Someone who loved him, and cared deeply about what happened to him.
Someone like her.
“I cannot see that far ahead, Opal. All I can do is hope that one day—if he survives with his sanity intact—he will be given a second chance.”
Blood chilled in her veins. Slowly, carefully, she turned to look at Peter. His eyes…. Anguish. Guilt. The weight of ages. The unspeakable weariness of a soul that had witnessed too much grief and sadness. How could he bear it?
“Some days I cannot,” he said, answering her unvoiced question—again. The truth she heard in his words raised the fine hairs on her arms and she chafed them with her palms. Who was he, this man she’d trusted to look after her daughter? What was he?
“Alas, it appears I have interfered once too often,” he said, “and certain strictures have now been placed upon me. But I will tell you what little I am permitted to reveal.” His gaze burned into hers. “And if you make an educated guess or two, I cannot be held be held accountable. Speak freely, Opal.”
“You’re not at all what you seem, are you, Peter Stone?” It came as no surprise that her stutter was nowhere in evidence and the words rolled smoothly from her tongue.
“I am the guardian of these stones.” He gestured to the kitchen cabinet behind her, and when she turned, she came face to face with a shelf of crystals.
Strange. She’d been in Peter’s dining and kitchen area before but she didn’t remember ever seeing these. The oh-so-important question she’d been about to ask dissolved. She ventured closer, fascinated by the way the rays of afternoon sun played over the crystals. They almost seemed alive. There were a number of smaller ones scattered about—too many to count—but seven larger crystals caught her eye. She reached out to touch one but Peter grasped her wrist.
“No,” he said. “These are not for you. The one meant for you was bonded to another. It was not intentional on my part, but even so the harm I caused him is immeasurable.”
Her brain jumped to an impossible conclusion. “You’re talking about Danbur, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Another leap of intuition allowed her to see connections that had previously been veiled. “That wishing crystal you gave Sera—it was Danbur’s crystal.”
“Yes. It is a danburite crystal.”
Danburite. Danbur. Hence his unusual name. But fascinating as that information was, she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted. “So Danbur did come out of the crystal.”
“Yes.”
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. She wouldn’t allow herself to even think about how insane that sounded; for a man to come out of a freaking hunk of stone. All she knew, in her heart and her soul, was that it made perfect sense. Danbur’s trauma was a result of being trapped inside a crystal that he was named after.
And there was another thing she knew absolutely. “You trapped him in the crystal.”
“Yes.”
God. “Why?”
“That is Danbur’s story to tell, not mine. Suffice it to say, I am not a cruel man and the trap was meant to be temporary. Unfortunately for the men I trapped—and for me—someone far more powerful than me decided to intervene.”
Some of Opal’s unnatural calmness began to crack and nausea bubbled in her belly. “Those big crystals—the ones you didn’t want me to touch. They have men inside them, too.”
“Yes.”
OhGodohGodohGod. “And when Danbur escaped the crystal he—” What was that word Peter had used? “He bonded to Sera. But it was supposed to be me. That’s what you’re not allowed to tell me, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She wrapped her arms about her waist, fighting the desire to sink to the floor and stick her hands over her ears and curl into a fetal position. And then her knees locked and the nausea receded, washed away until all she felt was that unnatural calm again. Her gaze flicked to Peter’s face. Too smooth. Too expressionless. And she knew he’d done it—wiped away the sick feeling. Wiped away her concerns, too. He’d manipulated her emotionally and physically.
Just as he’d been doing all along.
And not only her, she realized with a jolt of rage that took her by surprise. So she didn’t give herself time to think it through or ponder the consequences. She clenched her fist and lashed out, clipping him neatly on the jaw.
She knew she’d hit him hard. The white-hot burst of pain in her knuckles was evidence of that, as was the bloom of red flushing his jaw line. But her blow didn’t even rock him on his heels.
“I suppose I deserved that,” he said.
“You think?”
“You pack a mean punch.” To her feral delight, he fingered his jaw.
“Good.” Her heart was thumping now, so loudly she could barely hear herself speak. “I slept with him! I thought….” Oh God. Her belly cramped viciously and she pressed her sore, throbbing fist to her diaphragm. “I thought I was finally ready to trust a man again. I thought I was ready to… to… move on from the past. I thought it was me who chose Danbur. But it wasn’t, was it? It was you, manipulating my emotions, making me feel safe with him, making me want him. I’ve known you for five years. Peter. I thought we were friends. How could you do that to me? How could you?”
He must have quit trying to dampen her emotions because her tears overflowed, scalding her cheeks, and her nose was running, and rage and betrayal stormed through her veins in a heated rush that pearled sweat on her brow and nape.
He stood there, watching her cry, watching her wrestle with the desire to hit him again. And it was only when the storm of emotion subsided, leaving her empty and cold and aching that he spoke. “That was all you, Opal. I….” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his palm over his face. And when he opened his eyes again he was just an old man. Weary. Fallible. Human.
“I’ve been a part of your life for only five years but I know what happened you, Opal. And I would never take away your choice to share your body with someone. It would be akin to… to….”
“Rape?”
