by Amber Scott
“You don’t know he’s ever used. Not for sure. And if he has, he’s sober now.
“How would you know?”
“I asked. He promised me.”
“And you trust the word of an addict?” Elijah kept his eyes on the elevators. Any moment now, he’d glimpse them opening through the racks, Sadie exiting one. In truth, trusting Lyric’s ability to control his powers was only one of his concerns. "What happens if he can't sense any more than I can in Sadie? Have you considered that?"
“I did. Of course I did.” She put a hand on his arm, but she sparked against his skin and pulled it away. “And if he tries to get a fix off of her, I’ll help you shield her.”
Loathe as he was to admit it, Holly was right. He had to try to trust Lyric again. His energy drew closer to the library. Elijah estimated no more than a few minutes until Lyric arrived.
Possessiveness over Holly, over their months of research, scouring archives, hunting down evidence of a myth, reared up within Elijah.
“Perceptive as Lyric is, bringing in anyone else feels wrong.” But the question lingered unspoken; where else could they possibly look? They were out of options. “Sadie shouldn’t be put in danger to satisfy our curiosity.”
“He won’t hurt her. I promise you. We’ll protect her. If she is what I think she is, and Lyric comes back on as well….” She carefully cupped his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eye. For once, her hand felt cool to the touch, revealing how certain she was of this test. “If there’s a chance, the smallest chance, doesn’t Crusoe deserve it?”
He couldn’t hide his pain or take the bare emotion collected in and glowing in her gaze. He looked away. “Crusoe would have done better,” he said and removed her hand. “If it was us, he’d have found us.”
Crusoe was the best seeker in the entire immortal realm.
“Never say that,” she said, gripping his hand as though it could force his answer. “Once we’re all together again, we will find Crusoe. Holding the last year against Lyric won’t help now, Elijah."
Time yet closed in on them.
Crusoe could be dead, or worse. He could be converted, brainwashed by the Illeautians. Elijah was failing him. Leave it to Holly to see his silence as a sign of hope.
Sparks flashed in Holly’s eyes. “You’ll thank me for this.”
Elijah forced his gaze to the page of notes under his clenched hands. Underlined random, repeating questions, his inky stabs in the dark, mocked him. Sadie neared them now. Despite his stress and fatigue, the edge to his emotions softened. He concentrated, inverting his energy. He didn’t like to, but he might have to repel her.
One thing he knew, Lyric wouldn’t be reading her until Elijah knew she’d be safe from any wish that the feeder would bleed her emotions dry.
*
The lemony Arizona sunshine warmed Sadie Grave’s shoulders, but prickly dread iced her spine as Sadie entered the ASU campus library—her work—where her internal clock began ticking.
Inevitably, she would tell on herself.
Over the course of the next three hours, if she didn’t get a better strategy, everything she’d fought for could be taken away. Her shrink would sniff out her secret. But what could she distract Dr. Meyers with? There was work: “How do you like volunteering, Sadie?” Or family: “How do your sister’s concerns make you feel, Sadie?” Ten minutes in, Sadie would be staring into a gawping silence, itching to spill her loose beans. If the silence didn’t work, a psychological interrogation worthy of the CIA would.
The glass doors hushed behind her as she stepped inside the library. Sadie’s cousin, Jen, had pulled several ropes to get her this library volunteer gig. Jen definitely went above and beyond family obligation, renting a room out to Sadie, too. Tandem garage space to paint canvas or whatever else included.
“Breathe, Sadie,” she whispered to herself. “Good. Now smile. It ain’t three o’clock yet.”
Sadie focused on blending in as she came around the main desk and checked in with her boss, Cynthia.
“Sadie, I need you in an hour or so for microfiche,” Cynthia said. “We need you trained on it by next week.”
“Okay.” In other words, ‘finally’ and ‘or else’. If she could get off the stupid meds she never needed to begin with, she’d be normal again. She’d be able to master simple tasks like microfiche. Soon enough, she told herself, soon enough. Pushing back her anxiety, Sadie signed in and scanned the area for Ben, her one friend in the place. There would be oodles of time to sweat later. Besides, it was just microfiche and last night’s dream was just that—a dream.
Right? A delicious secret dream that, unfortunately, also spelled crazy in certain medical terms.
Technically, a dream on its own did not equate psychosis. The dream’s reoccurrence might, though. Feeling they contained some undecipherable message didn’t help. Add in the fact that a not-so-small part of her believed the dream. Not good. Definitely a checkmark on the ‘Sadie needs a Straightjacket’ list. Any additional symptoms—strong headaches, auditory or/and visual hallucinations—and she vowed to definitely, dutifully disclose everything to Dr. Meyers.
Even her highly embarrassing crush on one handsome stranger, and all the naughty things he kept doing to her in said dreams.
Right down to the undecipherable message in his kisses and whispers.
Everything.
But not until she had no other choice.
Sadie adjusted the bag slung over her shoulder and headed for the elevators to the upper stacks. Ben hurried to her side from the stacks.
“Hey, you. Tell me you came hungry today.” Ben fell into step with her.
