in the moment.”
I gasped and arched my hips as he pushed inside of me. I locked my ankles around his waist. We rocked together in a leisurely rhythm, taking our time, in no hurry to reach culmination. Kyle rained kisses on my face, murmuring gentle words of love. Every brush of his fingers and lips over my skin was imbued with reverence and devotion.
Sex wore many faces. Tonight I discovered that sometimes sex was a sacrament, a communion of spirits, a vow exchanged with touch and sighs.
Afterward, we lay sated in each other’s arms. Kyle fell asleep first. I curled against him, my fingers splayed against the sculpted chest I loved to caress. Was it wrong to feel so happy when our world stood on the brink of another cataclysm?
When the battle comes, we’ll face it with our friends, and we’ll come out intact on the other side. I know it.
Kyle had faith in tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come. I had faith, too. We’d persevere and build a future with our friends. We’d help raise Ever. Maybe someday we’d have children of our own, too. I smiled at that thought, my eyes growing heavy as sleep rushed in to claim me.
EPILOGUE
Bear
Never understood why some people avoid cemeteries at night. Why would anybody get spooked by treading on consecrated ground that holds the bones of their nearest and dearest?
I visited the Rasmussen family plot most nights before I went to bed. Sitting on a cement bench facing the gravestones, I talked to my parents and grandparents. I’d tell them about my day and ask for their advice, as if I expected them to drop pearls of wisdom from the great beyond. Which I didn’t. I wasn’t delusional. They didn’t actually talk to me. But sometimes when I posed a question, it triggered something in my memory, and I recalled the lessons my folks taught me growing up.
“Trouble’s coming,” I said to the boulder that marked my parents’ grave. Everybody else buried in the cemetery had a fancy marble or granite stone etched with their name to mark their spot in the soil. The Rasmussens did right by their dead. Only my folks had to make due with a plain old boulder that Ripper had helped me wrestle into position.
The wrought iron gate creaked. I glanced over and watched Finn pick his way between the graves, careful to avoid stepping on the ground above the coffins because that’d be disrespectful to the dead.
“Make room,” he said.
I scooted over, and he dropped down beside me on the bench, a beer in his hand.
“Not sure Mama would approve.” I pointed at the bottle.
“Are you kidding?” Finn demanded. “That woman liked nothing more than to have a beer on a Saturday night.”
“True enough, but in a cemetery?”
Finn shrugged. “I don’t think she’d hold it against me.” He took a sip, then tipped the bottle over the grave, spilling a few drops of the amber liquid. “Cheers, Mama. Sure do miss you.”
I twisted sideways on the bench, studying my brother’s face in the moonlight. The swelling had gone down, and he could see out of his right eye. The split lip had sewn back together. His bruised ribs were healing, too. He walked funny only at the end of the day when he thought nobody was looking.
“You’re healing,” I remarked.
“Yep,” Finn agreed. A minute of silence passed. He took another pull on his beer. “I think the folks would like Nyx.”
“What?” I reared back. Where did that come from?
“Nyx,” he said. “You know, the woman with the wild hair and all the tattoos. The one you get all fidgety and flummoxed around.”
“Humph,” I said, refusing to engage in such nonsense.
“Yeah, her.” Finn grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light.
I ignored him. Closing my eyes, I tilted back my head and listened to the familiar sounds of the night. Above our heads, branches scraped against each other. An owl hooted nearby. In the distance, a coyote yipped.
“I’m healed,” Finn said. “It’s getting to be time for you and me and Ripper to go to Pendleton to meet with Marcus Havoc and his people. Kyle and the rest can hold down the place for a couple of days while we’re gone. Got to make plans to take the war to Allsop.”
I sighed, my heart sinking. “I don’t want this war,” I confessed.
“Me neither, brother,” Finn said. “But I’ve seen Elliot Allsop up close. The man is just plain evil.”
I nodded, remembering the Wilcox Brigade. “Won’t be the first time we dealt with just plain evil.”
“True,” Finn said. “And remember what our parents taught us. The Rasmussens never back down from a good fight.”
I looked down the hill at the dark ranch house. Our friends slept safe and secure inside our home tonight. Beyond the low hills surrounding the house and barns lay more than three thousand acres of land that generations of Rasmussens had worked, protected, and bled for. Valhalla.
I laid a hand on my brother’s shoulder and looked him square in the eyes. “You’re right. Nobody is ever going to kill our people or take our land again.”
The World Fallen series continues in Cataclysm, Bear’s story.
Thank you for reading Bedlam. I hope you enjoyed it. If you have the time and inclination, please visit the site where you purchased it and leave a brief review.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m grateful to the many people who made the publication of Bedlam possible.
Christina Trevaskis—my brilliant developmental editor—brings decades of experience and expertise to our collaboration. Her knowledge and skills are second to none.
Raven Dark—a gifted author and dear friend—lends an ear whenever I need advice or encouragement.
I couldn’t ask for better proofreaders than Brittany Meyer-Strom and Sharon Shook, women whose eyes light up with excitement at the prospect of hunting down typos and errors.
The wonderful Lori Jackson designed the gorgeous cover for Bedlam.
Wander Aguiar shot the perfect cover image.
When my writing mojo needed a boost, I turned to author and Better Faster Academy coach Milana Jacks, who helped me right my course.
A big shout out to my wonderful friend, Debbie Morley, who always takes my call when I need I need to bounce ideas off someone.
Thanks to the lovely Korrie Noelle for her friendship, encouragement and support.
And finally, a big thank you to my husband, John Hoefer, who always encourages me to follow my dreams.
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