He flinched at the ugly word, the harshness barbing her tone. “Yes,” he said, softly. “It would be akin to rape. I believe in free will, in the power of choice. It’s what I’ve fought for over and over these past centuries—what I still fight for. Knowing that each and every woman chosen to bond with the men I’ve cursed has a choice, is the only reason I can keep doing this.”
He stretched a hand toward her but when she took a hasty step backward, he let it drop back to his side. “You chose him, Opal. It was your choice—only yours. If you can’t bring yourself to believe anything else I’ve told you, then please believe that.”
She nodded, accepting the truth of his words.
“I’m glad you chose him,” Peter said. “He has so little time before the curse takes him again.”
Her stomach pitched and plummeted to her toes. “How long?”
“Two days.”
Too much to process. Too much to cope with. She couldn’t think about what it would do to Sera to lose Danbur—what it would do to her, too. “What happens next?”
“What happens next is that you will go to your house and wait there for the Crystal Warrior to bring your daughter to you.”
The ice-cold voice lanced into Opal’s skull, invaded every corner of her mind, expanded until there was no room for anything else—no fury at Peter’s betrayal, no need to confront Danbur with what she’d learned, no overwhelming desire to protect her daughter from forces that had contrived to bond her with a grown man. And no will of her own, either. “Thank you for organizing Sera’s gift,” she said. “And the cake, too. You’re very kind.”
A hand held out the plastic carry-bag containing the wrapped gift. A tiny corner of her mind noted the hand was far too smooth-skinned and delicate to be Peter’s but the thought died as soon as it was born.
Opal took the bag. “I’ll see you at Sera’s party tomorrow,” she said. And then she turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen.
As she clos
ed Peter’s front door behind her, she heard that same cold female voice say, “This time you have gone too far, Crystal Guardian, and you must pay for your disobedience.” But it didn’t occur to her to be at all concerned for Peter’s safety. Instead, she wandered into her house and headed straight for her bedroom to hide Sera’s gift.
The bag held a little something extra, she discovered. A book about crystals with an A-to-Z index that included color photos. Curious, she stretched out atop her bed to leaf through the book.
On impulse she turned to D for….
Danburite.
Well, look at that. He was named after a crystal. A pale pinkish crystal, with shadings that were almost clear in some places, but still with pinky striations. Hah. As if. A girly pink crystal was the absolute last one she’d associate with Danbur.
And it also came in lilac? Good grief. Now something like obsidian she could believe. Black. Beautiful. Deadly. Hadn’t she read a paranormal romance where the bad guys had used obsidian knives?
Oh, look. You could get golden danburite, too. Hmmm. The crystal in that photo looked familiar for some reason.
She read on. Danburite was a powerful healing stone according to the author. And if you placed it over your heart or under your pillow it would give you lucid dreams—whatever that meant.
Ah, here was a good bit. Danburite was supposed to provide a link to serenity and wisdom, and bring patience and peace of mind. Hah. How about the opposite? Opal hadn’t felt serene or peaceful since she’d met him.
“Danburite opens the heart and encourages love of self.” What a load of rubbish. She almost closed the book but curiosity prodded her to suspend disbelief and turn to O, where, sure enough, she found that opals, which she’d always presumed was precious gems, were also considered crystals. And, embarrassingly, they were a “seductive stone” associated with love and passion, desire and eroticism.
Heat scorched her cheeks. Oh, please. That was totally ridiculous! Seductive, she was not. And the only time she’d experienced passion and desire was with….
Danbur.
She pushed the thought aside and read on. Oooh. Fire opals. Pretty. What could they do?
Well, according to the author they could “enhance personal power, awaken inner fire, and protect”, though against what, exactly, wasn’t specified. They were also a symbol of hope, helped with change and progress, and magnified thoughts and feelings. Interesting gems, fire opals.
Lastly, they were supposed to “release deep-seated grief and help let go of the past”.
Whoa. That bit hit her right where it hurt.
Opal stopped reading and stared at the ceiling. Maybe the opal in her mother’s pendant was a fire opal. She should show it to Peter. He seemed to know a bit about crystals. Maybe she should start wearing the necklace.
She thumbed a few more pages and turned to S. Her eyes rounded. Holy heck. Seraphinite was a crystal?
Uneasy, she quickly scanned the information. Some sort of an “angel” crystal found in Siberia that promoted self-healing and… out-of-body journeys? Sheesh. Enough of this BS. Next thing she’d be trying to track down a piece of seraphinite for Sera and hoping it’d help her cure her asthma or something.
Opal snapped the book shut, leaned down, and shoved it under the bed. She didn’t want Sera getting hold of it and believing the hype.
A yawn escaped. And another. God, she was so tired. And goodness knows what she’d done to her right hand for the knuckles to be so sore and swollen.
Her eyelids grew heavier. And when the distant scream of a human being in agony throbbed through the air, she didn’t stir.
~~~
The blaring of the phone jerked her from a dream she couldn’t quite recall except that it still disturbed her. She rolled off the bed, stumbled, and careened off the wall as she sprinted downstairs for the phone. Note to self: get a phone installed in the bedroom!
