by Sharon Page
Later, when Stefan took her while still in their wolven forms, she’d known it was time. Xandi almost shivered with the power she’d felt when she consciously released an egg for fertilization, knowing this was her choice, approved by her mate yet still entirely up to her.
He’d been big and rough, clamping his jaws around her throat to hold her still, his claws raking her shoulders, his cock penetrating deep and hard. When he tied with her, when the knot formed inside her sex, she’d felt the steady throbbing pulse for what seemed like hours as he pumped his seed into her womb.
Xandi clasped her hands and bit back a whimper. Her body was a seething stew of hormones in the early weeks of her pregnancy. She needed Stefan with an ache that was almost painful.
Well, Anton said he wanted sexual energy tonight. If the pulsing dampness between her legs was any indication, Xandi figured she could call up just about any ghost Anton might think of!
Grinning like an idiot, knowing she would have to tell Stefan as soon as this night ended, Xandi settled herself on the small rug in front of the French doors to the patio. Clearing her mind, opening her heart, she placed both palms over her belly and let peace flow over her soul.
Luc paced the width of the bedroom and back again, the white robe swirling around his legs, his libido raging and his blood singing with the overload of adrenaline coursing through his system.
Why the hell Anton wanted them celibate for this damned ritual of his, Luc didn’t know, but he sure as hell couldn’t sit and meditate with his cock big as a baseball bat and twice as hard.
He needed Tia, wanted the softness of her warm and welcoming body, the calming influence of her gentle hands. Damn it all, he’d wanted to apologize to Camille Mason for twenty years, explain to her why he’d pulled the trigger, how he wished he could undo that terrible act, but if he couldn’t relax, he might screw up whatever Cheval had planned.
He couldn’t do that to Tia, couldn’t do it to Ulrich. Both of them had more need of closure than he did. Hell, all Luc wanted was a way to rid himself of the guilt he’d hauled around for twenty years.
The weight of it was killing him.
The robe snagged on a corner of the bed and stopped him in his tracks. Luc leaned over to free the fabric from the metal frame and saw something shiny lying under the bed.
He reached for it, picked it up, and felt his heart stand still. It was the same framed photo he’d looked at the night of Camille’s funeral. It must have fallen out of Tia’s suitcase when she’d moved into the room next to his.
Luc stared at the photo, the mother and daughter so much alike it brought tears to his eyes. He might as well have been that same rookie cop twenty years ago, standing in Ulrich’s house waiting for Ulrich to come down the stairs after tucking his tiny daughter into bed.
“Ah, Camille. You’ve missed so damned much because of me, yet your death is what brought Ulrich and me together; it gave me the world of the Chanku, it’s what brought Tia into my life. Even more than I want to apologize, I need to thank you.”
Luc set the photo on the low vanity dresser and sat down on the small bench in front of it. Staring at the picture of Camille and a five-or six-year-old Tia, Luc felt his heart rate slow and the tension ebb away.
He touched the woman’s picture with the tip of his finger, honoring her in the only way he could. Calming his racing thoughts, relaxing his body and mind, he let the peace of the afternoon slowly seep into his heart.
Anton Cheval stood beneath the stinging spray of the shower and let the hot water melt the tension flowing through his body. Aware on an almost visceral level of all the other inhabitants of his household, he sensed the moment when Luc, the last of them to settle down, finally discovered the peace that had escaped him all afternoon.
Anton bowed his head, feeling the power flowing into him from the other inhabitants of his house. The water ran hot, turning his olive skin a dark brick red, joining the heat on his skin to the cauldron of energy building inside his body. His cock rose, rampant against his belly as the power and life raced through his veins.
He missed Keisha’s warm body, her loving, gentle spirit. Come the dawn, he had hours of celibacy to make up for, but, like the others, he would wait.
What Anton hoped to accomplish tonight would take every bit of strength he possessed, all his arcane knowledge … and more than a little bit of luck.
He’d once accused Stefan of the sin of hubris. Was he suffering from the same self-delusion, that he could bring the dead to life?
