Unveil My Heart (Wiccan Haus Book Seven)

by Nya Rayne

  “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much yoga on this ankle, but I’m willing to try anything once.”

  “That’s all we ask,” Sage sang.

  Sage was a beautiful woman, probably in her early to mid-twenties, with the most brilliant and odd ice-blue eyes Blaine had ever seen. Her eyes, coupled with her manner of dress, reminded Blaine of a picture she’d seen of a sixties flower child caught mid-twirl, a content smile on her face as she tossed up the peace sign.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. The sixties were a very interesting time to be alive.”

  “What?” Blaine was sure she hadn’t spoken out loud.

  “Never mind. Are you ready to head down to dinner?”

  “Oh no, I was going to eat in my room.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, but all of the guests must eat together in the dining room. It’s a requirement for staying here at the Wiccan Haus.”

  “Are you serious? I have to eat with complete strangers?”

  Sage flitted around the space, touching this, moving that, and pulling herbs and candles from her pockets and setting them about the room. “See, that’s the whole point of everyone eating together. With any luck, they won’t be strangers to you for long. We’ve had people come here as strangers and leave as lifelong friends. Some even date and marry.”

  There was a mysterious twinkle in Sage’s eyes that Blaine almost missed. “I’ll bet.” Wiccan meant witch, that much Blaine knew, and she was getting the sinking feeling that the owners of this little retreat wanted people to believe there was real magic at play here. With the things she’d recently witnessed, Blaine didn’t discount anything anymore. So maybe there was.

  “You’ll see. Everyone who visits us leaves with more than they came with.” Sage moved toward her. “So, dinner? Shall we?”

  Blaine wanted to roll her eyes at the optimistic pixie, but refrained. “And if I refuse?”

  Sage stopped moving, a look of confusion dancing across her face as if the suggestion was unprecedented. “Don’t be silly. Are you ready? They’re serving filet mignon, seared tilapia, and grilled chicken breast. Or are you a vegetarian? A vegan? It doesn’t matter. We have a new chef. I swear, everything the woman cooks gives my mouth an orgasm!” She was talking ten miles a minute.

  Before Blaine could protest, Sage had somehow slipped her arm around her waist and pulled her out the door. How it all happened without Blaine stumbling, Blaine hadn’t a clue. But the next thing she knew she was being pulled, gently but firmly, into the elevator. Moments later, the steel box came to a stop and they exited arm-in-arm with Sage chattering on about their waiting meal.

  All around them the lobby filled with hordes of ridiculously gorgeous people of varying nationalities. Blaine slowed her gait, her hand tightening around the handle of her cane. Suddenly she felt self-conscious about her handicap and her “Sally Nobody” looks. The insecurity had her wanting to lash out at the people for no other reason than they were beautiful and had no handicaps that she could see.

  “Give me a second,” Sage said, cutting into Blaine’s thoughts. She danced over to the receptionist at the front desk, Myron, who was obviously in the middle of an identity crisis. When Myron had first been introduced to Blaine, she’d been wearing a name tag that said she was Darly Pratterly. Now she wore one that said she was Lana Yopp. Blaine was having the sneaking suspicion that maybe Myron herself didn’t truly know who she was. She turned away from the two women caught in the middle of a heated discussion about playing cards it would seem, since Myron was emphatically shaking one in Sage’s face. She stopped dead in her tracks as the elevator at the opposite end of the lobby opened.

  The first thing she always noticed when she saw him was the black jagged lines of his tattoos reaching up out of the neckline of his shirt like fingers. They covered his neck like the sensual embrace of a lover. Not for the first time, she wondered where they stopped. His hair was a silky black, falling to the nape of his neck and framing his handsome face in thick curls. He wore dark jeans, black leather loafers, and a cream-colored, button-down shirt. The top four buttons were undone, showing off the row of rosary beads he wore around his neck.

  Blaine took a step back, a low gasp slipping from her lips. He looked up from a spot on the carpet at the same time, as if she had called his name, and his emerald green eyes pierced straight through to her soul. His hard, beautifully-cut face took her in for a moment longer than felt natural, and she wanted to turn and run, but Sage stopped her.

