by Abbie Roads
“I hope you killed the fucker who took her.” Thomas’s face blazed with color, his hands clenched into fists. The burning cinnamon scent of his fury was strong in the air. “If you didn’t, I will.”
“He’s dead. He’ll never hurt her again.”
“Good.” Thomas stared hard at Lathan. A brother sizing up his sister’s lover. “’Cause I intend to make sure she’s never hurt again.”
“You and me both, brother.”
“You’re good for her, but you ever hurt her and I’ll—”
“Won’t happen. We’re in the same book, on the same page, reading the same fucking sentence.” Lathan did something he’d never done before. He held his hand out to Thomas.
Thomas clasped Lathan’s hand, and it was like they’d just sealed a deal between them. They were both going to make sure Honey’s life was sunshine, rainbows, and puppy-dog kisses from here on out.
Xander stepped forward and caught Lathan’s attention. “You know you can heal her.” His face was set with a knowledge born of painful experience. “All of her.”
Dr. Stone put his hand on Lathan’s shoulder, a fatherly gesture full of encouragement. “If you need anything, give me a call.”
“Thanks.” Lathan looked down at the porch floor and worked to find the right way to say what needed said. “For everything. None of you had to show up, to encourage me to find her when I thought she was dead, but you did, and that meant—still means—a lot. If I’d been only a few minutes later, I might not have gotten her back.” He spoke the last bit around the lump of how-things-could’ve-gone in his throat.
“Keep close to her. Keep touching. Everything will work itself out. I promise. And I always keep my promises.” Isleen’s smile carried so much self-assurance and absolute truth that Lathan believed her. She linked her arm with Dr. Stone’s. “Come on, let’s leave them to it.”
Dr. Stone, Xander, and Isleen all turned to leave, but Thomas lingered.
“Give her this from me.” Thomas held the stuffed bear out to Lathan. “She had one just like it when we were kids. Called him Mr. Purple Pants. He was her favorite thing. Went with her everywhere. Until I cut his head off and stopped up the toilet with it.” A smile tipped the corners of his mouth at the memory. Thomas met and held Lathan’s gaze. “Have her call me when she’s ready.”
“Will do.” Lathan took the bear. He just couldn’t help himself. He liked Thomas more and more each time he talked to the guy.
Lathan watched the carload of people drive off. A menagerie of emotions churned under the confines of his skin.
He sucked in a breath and smelled the crisp bite of winter in the air. Snow would make things better. It softened all the sharp edges, made something beautiful out of the death autumn always demanded. He turned and went inside, setting the stuffed bear on the banister.
Upstairs, steam misted out from the open bathroom door. An invitation.
She stood underneath the shower spray, her back to him, rinsing shampoo from her hair. Fluffy white suds slid over the perfect globes of her ass. His dick, unaware of the concept of bad timing, began to swell.
She turned, eyes closed, head thrown back, still rinsing the shampoo from her hair in a carnal pose that drained the blood from his extremities to fill his little head. Water slid over her face and slicked down her chin, her neck, her chest. Holy Jesus. Her breast.
Her entire breast was a vile shade of maroon. Vicious tendrils of purple spanned outward—like the roots of an ancient tree. An almost perfect bloody ring of teeth marks encircled her nipple.
Blood rushed back into his body with a powerful thrust that nearly buckled his knees. His heart pumped more than just blood; each beat pumped water into his eyes.
In the Strategist’s memories, he’d seen her breast. Through that filter, it hadn’t seemed all that bad. But here with her standing in front of him, it was appalling.
His vision went sloshy. His chin quivered. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down—hard—to shock away the memories. But it was pointless.
He remembered. Remembered the agony in his chest that had imprisoned him, remembered lying helpless on the floor, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything except watch Honey struggle with Junior. Watch Junior bash the gun into her face. Watch her sag, unconscious. And then watch—fucking watch—Junior bite into her with all the coldness of a great white shark taking a bite out of a whale carcass.
In that moment, something unexplainable had happened. Someone had taken over his controls. Someone or something had moved his body, reanimated him. That something had placed the knife in his hand and rammed the blade into Junior’s neck. And then vanished, leaving him unconscious until he woke on the floor and Honey was gone.
She stepped from the shower, didn’t bother with a towel, water dripping down her skin, over the damage done to her breast. He couldn’t look away. She stopped in front of him, lifted his hand, and placed it over her injury. The ridges and hollows the teeth had made in her flesh burned initially, but then he felt the coolness, the passing of his healing into her. The easing of her pain.
She put her hand on his cheek. Sensation expanded, multiplied, intensified, moved across his shoulder blades, down his arm to his hand on her breast, across her body and back to her hand on his cheek. The room around them blurred. God. It was like they were inside a whirlwind. No, they were the whirlwind, spinning away from every bad thing that happened, every bad feeling, until they landed back on solid ground in his bathroom, to a world wiped clean of pain and agony. A world where the only thing that truly mattered was each other.
Xander’s words came back to him. You have to be touching to be truly safe. When you know that, really understand it, it’s hard not to be touching.
