by Nina Croft
Unwrap Me
(Storm Lords 4)
By
Nina Croft
For all of you out there who have loved and lost—I hope you get a second chance.
Unwrap Me
Copyright © 2018 by Nina Croft
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
EPILOGUE
About the Author
Also by Nina Croft…
CHAPTER 1
All her life Imogen had been haunted by acrophobia. That was fear of heights to most people. Her mother had told her that even as a baby she’d screamed if they held her up too high.
Well, no longer. Today was the day she faced her fear.
I can do this. I can. I can. I can… Oh, no, I can’t.
Forcing her eyes open, Imogen peered through the open door. She’d been praying for snow, for a white Christmas, and a legitimate excuse not to go through with this.
So far—nothing. God was leaving it awfully late to save her.
Out on the grass runway, a small group of people loitered next to a tiny, fragile-looking plane. They were waiting for her. And they were chatting, happy.
Were they crazy?
Beside her, stood Hugh, the lucky man who would be strapped to her as she hurtled toward the Earth. She’d only met him an hour ago. “Come on, Imogen,” he cajoled. “Let go of the doorframe. They’re all waiting for us.”
Imogen’s fingers tightened on the metal.
Hugh was the man in charge of the parachute. The man who would die along with Imogen if the parachute didn’t open. As it was bound not to. She’d Googled the probabilities. Last night, in bed with her laptop on her knee, when she should have been working on a sermon. There was a 0.0007 percent chance she could die. Maybe not huge. Some might say insignificant, but there all the same. It had to happen to someone. And that someone was going to be her.
Her legs wobbled, her head felt light, her breaths were coming in short, sharp gasps. The air was cold on her cheeks, and she shivered. It was December, and the ground would be extra hard. At least it would be a quick death; likely, every one of her bones would shatter on impact.
I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
She was pathetic. A worm. Less than a worm.
Get a grip!
“You do know your payment is forfeit at this stage, Imogen. You might as well jump. Come on,” Hugh said with a coaxing smile. He held his arms out wide to show off his impressive physique. “How can you resist the idea of being up close to this?” He gave her an exaggerated leer. “I’ll let you cop a feel if you’re a good girl and let go of the door.”
An almost hysterical giggle escaped her. It had actually been a long, long time since she’d copped any feels. But somehow, she didn’t think she’d be in any state to appreciate Hugh’s—admittedly hot—body under these circumstances.
“It’s safer than driving,” he offered.
She gritted her teeth. “Tell that to the 21 people who died last year.”
“Statistically, you’re more in danger of dying from taking a selfie.”
He was right. Logic told her that. She just wasn’t feeling very logical right now. She swallowed, then took a deep, slow breath. She’d had therapy when she was six years old to help her control the panic. Now her coping techniques were instinctive. Though she rarely needed to use them, because she avoided situations where her panic would take hold. Situations like jumping out of airplanes.
Until today.
Whose stupid idea had a parachute jump been?
Oh yeah, hers.
“You could try praying,” Hugh suggested. “If the big man is going to listen to anyone, then it’s you.”
“Ha.” She didn’t actually believe she would be given any preferential treatment. But she took a deep breath and pried her frozen fingers from the door, took one shaky step, then another.
For as long as she could remember, she’d had recurrent dreams of falling. Falling and falling, then pain that went on for a long time. Parched lips, unable to move, broken and bloody, loss and anger and regrets—for what she couldn’t remember—then finally, darkness. The darkness was always a relief.
This was her attempt to get over those stupid dreams. To put them in perspective. To bury them deep inside where they belonged. Face her fears. And move on with her life.
Except it was really, really hard. Like her heart was going to burst.
She’d come to a halt, and beside her, Hugh shook his head. “Maybe if you feel this bad, you should reschedule.”
No, if she left now, she might never come back. She wanted to do this. Needed to do it. If she could overcome her biggest fear, then maybe the rest would magically vanish. That was the plan. She was nearly thirty. If she wanted a family, she was going to have to stop pushing everyone away.
She took another step, and another. The plane was close now. Red and shiny and looking totally incapable of actually flying.
I wish.
It was going to happen. They would drag her up, and then they would push her out. She shook her head, dispelling the images that were so real.
She wouldn’t let them have power over her any longer.
Hugh sprang up into the plane. He turned with a grin on his handsome face and stretched out a hand to help her up. Imogen had to force her own trembling hand to reach out. Her stomach cramped. She ignored it. But it would serve Hugh right if she vomited all over him. He might not be so annoyingly cheerful then.