  Sage slipped her arms around Blaine’s waist and guided her toward him. “Hayze, how are you? I had heard you were visiting us for a couple of days but I wasn’t certain.” She released Blaine and skipped over to Hayze, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Sage stepped back, palming his cheeks in her small hands the way a lover would. “You’re ill.” It wasn’t a question. “No, it’s so much worse than—”

  “And you’re as gorgeous as always. How have you been, Sage?” he asked, cutting her off. His voice was melodic, almost hypnotizing.

  “Don’t evade, Hayze. You’ll force me to visit you in your dreams.”

  “If I were ever so blessed,” he responded, his eyes turning to Blaine.

  “We must talk. Perhaps pay Sarka a visit?” Sage told him.

  Hayze looked back at Sage, pulled her into his arms, and released her after a brief moment. “Perhaps, but not now, okay?” Jagged points of a tattoo, similar to the ones covering his neck, extended from beneath the sleeve of his shirt and ended between each of the five fingers on his right hand. It covered his skin like a fingerless glove. His voice was so soft and his smile so gentle. Something primal sparked to life within Blaine. She didn’t understand it, because outside of the night he’d saved her, they had nothing in common. Still, the jealousy that roared through her when he held Sage was unbridled and damning.

  Blaine turned to leave, but her cane caught on the thick carpet. Strong hands grabbed her waist, pulling her back against a powerful chest—one that had held her close once before, keeping her tethered to life when all she’d wanted was the sweet embrace of death.

  “Blaine, it’s good to see you again.” His voice twisted through her, setting every nerve in her body on fire. She wanted to melt into him, but he was a stark reminder of one of the darkest days of her life. And his presence constantly reminded her that even after a life of let downs, disappointments, and death, she still harbored childish dreams of finding love and having a family. Things she knew, with her luck, she would never have.

  Digging deeply for anger that shouldn’t have been directed at Hayze, Blaine turned after he righted her, and shoved him away. “I get it now. I’m here because of you, aren’t I?”

  Hayze said nothing. He simply gazed at her, his eyes pleading for her to stop pushing him away, but she couldn’t.

  “It doesn’t matter, just stay away from me.” If she let him in…if she let him get close to her, he’d lose his life eventually and she would lose what little she had left of her soul. Her heart palpitated like it did every time he was in close range, and she gasped, clenched the handle of her cane, and stepped back away from him.

  “Why do you hate me? What have I done to you to deserve such loathing?” His words were in her veins, tearing through her heart and destroying her mind.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to her in such a way. But unlike the first time, it didn’t freak her out or send her running for the nearest closet. Instead, she turned to Sage. “Either allow me to go back to my room or show me to my table.” She closed her eyes briefly and hated herself for maliciously hurting him. “Our current company makes me want to vomit.”

  Chapter Three

  BLAINE CRACKED OPEN the side emergeny door and peered out into the courtyard. Thankfully, like most emergency doors, the alarm didn’t sound when opened—regardless of the warnings posted. She would have exited via the front door, but at any given time there were numerous people meandering about. Any of whom could have been Hayze or S
age Rowan.

  Of course, running into Hayze was definitely the lesser of the two evils, since after their first encounter he seemed to be taking her need for space to heart. Sage, however, didn’t seem to know the meaning of the words “space” or “no.”

  The woman was obsessed with forcing Blaine to swallow her daily concoctions, while reminding Blaine that she had missed yet another therapy session. “How do you expect to get better if you won’t take part in your sessions? You know we had special doctors brought in just for you, don’t you? We never do that,” Sage had said after Blaine had missed her latest session with some Jedi doctor from the far East. Blaine didn’t know if it was supposed to be for physical therapy or mental health, and she didn’t care. After a day of what could only be described as harassment, she wanted to relax.

  For heaven’s sake, she was at a resort, wasn’t she?

  Seeing nothing that could hinder her, Blaine crept forward slowly, letting the door click closed behind her. She glanced to her right and left again, waiting, listening for any sign that she’d been found out.