“I’m never going to let you go.” He stared into her midnight-blue eyes and saw the twinkling of gray in their depths.
“Good.”
Chapter 23
The White Place surrounded her. She was no longer afraid. She’d been through the worst life could offer and had come out on the other side—with Lathan. Always with Lathan.
The skin on the back of her neck tightened with the familiar feeling of being in the presence of something evil. But maybe it wasn’t evil. Maybe it was just a reflex, her body’s reaction to being in the presence of something that should not exist, yet did.
She lifted her hands and held them over her ears, prepared for the sonic blast of sound. “I’ll do whatever you want.” The words remained at normal volume. She moved her hands, spread them open, receptive. “I know you helped Lathan save me. Gave him the strength to kill Junior. I know you brought him here to me so I could heal him.” Lathan had told her how after his dream—where she removed the bullet from his chest—he’d finally gotten strong enough to leave the hospital. “I owe you.”
Her brain emptied of all thoughts. The soundless voice spoke directly inside her head. It is the cycle of things. As long as one has light, so too shall the other.
Are you Fearless? Or are you Bear? The thought fluttered up from somewhere in the abyss of her mind.
There are no divisions, no boundaries, no words to name that which you ask.
Why me? Why do I have to do this?
Why not?
I’m not special.
Oh, but you are. Only those who’ve had their power stolen can truly understand the supreme importance of ensuring a balance between good and evil. Sacred are the wounded, for they shall balance the earth.
How are these dreams balancing anything?
Balance is maintained by righting the wrongs. By giving you what you need to ensure justice. Now bear this dream that is being given and know that it is your duty to maintain the balance.
Evanee turned to receive the dream.
Her mother. Her mother just stood there.
Not the version of Mom Evanee had watc
hed die, but the version that inhabited some of Evanee’s first memories, back when Mom was young and playful and pretended to love her.
“Ev.” Her mom held out a hand, expectation lifting her brows and lightening her eyes.
Evanee didn’t move. Couldn’t move toward the pain Mom represented.
“You know. All of it?” Mom asked.
“Lathan told me. Saw it all in your memories. So don’t try to lie to add a shine to the shit.”
Mom’s features crumpled. “I made a mistake and then tried to fix it, but I made another mistake, and when I tried to fix that one…” A beautiful tear, sparkling with prisms of color, slipped down Mom’s cheek. “I trapped myself in my own bad decisions, but you were the one who paid the price. I told myself I had no choice, told myself that I had simply chosen the lesser of two evils for you, but I knew. Deep down, in a place I didn’t want to look at, I knew I should’ve never chosen anything but happiness for you. I could’ve done it all differently, could’ve changed it all. But I didn’t see a way out until it was too late. Too late for you to still love me.”
“It’s been too late since the moment you married Rob.” Her tone held no anger, no hurt. “My past no longer has any power over me.” Power. There was that word again. “And neither do you.” Evanee turned her back on Mom and walked away. “That’s why I can forgive you.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.
* * *
In the circle of Lathan’s arms, Honey’s body jerked, yanking him out of sleep into full-on awareness. She was in the White Place. And he hated it. Hated she had to go there without him. Hated he couldn’t be there to protect her against the Thing that had hurt her.
He reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp, then brought her hand to his cheek. Even in her sleep, even as far away as another dimension, her fingers flexed against his face, recognizing her protector.
The power of their connection opened wide, spreading cooling throughout his system, just as he knew she experienced warmth. Carefully, he shifted, never allowing her hand to lose contact with his tattoo, so he could see her face when she awakened.
Just like that, her eyes opened. The light illuminated her features in sharp planes and shadows. He held her hand tighter to his cheek to prevent the seizure from her brain doing double duty. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now that I’m awake.” Her voice was strong, carried no fear.
“What happened?” He glanced at her other hand. Empty. This time she hadn’t brought anything back.
“My mom. Trying to explain.” She inhaled a slow breath and let it out just as slowly. He’d told her everything he’d seen in her mom’s SMs, in Junior’s SMs, in the Strategist’s SMs—except for the one thing he would never speak of. He had held her as she cried out her feelings, and she’d held him as he did the same. Something about their tears had lanced all their wounds, and now they were healing together.
“But I really think the dream was about giving me a chance to use my power. The power to leave the past in the past and truly begin my future with you.” She stared into his eyes, then let her gaze slide over his face as if she were memorizing every detail of his features. “Have I ever mentioned how much I love your freckles?”
He felt himself smile and it felt good. “Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?” She shook her head once, her eyes getting glassy and full of water. “You are perfect. Everything about you is perfect. Not in the no-flaws sense, but in the made-for-me-alone sense.”
The scent of her happiness made everything all right.
Epilogue
Lathan stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes locked on the shadowed top step, waiting for his first glimpse of Honey. A dozen candles, held by a dozen friends, cast an intimate warmth throughout his cabin. The scents of flame and festivity filled his nose, and yet, he felt like a goddamned bug on display in some kid’s insect collection.
He restrained the urge to tug at his collar or loosen his tie—only Honey had been able to talk him into wearing one. Come on. Hurry, Honey.
