Wild Men of Alaska Collection

by Tiffinie Helmer

  “It wasn’t anything to do with me. And how can I break the rules when I don’t even know what they are?” Frustration ate at Lucky. He’d been pacing long enough to actually mow a path into the perfect field of grass. He needed out of here. He needed Gemma, needed to be with her now more than ever, and no matter what he did he couldn’t break out.

  Each time he’d meditated, he’d been lost in a swirl of snow. He’d been able to visit her before through storms worse than the one currently over the arctic. There’d been bad weather the day Siri had read his Tarot cards, and while he hadn’t been able to interact with Gemma, he’d been able to see her, hear her.

  Today was different.

  Each time he closed his eyes and concentrated, a static whiteout appeared meant to confuse and cage. No vibrant liquid streams of light to guide him to her. It was like there was divine interference. Had he broken some unpardonable rule by lying with Gemma?

  Panic chilled him to the soul.

  “You’re seriously going to choose to be with her.” Hansen dropped to his favorite rock. “You’re going to give up Heaven for a woman?”

  “She is my Heaven.” Lucky stopped and faced his friend. “I have never felt more alive, more in tune to a person than when I hold her in my arms. It’s killing me, all over again, not to be in her presence.”

  “How is it going to feel for her if she chooses you but can never truly be with you?”

  Lucky raked his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots. He needed to consider that, but the heartache that always followed paralyzed him. “It’s a gamble. I love her. There is nothing without her. I have to go all in.”

  A sudden zinging along his spine caught his breath. There. A thread of energy. “Gotta go.”

  He shut his eyes and concentrated on that thread as it weaved around him. His spirit reached out and gently gripped the end, letting it wing him across distances so vast he couldn’t comprehend it all.

  Gemma.

  The only thing in his mind, in his heart, and he followed both like a bullet to its target.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Gemma glanced up as Callista rounded the corner of the bookcase where she and Tern were hiding.

  “Hate to interrupt, but Cub is here.” Callista had trouble keeping the delight out of her voice.

  “What’s he doing here?” Tern asked, her hands going to her hips.

  “They’re dating,” Callista filled her in. “Gemma, he’s waiting for you at the customer service desk. That is one man I sure wouldn’t make wait long.” Callista swiveled on her clogs and headed back to the register.

  “You’re dating Cub,” Tern said. “And sleeping with Lucky.”

  She made that sound really bad. “Yes. No.” A growl of frustration escaped her.

  “You can’t do this to Lucky.”

  “What about Cub? You were the one who told me to have sex with Cub.”

  That tied Tern’s tongue for a second, but not for long. “That was before. We need to find a way to get Lucky back here.”

  “I don’t know the whole story between you two, and I don’t know if I want to. But I’m freaking confused, Tern. Cub’s alive. He’s here.” Oh God, he was here waiting for her, and she was debating whether or not she was cheating on Lucky with him. “I need to go and see what he wants. Most likely he heard how unbalanced I am and is breaking off our date for tomorrow.”

  “If he doesn’t, you should.”

  She was beginning to think the same thing. She wasn’t any good for him if she didn’t have a clue what she wanted.

  Gemma tried to get herself mentally put back together while she walked the short distance from Travel to the customer service desk. A cold breeze blew into the store, and her step faltered. It was strong enough to blow her hair back from her face.

  She turned the corner of Mystery, and there was Cub waiting for her, standing tall and golden at the desk. He was in jeans and t-shirt the same color of his ice blue eyes. His unzipped Columbia jacket gave him the look of an Olympic Norwegian cross country skier. A dozen red roses were clutched in his hand.

  “Hey,” he greeted, looking uncomfortable as he glanced around the bookstore.

  Gemma felt all eyes on them, especially the ones boring into her back from Tern. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. He had come to see her. She owned a business. People came and saw her every day. Bought books, coffee, sometimes just popped in to say hi.

  “Hi,” she responded. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I, uh, wanted to bring you these, and let you know—”

  Here it came. He was here to break off their date. Relief and regret warred inside her.

  “—how much I’m looking forward to our date tomorrow.” Cub held out the flowers to her. “I was passing by Forget-Me-Not and saw these.” He shrugged self-consciously. “And, well, I thought of you.”

  Oooh. She slowly took the flowers. A swirl of cold air twisted around her.

  Her movements froze, and her heart raced.

  Lucky?

  She glanced to the side to see if she could pick up any details in her peripheral vision. Nothing. No mirage, no vague outline. Lucky hadn’t answered her mental question either. Was she just imagining him here?

  The bell on the door rang as it closed behind a few café customers. Well, that explained the draft.

  “I hope you like roses.” Cub stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I know most women do. They smell nice but are kind of clichéd these days, aren’t they. The flower shop didn’t have a good selection. These were the best of the lot, and I’m talking too much.”

  Gemma laughed, pushing aside all the crazy things floating around in her head. “Cub, I love them.” She took the flowers and buried her nose in the center of the bouquet. They smelled sweet and spicy, and while they wouldn’t live long, she’d enjoy them while they did. “Let me put these in some water. Oh, thank you, Callista.” She took the vase of water from Callista—ignoring the knowing twinkle in her eyes—and arranged the flowers on the desk. They were a promise of spring, brightening up the dry, always dusty, bookstore. She smiled for real this time. “Thank you, Cub. They’re beautiful.”