  A moment passed and then another. The coast was blessedly clear.

  She half-hopped to the wooded path that would carry her deeper into the forest. Her hope was to locate the hot spring she’d seen in the brochure and soak in it until she turned into a prune.

  Fifteen minutes up the trail, Blaine thought better of her plan. Perhaps hiking to a hot spring that was obviously further than it looked on the map wasn’t a brilliant idea. Especially, with her ankle starting to throb. It was a month after her release from the hospital and she was still getting used to her new limitations.

  Pushing her annoyance aside, Blaine continued down the narrow path, making sure to put most of her weight on the cane and not her injured foot. When her doctor had said she needed to keep her foot exercised, he probably didn’t mean walking on it for long periods of time. When she found a bench, she’d sit down and rest for a few minutes, but she wasn’t going to accept defeat. She would find that damn hot spring if it killed her, and she would let the staff of the Wiccan Haus worry about getting her back to the house.

  Rounding a bend, the path split off into two: one going right, the other left. She eyed both curiously and began to walk down the right path, for no other reason than it was the right path. No sooner had she started down the trail when the guy who had kept her from falling off the boat came into view.

  After seeing no one for going on twenty minutes, Blaine was relieved to see another human being. She smiled and waved fervently at him. “Hey! How are you?” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name.

  “I’m good. What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked, coming to a stop a few feet from her. His ruddy cheeks grew a little ruddier by the second.

  “Just trying to stretch the old ankle.” That was an understatement. “What about you?”

  “I heard they had a boat dock around here somewhere. So, I thought I might find it in case I needed to make a quick getaway.” His smile was sinister, but Blaine was certain that was exactly the effect he was going for.

  “Did you? Because I might have to be on that boat with you.” She laughed.

  “Can’t say I did, but you’re more than welcome to join me when I do.” He scratched at the side of his head and grinned at her, while taking a step closer. “Other than that I’m taking in the sights.”

  “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” she said, glancing away from him and around at the foliage. The sun skittered in through the high branches of the trees overhead and cast down haunting shadows that raced through the forest around them. “I swear I never would’ve guessed that the island was this big.”

  “It is definitely deceptive,” he said in agreement.

  Until he spoke, she hadn’t realized how close he had gotten to her. She shuffled back, and then placed her cane between them, holding it out at arm’s length. Blaine didn’t seem like he meant her any harm, but she hated to have her personal space invaded. “Well, I wanted to officially thank you for helping me the other day. If it hadn’t been for you, I probably would’ve drowned.”

  He chuckled, his eyes trained on her face as if he were memorizing it. “I think that’s a little bit of an exaggeration.” He laughed again. “We were in what, three feet of water?”

  Blaine felt blood rush to her cheeks. “Still, I wanted to thank—”

  “If you want, I could join you on your walk,” he offered, cutting her off. “You know, in case you stumble across a puddle and fall in. I could keep you from drowning again?”

  She wasn’t sure whether she should feel insulted or humored.

  “Blaine, honey, is that you?” a female voice called from behind her.

  She turned to the voice, only to see Nora, an older woman in her late seventies moving toward them with the gait of a spry sixty-year-old. She and Nora had eaten together the night before and had breakfast together earlier that morning. Blaine learned during those two conversations that Nora was recently widowed from her husband of fifty-two years, and the proud survivor of three bouts with cancer. One in her right ovary and once in each of her breasts. She’d been cancer-free for twenty-nine years, until six months after her husband’s death when she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

  Blaine turned back to her savior. “Um, I guess—”

  “It’s okay,” he said quickly, backing away from her. “Rain check.”

  Blaine smiled and waved as he moved away from them. “Sure and thanks again.”

  “Just stay away from puddles,” he called, rounding the bend and disappearing from view.

  He couldn’t seem to get away from her fast enough, which struck Blaine as odd. He’d been overly friendly, nearly flirting with her seconds before. Why would he practically run away from me now? She turned her attention back to Nora, who was carrying a basket of flowers of varying colors and types. Moving toward the older woman, Blaine asked, “Mrs. Nora, what are you doing way out here?”