As if his thoughts conjured her, he smelled her approaching. Her honeyed scent flowed into him, satisfying him in a way mere oxygen never could. She began walking down the stairs, midnight eyes shimmering in the flickering candlelight.
She wore a white strapless gown. No fancy beads or baubles. No extra frills or ruffles. He didn’t have a name for the material, but it floated over her skyscraper legs like a wispy piece of cloud. The only ornamentation was a ribbon, the exact color of her eyes, winding around the bodice and secured in a fat, floppy bow beneath her breasts.
Her hair cascaded in dark waves over her bare shoulders, and he could just imagine later, much later, lying beneath her, those dark waves insulating them from the world. She didn’t wear heavy makeup, only a bit of color on her cheeks, and her wonderfully wonky smile hitched up higher on one side. He loved that smile.
Her beauty abducted his ability to breathe. Didn’t need oxygen anyway. He only needed her. She was his miracle. If he had to go through all the pain, all the suffering, all the hardship again just to be worthy of her, he’d go through it a thousand times—a million times.
He held out his hand. The moment her cool fingers met his, he pulled her against him, fitting them so perfectly together that they could’ve been carved from the same block of wood.
She cupped his face with both of her hands and gazed at him as if she were memorizing his features, memorizing this moment. The moment right before they were married.
The minister behind them coughed lightly. Someone shifted in their seat and someone sniffled softly—probably Isleen. She had the oddest habit of crying when she was happy.
Over the past month, Isleen and Xander had forged a friendship of shared experience with Lathan and Honey, and Thomas was making up for lost time in being a great brother. Lathan liked that there was another protector for Honey who loved and cared about her in a brotherly way. It was odd, and nice, to have a network of friends beyond just Gill.
“Well, I guess we can begin.” The minister waited, probably for them to give him their attention, but Lathan was lost in the flecks of silver in Honey’s eyes.
She dropped only one hand from his face, kept the other one on his tattoo, granting him another of her special gifts. He covered her hand with his own, nuzzling her and kissing her palm before settling it back on his tattoo.
As one, they faced the minister and the room full of their friends and his father—each person holding a candle, lighting the wedding with their presence. It was a different setup—them facing the audience and the minister having his back to the audience, but Honey had demanded it. She understood that he wouldn’t feel comfortable with people behind him.
Dad sat in the front row, next to Gill, and gave Lathan a thumb’s-up and a genuine Montgomery smile. Somehow, it meant something, something bigger than Lathan ever thought it would, that his father was here, looking proud of him and not smelling of anxiety. Mom had elected not to attend. Probably because their wedding wasn’t a high-society event.
On the other side of his father, Thomas caught Lathan’s eye and smiled a quick upward tilt of the lips. A smile meant to show excitement and happiness. And to everyone else it would. But Lathan could smell the tangle of emotions coming off the guy. Thomas was happy for them, but he was dealing with a world of shit too.
The posthumous letter from Thomas’s mother to the local paper outlining every sin Junior and Rob ever committed was bad enough. But the cherry on top: Thomas had requested a voluntary suspension from his job at the Bureau of Criminal Investigation so a full investigation could take place and he could publicly clear his name from any involvement in his stepfather’s and stepbrother’s corruption.
That was something Thomas had asked Lathan to keep from Honey until after the wedding. The guy hadn’t wanted to ruin his sister’s special day. And Lathan respected him for the decisi
on. Later, Lathan intended to discuss the situation with Xander and see if the two of them could do anything to help the guy out.
It wasn’t like Lathan to be all Mother Teresa, but he sent Thomas a hang-in-there look. The guy dipped his chin in response and turned his smile up a notch.
Next to Thomas, Ernie—Honey’s bald-headed ex-boss—folded his arms over his chest, his body language sullen, but at least he wasn’t shooting hate bullets at Lathan anymore. The look he gave was more of a don’t-you-dare-fucking-hurt-her look. Which Lathan was cool with—he’d never let anyone or anything hurt her ever again. Him and Ernie were buds in that respect.
The minister cleared his throat and began. “We are gathered here today to unite Lathaniel Montgomery and Evanee—Honey—Brown in matrimony. Lathaniel has requested to skip the fluff and get to the good stuff. So, we’re diving right in. The couple has written their own vows. Lathaniel, you may begin.”
Lathan sucked in a breath and focused all his attention, all his energy, on Honey. “Do you remember a few weeks ago when I found you crying in the kitchen? You said it was because you’d heard a song that touched you, and I teased you about being like Isleen.” From the audience, Isleen sobbed a laugh. “When you weren’t looking, I checked your iPod. You’d been listening to Infinite. I looked up the lyrics. No words would be as perfect as those on our wedding day.”
Honey slapped her free hand over her mouth. “Oh my God.”
Lathan spoke slow and clear, as if inking each word onto Honey’s soul.
I’ll be the one you dreamed of,
Your cloudless sky,
Your star-filled night,
Your sun, your moon, your endless June.
I need you until the skies turn dark,
I need you until the days are done,
I need you until everything’s gone,
And then I’ll still need you.