He thought of the shroud of loneliness that followed his friend Ulrich, the little-girl-lost look clinging to Tia, the lifetime of self-recrimination haunting Lucien Stone, Keisha’s fear for their unborn daughter … and the sadness of the wraith who had taken up residence in their home.
He couldn’t ignore Camille Mason’s plea for help. If there was a way to help her move on, to aid the others linked to her, Anton would find it. He was ready to do whatever he could.
He bowed his head as the hot water sluiced over his shoulders, and he gave thanks to the powers that ruled the universe, the spirit beings that so graciously accepted his amateur attempts to understand the ethereal plane.
Would they help him tonight? He had to believe. The peace of many lives depended on his success.
Anton willed his rock-hard erection to relax. His cock slowly returned to its flaccid state. The water cooled, chilling him beneath the spray.
He took a deep breath and reached for the center that would hold him steady this night. He felt his heart rate slow, his body calm. He stepped from the shower and slowly dried himself, soaking up the peace that had eluded him until now. He took his time shaving, ran his hand over the smooth skin along his jaw, and knew Keisha would approve.
Smiling, he pulled the white robe over his damp body, combed his hair into a tight queue, and tied it out of the way; then he went outside to prepare.
5
Luc watched carefully as Anton lit a small fire in a stone-lined pit in the meadow behind the house and then loosely arranged six chairs nearby in a circle. He placed a single chair off to one side. The sun had already disappeared behind the tall trees, and dark shadows grew darker, even as the flames rose.
Next to the fire was an intricately carved wooden table covered with a dark gold, silken cloth that shimmered like precious metal. Anton pushed the loose sleeves of his white robe back to his elbows, lit a candle, and set it in a holder on the cloth; then he held an incense stick in the flame until it began to smoke. He set that in an iridescent abalone shell. Luc noticed that the candle flame burned straight, without wavering, in spite of the light breeze stirring the treetops, yet the smoke from the incense wafted out over the chairs and hung there in a richly scented gray cloud.
Other objects Anton placed on the surface of what must be his altar included a beautifully carved knife with a bone handle, a shiny black stone that appeared to be obsidian, and a statue of a wolf, perfectly carved out of a redwood burl.
Next, Anton put a small amount of salt in a seashell and set it to one side and then poured water from a cloth-covered pitcher into a crystal goblet he set next to the candle. The last thing he did was place a small tray in the center of the table. On it sat a ripe pomegranate that had been cut crosswise in half. The brilliant red fruit held the perfect shape of a pentagram.
Luc sensed Tia’s presence. He glanced up and saw her walking toward him with Keisha and Alexandria. The women held hands with Tia in the middle. Their white robes gave them a mystical, dreamy appearance. All three wore their hair long and flowing and walked barefoot across the short grass.
Tia glanced up and smiled at Luc. He fought every Chanku instinct to grab his mate, shift into the wolf, and run away with her. His hands felt cold; his muscles practically quivered with the need to be far from whatever Anton was setting into motion.
Stefan approached from the woods, brushing his hair from his face with one hand, wiping grass and twigs off his mud-stained robe with the oth
er. Luc grinned at the sheepish look on Stefan’s face. No doubt he’d just come in from a run. Obviously, the lure of the woods had been stronger than Anton’s instructions.
Luc felt jealous as hell. He quickly tempered the emotion, set it aside.
Ulrich was the last to arrive, looking uncomfortable in his bare feet and white robe. He stared at the altar for a moment and then glared directly at Luc.
All we need are pointy hats and masks, and we’d look like a bunch of fucking Ku Klux Klanners.
Luc bit back a snort. He cast a quick glance at Anton and saw the man’s lip curl into a smile. Nothing escaped him. Ever.
Anton finally looked up from his preparations. “I want each of you to stand beside a chair.” He grinned. “Choose wisely. You’re going to be in it for a while. Ulrich, please carry that one into the center.” Anton pointed at the one chair he’d set off to the side. “I’ve cut a pentagram into the grass. It’s hard to see in this light, but it’s there. Put your chair in the center of the star, facing the altar.”