Just as their fingers were about to touch, her phone rang in her pocket. She recognized the ring tone as Kevin’s—he knew where she was and not to interrupt unless it was an emergency. So she had to take it. Really, she did.
She peered up at Hugh and gave a shrug. “Sorry.” After pulling the phone out of her pocket, she checked caller I.D. Yup, Kevin. She held it to her ear, ignoring the impatient glances from the people inside the plane. “Kevin?”
“Hi, Vicar. Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you’d want to know. The hospital called. They think Mrs. Simpson isn’t going to last much longer.”
Mrs. Simpson was one of her parishioners. A widow and childless. Imogen had no choice but to go.
She looked at Hugh. “I have to go.”
His eyes narrowed. “Reschedule.”
“I will.” It would be after Christmas now. But she w
ould. Honestly. She turned to go, and he called after her.
“Hey, Imogen, you know you’re pretty hot, for a vicar. Maybe I could see you sometime?”
She tossed him a smile. Wow, she could smile again. “Come to church.”
As she walked away, she almost collapsed with sheer relief. Poor Mrs. Simpson, but she’d known the end was coming. Likely, she would be beyond being aware Imogen was even present, but that wasn’t the point.
Behind her, the engine revved and she sensed movement as the plane rolled down the runway without her. As she entered the building, out of the icy air, she turned back briefly, just in time to see the little red plane lift into the air.
There but for the grace of God.
Maybe He did love her after all.
She’d been right. Mrs. Simpson had so much morphine inside her that she had no clue Imogen was even there. The old lady had opened her eyes briefly as Imogen entered, then lapsed into a drug-induced sleep. All the same, Imogen couldn’t bring herself to leave. No one should have to die alone.
She sat by the bed, trying not to feel melancholy. Death was just another part of the journey. And at least this was a peaceful passing. She closed her eyes briefly, her mind filling with a whirlpool of pain, dragging her under, so she blinked them open again quickly.
A magazine lay on the table beside the bed, and she picked it up and flicked through the pages. Her eyes narrowed, and a frown formed between her eyes as her attention caught on an advertisement. She been seeing the same one everywhere lately.
Regression Hypnosis. Who were you in a past life?
She spread the magazine out on the table and read the advertisement. She got to the end and started again.
Do you have dreams that seem more real than life?
Do you dream of dying?
Do you have a phobia attached to those dreams?
Then it may be that you are reliving a former existence.
If this sounds like you, then contact us. At Stormlord Securities, we are running research into regression hypnosis. All expenses paid and confidentiality guaranteed.
Wouldn’t you rather know?
Imogen snorted. Yeah, right. She could just imagine the bishop’s reaction if he found out. He’d probably consider it pagan nonsense and have her exorcised or something. And no, she didn’t believe in past lives. You lived your life and then you moved on, hopefully to a better place. All the same, she couldn’t get the idea out of her head. Do you dream of dying? Do you have a phobia attached to those dreams?
Oh, yeah.
It was all rubbish. All the same, the words could have been written just for her. And once she started thinking about it, she couldn’t get rid of the idea. But no way could she take part in somebody’s research project. No, if she did something this insane, it would have to be under the radar, or she’d lose all credibility.
She pulled out her phone and Googled regression hypnosis.
CHAPTER 2
Devlin Royce exited the elevator into the reception area of Stormlord Securities and came to a halt.
A huge Christmas tree stood in the far corner, twinkling with red-and-silver lights. And a group of humans stood beneath it, singing. Away in a manger...
He’d actually forgotten it was nearly Christmas. In fact, only five days, not that it made any difference—time was running out, and the End of Days was almost upon them. Even if no one else seemed to sense the urgency. He turned to face his two brothers, Torr and Finn. “War is coming.”
“Maybe,” Finn replied. “But do you think war could wait until after Christmas? I have to go shopping.”
Seriously?
Devlin ran his hand through his short hair. For some reason, he felt on edge, his skin prickly, like before a huge storm. He needed to do something to get this tension out of his system. He needed a fight. But Finn had to go shopping.
“We need to be prepared,” he said. “Be proactive. Offense is the best defense.”
“War’s been coming for a long time,” Torr replied. Torr was also known as the Destroyer, but honestly, he’d turned into a complete pussy since he’d found his wife.
Devlin took a deep breath. “Okay, then, it’s a hell of a lot closer than it was. All the intel we’re getting in suggests Lilith is amassing a huge army. She’s getting ready to move. She’s given up on the idea of getting us—or more particularly, you—back and is going ahead without us.”