She snatched at the receiver, heart thudding, hoping she hadn’t missed the call. “Hello, Opal speaking.”
“Hello, Opal. Or should I say, Jordan?”
She smacked the receiver back into its cradle, disconnecting the call. But that small act of defiance wouldn’t save her.
The walls closed in and the air grew heavy with menace as she waited for the phone to ring again. To distract herself, she kneaded her shoulder, probing the sore spot where she’d banged it in her race to the phone.
The ringer blared again. After six rings she knew she couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. He’d found her. She could either stand here staring at the phone like a deer caught in headlights, praying to God he didn’t know squat about Sera, or she could wrest control from him—show him that she wouldn’t be intimidated.
Deep breath, Opal.
She snatched the receiver and spoke before he could get a word out. “Richard.” He’d insisted on being called Rick. With any luck calling him “Richard” would irritate him.
“Long time, no hear,” she drawled. Huh. There was a God after all. The absence of her stutter was proof of that. Even so she cringed inwardly at the prospect of Rick Windsor jeering at her speech impediment. Or worse, correctly guessing he was the root cause of the trauma that had caused it to manifest. Even now, the words shut up were a trigger that made her sick and shaky and barely able to force a sound from her throat. She couldn’t let Rick so much as suspect he held that much power over her.
Taking a deep breath and hoping she could pull this off, she kept her tone friendly and conversational as she said, “Tell you what, let’s make this your ten yearly check-in. So now you’ve checked in, do me a favor and fuck off for another ten years—decades would be even better come to think of it.”
His bark of laughter held a hint of admiration. “Well, aren’t you the feisty one.”
“You have no idea. How did you find me?”
“I have my ways.”
“What do you want, Richard? Make it quick. I haven’t got time to chat.”
He laughed again, but this time it held a sharp edge. “You’ve changed, Jordan. You used to be so terribly shy, so very eager to please.”
She let the silence drag on, unwilling to play his games. And finally he said, “I hear you’re attempting to revive your modeling career.”
Her mind raced, trying to figure out how’n the hell he’d gotten that information. Someone must have leaked it. It’d only been a matter of time, she supposed. Finally she said, “I am. Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“Oh, but it is. Because we had a deal, Jordan.”
The room spun and panic welled, threatening to catapult her back to the past. She couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t lose it while he was on the line.
She squeezed her eyes shut, counted to three. Exhaled. And then she opened her eyes and faced down her demons, fought them and won, so that when she spoke there was no trace of fear or panic in her voice. In fact, her tone was ever so slightly bored when she said, “You mean the one where you drugged me and raped me and told me to shut the fuck up about it or you’d make me sorry?”
It was his turn to go silent. And she smiled, proud that she had uttered that trigger phrase without turning into a gibbering mess. She could do this. She could gain the upper hand.
“Some deal,” she drawled. “You listen to me, you piece of shit. I haven’t told anyone what you did.” Well, that wasn’t strictly true. She had told Desiree a little about her “ex”—enough to get across he wasn’t someone she wanted anywhere near Sera. She hadn’t mentioned names though.
“And I won’t,” she continued, “because you know what, Richard? You don’t matter a crap. What you did to me doesn’t define me. And I’ve moved on—unlike you, by the sounds of it. Not that I give a shit. But hey, I am a teensy bit tired of living hand to mouth so I’m grabbing this incredible opportunity I’ve been given with both hands. And I strongly suggest you shut the fuck up and deal with it.”
And with that, she slammed the receiver down, ripped the cord from th
e wall socket, and stomped upstairs into the bathroom. She pushed through the door so hard it bounced off the doorstop and whacked her in the same shoulder she’d banged earlier. Pain bloomed. Dammit. She’d have a nice bruise by tomorrow.
She didn’t dare check her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Doubtless she’d look deranged, ready to commit murder. She ran the cold faucet and splashed water on her face and throat. And then she stuck her head under the tap and let the water course over the base of her skull and soak her hair.
She’d hoped to freeze the conversation replaying over and over in her head but it had never been that easy to silence Rick’s voice. And now she had to cope with his smugness. His veiled threats.
Finally, when the chill became a burn, she shut off the faucet and wrung out the sopping ropes of her hair. Blindly reaching for a hand towel, she dried her face and then rubbed it over her hair and draped it across her nape to catch the drips. Good enough.
She’d straightened, and was heading from the bathroom when panic hit. She sat in a big hurry before her knees went out from under her. She’d been a fool. Rick had referred to her attempt to revive her modeling career, and odds were he meant the show in Brooklyn. But now she’d mentioned an “incredible opportunity”?
She knew how tenacious he could be. He was bound to start digging. And when he did, he’d find Sera.
God. She’d always known Rick Windsor would find out he had a daughter one day. But she wasn’t ready to face him—not least because she’d conveniently let Sera believe her father had died before she was born. If it came down to a legal battle for custody, she now had the financial means to fight him. But if things got nasty, she would be forced to admit he’d raped her. She didn’t much care what that would do to Rick’s precious mayoral aspirations, but she cared very much how it would impact on Sera.
Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series Page 28