Ulrich did as he was told, placing his chair legs directly over the five-pointed star’s center.
Anton picked up the knife and carefully touched it to the obsidian, sprinkled salt over the blade, dipped it in the water, ran the blade through the flame and then through the smoke from the incense. He lifted it high, as if offering the silver knife as a gift.
Luc held tightly to the back of his chair as Anton knelt down and used the knife to cut a circle in the grass around them. He carefully enclosed the chairs, the people, and the pentagram within its boundary.
“Stay within the circle and sit down now, if you will.” Anton took the goblet of water, sprinkled a few drops over the circle, tossed a few grains of salt, and then held both the candle and the incense inside its boundary.
Luc felt an odd pressure about him, as if the air had developed a charge. He realized he was hearing a soft chorus of some kind and glanced to his left where Tia sat with her head bowed. She and the other women were chanting, the words low and incomprehensible to Luc. He looked up at Anton, curious yet loath to interrupt.
Anton placed a picture on the altar. Luc recognized another of the photos of Camille that Tia had brought with her. The chanting grew louder. Anton picked up the tray with the pomegranate, stepped within the circle, and sat down. The chanting abruptly stopped.
Anton’s voice took on the low, mesmerizing quality Luc remembered so well from their last visit. “I want you to relax, to feel the warmth within the circle. The night will grow cold, but you will remain comfortable within its protective shield.” He passed the plate to each of them. Everyone took a few of the pomegranate seeds. Anton set the tray at Ulrich’s feet.
Luc stared at the seeds in his hand. Blood red in the dying light, they seemed totally innocuous yet strangely powerful.
“Taste one of the seeds. Close your eyes, experience the sharp tang, the sweet flavor, the hard seed within the soft pulp. Roll it on your tongue. Realize you can taste the flavors, feel the textures, because you are alive, you are a part of this earthly plane.”
Luc tasted the sweet tart flavor, found the hard seed with his tongue, and thought how simple an act, yet meaningful, to taste something. To experience the flavors.
“Concentrate on the spirit of Camille Mason. Draw her close with your thoughts. Those of you who know her: my wife, Keisha, who is her niece; Tia Mason, her only child; Ulrich Mason, her husband; Lucien Stone, the man who killed her.”
Luc flinched at Anton’s bald statement. Tia reached out and tightly grasped his hand. Ulrich turned his head and looked directly at Luc, but there was no condemnation in his gaze.
“Finish the remainder of the seeds you hold. Taste them, concentrate on the flavor, the texture, the sweet and the tart. The purpose of the seed, which is to bring life.”
Luc tried to follow Anton’s instructions and concentrate wholly on the few pomegranate seeds in his mouth, but he’d grown more aware of Tia, of the tension within the circle, of the sense of something building in the air around them.
Anton’s soft voice brought Luc back. “Think of life. There is sweet; there is tart. There are bumps and valleys along the journey, good times and bad. Life is what it is, what we make of it. No more, no less.”
Anton looked skyward and took a deep, slow breath. Then he exhaled and took Tia’s hand on his right, Keisha’s on his left. “I know you’re close, Camille. Come into our circle. We offer you safety. Hopefully, we offer you a way home. Come to those who love you, those who hold you fast to this earthly plane.”
The women began their chant again. Out of the corner of his eye, Luc saw the candle flame flicker. Tia’s hand tightened in his left, but her voice was steady. Xandi held on to his right. There was only a small space between Luc’s knees and Ulrich’s chair, but something brushed his legs. The air felt heavy, ripe, as though something grew within the circle.
Xandi gasped, a sharp intake of breath as she stared at a spot between herself and Ulrich. She squeezed Luc’s hand. Tia’s fingers tightened around Luc’s with bruising strength as a figure wavered, insubstantial at first, and then slowly seemed to draw on the energy within the circle, finding shape and substance.
Luc felt his heart literally skip a beat. Camille Mason stood just behind her husband, her black hair free and flowing about her shoulders, her eyes bright and alive. The white gown she wore matched the others in the circle.