  Nora let out a laugh that reminded Blaine of warm milk, freshly baked cookies, and Grannies and Grandmas—people Blaine had never had in her life because both her parents’ parents had died before she was born. “Child, Myron told me about this little pasture back a ways that was filled with flowers of all types. She said they were always in bloom. So I had to see it for myself. I told her I would even pick some for the lobby.”

  Being from the heart of Savannah, Nora’s southern accent could not be denied. Her tone of voice warmed Blaine and reminded her of Na-Na. Though Blaine had come into Na-Na’s care in Boston, Na-Na had been born and raised in Harrisburg, North Carolina. Most times she’d been able to hide her Southern accent, but when she had been mad, it had been—like Na-Na always had said—like trying to put the top back on a raging spigot.

  “I see. So did you pick the whole pasture?” Blaine nodded toward the full basket.

  Nora looked down as she reached into it. She missed a step and stumbled. Before Blaine could think about what she was doing, she dropped her cane and threw herself forward, grasping Nora around the shoulders as the basket toppled to the ground, spilling its contents into the light breeze, so that it looked as if it were raining flowers.

  The two women stood, holding one another up for along moment before Blaine released Nora and hopped back toward her cane. “Are you okay, Mrs. Nora?” She’d called her by her last name the night they’d met, but the woman wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Am I okay? You are the one hopping around. You okay?”

  Picking up her cane, Blaine tried to hide her smile. “I’m fine.” She took in the basket and the various flowers blowing about the ground. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save them. I guess your luck is about as bad as mine, or maybe mine is rubbing off on you.” She laughed dryly. “It has a tendency of doing that to the people around me.”

  “Child, please. I ain’t never had no bad luck and it ain’t starting today. I’m just happy I was here to keep you from hitting that ground.” Nora picked
up her basket. “That would have been some kind of nasty fall.” She knocked the sand out of her basket and dusted her hands before wiping them on the tail of her shirt. “Bad luck,” she muttered, her voice a soothing hum. “You sound like those old crones I live with at the rest home. Bad luck?” She guffawed. “There ain’t no such thing.”

  For the first time since meeting the woman, Blaine couldn’t help but think Nora might be a little senile. Of course bad luck existed. She was living proof of that. Shit, she’d come out the womb unlucky. She happened to be born on the thirteenth of May, which that year, fell on a Friday and to add a dash of salt to injury, she was born at 3:13 a.m. on a moonless night. Of course, some cultures considered a moonless night lucky, but it had never brought Blaine an ounce of it.

  Nora slipped her arm around Blaine’s and turned back in the direction she’d come.

  “Where we going, Mrs. Nora?”

  “Well, I ain’t got my flowers. Can’t go back empty handed after I done promised Myron I’d bring some back for the lobby.” She sighed. “Even if you don’t want to pick ’em with me, you can stop by and smell ’em, can’t you? Or even on this island are you too busy for an old woman?”

  Blaine smiled down at the woman who was an inch or so shorter than she was. “I’m all yours, Mrs. Nora, but you have to tell me how you figure there’s no such thing as bad luck.” They started walking in tandem. “I’m sure you’ve broken a mirror before, or had a black cat skitter cross your path. What about walking under a ladder or opening up a black umbrella indoors?”

  “Child, that ain’t bad luck, that’s superstition, and I’m from the South. I know what superstition is.” Nora smiled to herself, her baby blue eyes lost in the years of the past. “And I know what bad luck is too.”

  Intrigued, Blaine asked, “What is it?”

  “Honey, bad luck is what you make it.” She said it low, like it was some kind of secret.

  Okay, so the woman was indeed a crackpot. What was she expecting anyway? For Nora to say something that was so profound that it would make all the years of bad luck she’d experience go away? No. It was the only thing Blaine could count on. In elementary, middle, and even high school, day after day and time after time, she’d watched her dreams go up in smoke and friends get hurt or die simply because they befriended her. No, she wasn’t so silly as to believe it could change, but for a minute hope had been blooming.