He didn’t mean for food. “Famished,” she said and tripped on the carpet. Ben caught her elbow and helped her regain her balance.
“Don’t you dare look,” he said in a low voice, pausing until they’d passed the information desk. “But our dear missus Cynthia is sporting a black eye today. Huh-uh, Sadie, not a peek.”
Sadie resisted. “Really?” Cynthia had seemed fine. Of course, she generally noticed very little once her handsome stranger lit her brain. “I didn’t notice at all. Make-up?”
“Piles of make-up.” Ben went on, explaining how he spotted it, who he figured gave it, etcetera, etcetera.
Sadie half listened, absorbing her surroundings, glimpsing down aisles, listening to shuffling pages, smelling the book-fragrant air. Hearing the thrumming of her heart.
He might be here today. And if he was, she was going to make contact. Because the dream seemed to be begging her to. Because she had to see for herself if it was the same him, namely, if he had wings. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Of course he didn’t have wings.
“Are you coming?” Ben urged from inside the elevator. She had missed the telltale ding. Rubbing at the heat in her cheeks, she joined Ben, careful to avoid the metal lip her toe liked to kiss.
“What’s up with the chipped blue polish?” Ben asked, pushing four. “Don’t go Goth, Sadie. It won’t suit your freckles.”
Sadie looked down. Uh-oh. She hadn’t scrubbed all the oil paint off. She’d better before three. Her sister would just love the idea of Sadie painting again.
“I’ll bet that black eye makes Cynthia’s nose hurt, too,” Ben was saying as the metal cart lumbered upward. “See if she can sniff at me now.”
“Ben, I think she has allergies,” Sadie said, mentally rejoining the conversation.
“Bullshit. She thinks she’s better than me. But look who got clocked. I wonder who did it….” Sadie’s attention wandered.
What the hell would she do if he did have wings, anyways? Run and tell someone? Uh, no. Her belly did a somersault.
The elevator opened. Ben was awaiting further response.
“Really?” she said, struggling to recall what else he’d said. She kept pace with him to the rear office for their first re-shelving load.
“Yes, really….”
Rows of empty computers hummed in the background. Somew
here nearby, someone coughed. Sadie’s eyes scanned for a glimpse of black. He wore black. Black shirt, black buckle-laden boots.
Except in her dreams. Her dreams were drenched in blues, even those of him in bloody battle, red flames licking the edges. Blues dressed in black. Except when he wore nothing at all. Nothing but bare glistening skin and gossamer wings. Heat spread over her neck just thinking of the shimmery things tickling over her arms and thighs as he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear.
Goosebumps raced over her forearms. Sadie rubbed at them.
“…in the aisles all the time while they think no one is looking. He looks like he could be violent, too.”
Hearing the word ‘violent’ tugged her back to the present.“Who?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. You’re distracted. And I know why.”
“You do?”
“Of course. You’re not the only heart skipping beats hoping Angel Eyes will be here again. But once we take in a long drink of him, you head straight up there and see for yourself. It’s her left eye.” He swept a forefinger under his eye with flare. Sadie tried to imagine Ben ever having the opportunity to get a black eye. Not likely. Who could possibly punch such a cherubic face? “You tell me if you don’t see a puffy dark area under all that concealer. Promise?”
“Promise.” She glanced down an aisle, scanning the north end set of tables. Movement caught her eye. A shot of black. Tingles blossomed through her chest and belly.
He was here.
God, if she could tell Ben about the dreams. But she couldn’t. He’d devour every detail, particularly the secret message part. Who wouldn’t? But then he’d give her ‘the look’. That wary stare reserved for the certifiable that Sadie never wanted to witness again. Once in anyone’s life is too much.
“Yes, yes. He’s here,” Ben sang. He picked up his stride, took her forearm and pulled her into the closet sized office. “But I don’t think he’ll be coming back.”
“What? Why?”
“Huh-uh. First, m’lady, I bear a gift.” With a grand flourish, he bowed. Ah, Ben and his whimsy. “Three guesses,” he said.
She didn’t want to play this game. But Ben could be a pit bull with his gossip. “Okay, okay. You talked to him and he fell madly in love with you?”
“I like it, but alas, no.”
She hated this. “You followed him to his hotel and found his plane ticket and he’s leaving today.”
“Better.”
“He was on America’s Most Wanted.”
He crossed his arms, jutted his hip. “Bite your tongue, girl,” he mouthed. “Our boy may be bad, but not criminal!”
Sadie managed to laugh, pulling her favorite, limp-free cart out. “You met Cher and she’s leaving her wigs to you?”
“I wish.” Ben rolled his eyes but grinned.
“I give up. I have absolutely no idea.”
Ben leaned in. “Okay. But I’m warning you. Do not try to kiss me. Promise?”
Sadie nodded, adrenaline sparking in her veins.
“Are you ready?” His eyes glinted, his fingers twittering in the air. “I have his name.” He covered his loud gasp.
“His name? What is it?” Her heart hiccupped into triple time. Her cheeks flushed hot. She would die if anyone else witnessed how much this affected her. Ben binged on her reaction, prolonging the moment.