Camille looked first at Anton, who smiled at her with a look of utter relief.
She gestured toward her husband. “Thank you. I promise to give him back.”
Ulrich jerked around in his chair and stared at his wife. Camille smiled at him but held up one hand to forestall him. She leaned close to Keisha and placed her hand on Keisha’s smooth belly.
“It was your babe who drew me back. You carry a daughter, just as I once did.”
Camille’s voice was strong and steady. There was absolutely nothing ghostlike about her. “For so long now, I’ve floated, neither here nor there. No color, no sound, no sense of anything living or dead, merely the frustration that I could not come back to life, nor could I move forward to the peaceful death I should have had. Then I sensed your baby, a little girl so much like my Tia. She drew me here.”
Camille closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as though savoring the air, the expansion of her lungs. Her fingers trembled against Keisha’s flat stomach. “Blessings to you, my niece. Your child will be just like you, strong and beautiful. She will be Chanku, and one with the forest. As we all are. Keep her safe.”
Next Camille walked around the small circle, brushing by Ulrich as if he weren’t even there. She paused in front of Luc and studied him thoughtfully. Finally she reached down and took his right hand, freeing him from Xandi’s strong grasp.
“I did not want to die so young, but my death was not your fault. You were doing your job. No more, no less. What happened was fated, not only by my own willful actions but by the mysterious wheel of life none of us has the power to comprehend, much less control. For you to find Tia, to learn of your own Chanku heritage, for Pack Dynamics to come about … for so many other bits and pieces of the past twenty years, I had to die. The past happened as it had to. The future is yet to be determined. Don’t let guilt undermine the wonderful life you have. Live without the weight you’ve carried for so long.”
Camille squeezed Luc’s hand, released it, and swept her palm across his cheek in benediction. There were tears in his eyes. Luc knew he was crying only because the vision in front of him wavered, disappeared for a brief moment.
As did the weight that had bowed his shoulders for the past twenty years.
Tia tried to swallow and couldn’t. She felt Luc’s strong fingers grasping hers, but when Camille turned to look at her, the rest of the world faded away.
“Mom?” Tia pulled her fingers free of Luc’s hand and reached for her mother with both arms.
Camille gave a choked sob and out her hands. Tia practically l
eaped into her embrace, felt the slim arms around her back, smelled the suddenly familiar scent of her mother’s favorite perfume.
Magically, all the memories Tia had held long buried rushed back. She remembered favorite meals and walks along Ocean Beach. Playing in the park and trips to the zoo and shopping in Union Square. Trolley rides on sunny days and walking with her mother across Golden Gate Bridge with the wind lifting her hair.
An entire childhood’s worth of memories, all lost to the trauma of abandonment, all gone for so long, bursting now, like flowers coming into bloom, bright and colorful and filled with texture, scent, and sound. Sobbing, Tia hugged Camille tight for what felt like hours … but must really have lasted only a moment.
Much, much too brief a time in the life of a child.
Finally Tia felt her mother’s arms relax. She dropped her own and stepped back. It was only then that Tia realized she towered over the much tinier woman. Sniffing, wiping the tears from her eyes, she grinned at her mother. Her voice cracked on a sob. “You’re little. I’m taller than you!”
Tears streamed from Camille’s eyes. “You’re so beautiful, so much like your father.” She reached up and brushed at the tears on Tia’s cheeks. Tia leaned against her mother’s soft palm. “Live well. You’ve found a fine man, but you need a wedding! I want to know my baby girl is married to the man she loves, and I want your father to walk you down the aisle. That’s the way it’s supposed to happen. I want my grandbabies to know their father loved their mother enough to marry her. I want to see you in that pretty dress with a big bouquet of flowers, looking just the way I did when I married your father. I’ll be there, somehow. I promise.”
Camille reached up and pulled Tia’s face down to hers and kissed her gently on the lips. Tia felt the life in her mother, felt the regret, and just as clearly, felt the years of her own resentment fade away.