Two thousand years ago, they had given their allegiance to Lilith, Queen of the Abyss, in exchange for dark powers to enable them to get their revenge on those who had taken what they held most dear—their wives.
There had been seven of them, seven angels, who had fallen in love with human women and settled on Earth. However, their wives were mortal, and the idea of losing them to death was unbearable. There was only one way they could remain together—if their wives took the Elixir of Life.
So they had broken the laws of Heaven and stolen the Elixir.
And paid the price.
That day, they had been torn from the women they loved, their angel wings ripped from their backs, and they’d been hurled into the Abyss. Lilith had been waiting for them.
All they’d desired at that point had been revenge. The darkness had awoken in them that day, and they had become the Storm Lords, and Torrin, their leader, the Destroyer and consort to the queen. In those first years, they had bathed in the fresh blood of humans, fed on their warm flesh, slaughtered without conscience, their whole existence passing in a red haze of fury.
Then, a thousand years ago, the archangel Gabriel—a total asshole who’d been responsible for tossing them in the Abyss in the first place—had come to them. By then, the Storm Lords were too powerful to defeat by force. Instead, Gabriel had told them the truth, hoping to break their allegiance to Lilith.
While their wives had died that day, because they had taken the Elixir of Life, their souls were tied to the Earth, caught in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. For a thousand years, Devlin’s wife, Zaria, had lived, breathed, and forgotten all about him.
They had a new focus: find the women they loved.
Lilith hadn’t wanted to let them go. In fact, she’d been incandescent with fury, but she couldn’t hold them completely. Finally, they had come to an arrangement and drawn up the Covenant in blood, which would bind all sides. They would have one thousand years to seek their wives, but if they failed to find them in that time, their allegiance would return to Lilith.
Never going to happen.
But it wasn’t so easy. Lilith had made another stipulation. If eternal love truly existed, then their wives would know them, love them. They would have five days after meeting them again for their wives to come to them of their own free will and declare their love. If that happened, they would be granted eternal life and would be with them forever. But in that time, Devlin and his brothers were not allowed to tell them the truth or reveal what and who they were. If they spoke of this, their wives would be lost to them. This time forever.
“Anyway,” Torr interrupted his memories, “you shouldn’t be worrying about war. You should be concentrating on the search for Zaria. Time is running out.”
Devlin knew that. He spent every spare moment scanning the facial-recognition reports. Searching though the millions of people, looking for the one. For years they’d hunted without hope. But now, with modern technology, they had a chance. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s how I plan to spend Christmas.” He wouldn’t give up hope. He’d always believed he would find her, and she would remember their love.
“And follow up on those regression analysis ads Rachel has been putting in all the papers and magazines,” Finn said.
Rachel was Finn’s wife. She’d come up with the idea of putting ads everywhere, targeting people who were experiencing the same things she’d experienced. Dreams of dying, phobias, fear of letting anyone close. The idea was that they would answer the ads, and remember, and come looking for them.
But the last thing
he wanted was for Zaria to remember. In fact, he had men posted at the regression analysis laboratory. If there was any sign of Zaria, they were to stop her from going in. Because if she remembered that last day, then there was a good chance that he was well and truly fucked.
If she didn’t remember, he would start with a clean slate. He wasn’t allowed to say “I love you”—the words were against the Covenant—but he would have five days to show her how he felt.
He had to have faith.
“So, what are you two planning to do for Christmas?” he asked. “After you’ve been shopping, that is.”
Finn grinned. “You wait until you get Zaria back. We can all go shopping together next year.”
“In your dreams.”
Finn ignored the comment. “After that, we’re flying to the States. I’m taking Rachel and Jacob to visit her grandfather.”
“Aw, sweet.”
“And I’m taking Bella to Iceland,” Torr said. “We’re spending the holidays in an ice hotel.”
“Sounds like Hell.” Devlin liked it hot.
“It’s something she’s always—” Torr stopped abruptly, and Devlin glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. Torr was staring at the door, his mouth open but no words coming out. Not much could render the Destroyer speechless. Devlin shifted his gaze to Finn, who was doing an impersonation of Torr. Eyes wide. Mouth hanging open.
What the hell?
“You guys seen a ghost or something?” he asked. Nobody answered.
The skin prickled down his spine. Someone was watching him.
And he slowly turned around.
CHAPTER 3
A sudden premonition of disaster held Devlin totally immobile.
A woman stood in front of the double glass doors. Beyond them he could see the people walking past, just like everything was normal. He stared at them, concentrated on the choir singing behind him. Once in Royal David’s City. Anything to put off the moment when he’d have to look at her.