Before she went to strangle the name from Ben’s writhing body, he spoke. “Elijah. Stokes.”
Elijah? His sculpted features, his mahogany eyes, the shadow of stubble along his angular jaw. The quiet, serpentine way he moved.
She blinked hard, suppressing the urge to clap and squeal in delight. “Elijah Stokes?” Her tone sounded impressively even considering the riot in her belly.
A name shouldn’t mean so much. Yet it did.
Sadie sagged into a chair, struggling to compose herself. She bit her inner cheek. “Elijah, huh?” she said, forcing herself to sound casual.
Those mahogany eyes staring into the ether, his mind snared by some observation within the books he scoured week in and out, strong hands toying with whatever hung from the long gold chain around his neck.
Ben pressed his lips together, nodding, triumphant. “You’re welcome.”
“Elijah Stokes,” Ben affirmed, framing an air name plaque. “It suits him, don’t you think?”
“Definitely.” Now, for the more important question. “Why did you say he won’t be back?”
“Yeah, so, he came in yesterday and I made it my mission. I mean how long can you go on thinking of someone as ‘Angel Eyes’ or ‘Tasty Treat’, right?”
Maybe she’d strangle Ben after all. But she knew rushing him would shut him up. Plus, the name Angel Eyes gave her pause. No wonder she’d given him wings. “He was here yesterday?” Sadie lined her cart, her palms sweating. Maybe Cynthia would add Thursdays to her schedule. If she could get the microfiche machine down.
“Yep. Jealous much?” Ben started on a cart, too. “So, yesterday, I figured if I lingered around him long enough, his girl would say his name.”
His girl? Probably the honey-skinned one with runway legs. Sadie swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Oh?”
“Oh and she was wearing the most divine nude lace-up corset and these velvet jockey pants. Divine. I had to get a closer look. And I figured, if she didn’t say his name, I could go up and ask him, you know, compliment her, segue into an introduction. But I didn’t have to.”
Conversation? Yeah, right. Cajones, Ben did not sport. “So she said his name?” Lovingly? Passionately? Was it too much to hope she wasn’t his girlfriend?
“No. He got a phone call and answered ‘Elijah Stokes’.” Ben paged through a book before sticking it in his cart. “And then she said something about coming back one last time tomorrow, which means today. Come back for what, I couldn’t tell you, but I’ll be trying to find out, if you know what I mean.”
Last night’s hot kisses came into sharp mental focus. Her first cart alphabetized, Sadie hurried to finish the next. Keeping her hands busy tempered her rapid heartbeat.
“So, you’ll never guess who the history department….”
She tuned Ben out.
She couldn’t lose control over her reactions. She couldn’t let him see how much the idea of never seeing Elijah again panicked her. She couldn’t reveal all those dreams. And because she wanted to keep her only sort of friend, she couldn’t pad his already extensive Sadie files.
The books smelled fusty and good, the plastic covers crinkled against her fingertips. Sadie focused on the smells and the lull of Ben’s voice.
“I’ll start with this up on main,” Ben said, leaving her two more carts to categorize.
Sadie nodded and smiled tightly up at him as he strolled to the elevators. Sadie’s rush returned. The seconds crawled by as she waited for the elevator’s ding, the cart’s clank over the threshold, the groan of moving metal. Forever ended and she pushed the pent up energy from her tight lungs in a loud whoosh.
Alone at last. Well, alone with him—Elijah—at last. Save for the other patrons here and there, or, possibly, his “girl”. A pang shot through her. Was she his girlfriend? Not like Sadie could just go up and flirt with him yet, anyhow. What would she say? “You won’t believe this but I keep having erotic dreams about you. And you can’t keep your hands off me.”
Yeah, right.
Five minutes of composure-gathering later, Sadie wheeled her cart in his direction, determined to do what Ben couldn’t. To do what she previously couldn’t. To take a chance.
Would he notice her first? Maybe he’d look up as she passed and smile. What would she do? Smile back? Wave? What excuse would get her talking to him?
Nothing big. Chit chat. Or a question.
He wouldn’t be back either. Ever. The idea kicked panic into her stomach and determination into her heart.
She’d be med-free within days. Back to the strong woman she was before one minor, totally overblown freak o
ut two years ago. Soon, she’d walk without tripping, speak without stumbling, high kick without falling over.
She’d be Sadie again. Kickass and confident.
She’d have a real shot at Elijah. At life.
Click HERE to Purchase Fierce Dawn!
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Copyright
Copyright 2012 by Amber Scott
Cover Art by Camelia Nedelcu
Edited by Carrie Smoot
Tholden Press
The Sweetest Fling is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author and publisher, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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About the Author
Dear Reader,
Thank you for coming away with me in this Cupid adventure. Since I was a little girl, it has been my heart’s dream to write and share timeless love stories, characters who surmount impossible obstacles. Millie’s antics will continue soon in Book Three and begin with Play Fling. For an extra dose of this mishap matchmaker, don’t miss 8 Hearts Beat As One, where Millie attempts to shave off a few sentence years a la speed dating.