  He seemed to blush, and dipped his head in a slight bow of acknowledgment. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Then he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be thinking of you until then,” he whispered.

  Nice move. The skin on her cheek tingled, and she badly wanted to cover the spot with her hand.

  Tern sidled up next to her, her arms folded across her chest as the two of them admired Cub’s confident stride as he exited the bookstore. “You are in so much trouble,” she murmured.

  Yes, she was.

  Lucky slammed into Limbo. The thread he’d chased to Gemma flung him back like a broken rubber band.

  He lay there breathing heavy, his body stinging as his soul absorbed the abrupt shift from one plane to the next. A few moments passed while the pearlescent clouds drifted lazily over his head.

  Why the hell couldn’t it rain? He wanted thunderstorms, lightning. A goddamn squall.

  Seeing Gemma with Cub, taking his flowers, letting him kiss her had torn his heart out of his chest. Lucky hadn’t missed the slight flush to her skin as Cub’s lips had grazed her cheek.

  He leapt to his feet and ran for the rocky cliffs. The facts of his existence pursued him like arrows.

  He hadn’t done anything that bad in his previous life other than his part in Hansen’s death, though Hansen didn’t seem to hold any grievances toward Lucky. It had been a tragic accident when they’d been climbing the north face of Mont Blanc and the rope snapped. Lucky had blamed himself for a long time. After all, he’d been the one who’d checked the gear. He should have seen that the rope had been compromised. But being here with Hansen had reassured him that it had been just that, an accident. A byproduct of living life on the edge.

  He started to free climb his way up the sheer rock face of granite th
at he’d tackled many times before. He raced, not being careful of his handholds, until he’d slid down the cliff one too many times. Even though he didn’t have a body to bleed, his soul ripped and burned with each cut of the rock. He needed that now. Needed the physical pain, or as close to it as he could come, to dim the bleeding of his heart.

  Oh, God in Heaven, why was he being tortured this way?

  He’d spent his life working hard and playing harder. Hell, he’d turned play into his livelihood. While he hadn’t gone to church as often as he should—believing that God didn’t exist in a building—he’d given thanks. God was in nature. And Lucky had shown his appreciation in all the things that God had created. Including many women, and a few too many beers.

  It hadn’t even been his fault he’d been killed. At least the killer hadn’t been after him, just using him as tool of vengeance against Tern. Boy, had that worked. He’d had his head so far up his ass he hadn’t seen that knife before it was too late. But the knife that had ended his life hadn’t hurt nearly as much as the blade of truth slicing through him now.

  The muscles in his arms burned and bunched as he struggled to free climb, searching for tiny edges and footholds in his ascent to the top.

  He couldn’t ask Gemma to be his. It was unfair to her. His life was over, hers still in progress. She had a chance to find happiness. Be with a man who could hold her, love her, give her children. Be with her the way a man and a woman were supposed to be together. Not in the spirit of the sense. How could he provide like a man should provide for the woman he loved? It wasn’t as if a spirit, ghost—or hell—Dreamweaver could get a fucking job.

  By all appearances, Gemma would be alone for the rest of her life if she choose to share her life with him. She had Siri and Rosie and many friends, including Tern, but they would pass on or moved on with their lives and she would have no one tangible.

  It was the ultimate act of selfishness to ask of her.

  He struggled to reach the top of the cliff, his fingers slipping before he clasped the thin cracks within the smooth face of granite. He heaved himself up, his legs shaky, and looked over the wide cosmic landscape below him, his spirit in tatters.

  Filling his lungs, he threw his head back, clenched his fists at his sides, and howled out his heartache until his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees. His heartache echoed back at him, the sound distorted by the rocky precipice into a cruel, mocking laugh.

  He bowed his head to his chest, drained. There was only one choice he could make.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Her biggest fear had finally been realized. Call her certifiable. Gemma was beyond questioning what was real and what was myth. The facts were she was in love with a Dreamweaver. Truly believed he’d died prematurely and that they had been destined. They’d shared themselves with each other last night, and it had been deeper than any other physical coupling she’d experienced. Her soul was linked with his and her heart freely given.

  After Tern had left, she’d decided to call off her date with Cub. But hadn’t figured out exactly how she was going to do that without damaging his spirit. Allowing him to think there could be something between them wasn’t fair either. She’d tried to connect with Lucky, swearing she’d felt him hovering in the store, but the snow had thickened, and she figured he hadn’t been able to break through. Later tonight he would. The skies were supposed to clear up. And the thought of being with him again, no matter the capacity, had her heart skipping.

  She’d left the store for Callista and Amie to manage and headed to her mother’s. There were some things she needed to know. No longer was she a disbeliever.

  Hallelujah and all that jazz, she believed!

  Somehow Siri was connected to the world Gemma had visited. She needed to know how, and what were the implications of what she’d actually done last night, and how to make them everlasting.

  There was a sense of rightness, freeing actually. Like she’d finally let go of the fear. After all, her biggest fear had been that she’d turn out as bat-shit crazy as her mother. Guess what, crazy wasn’t so bad. In fact, it felt downright liberating in a strip-off-your-clothes-and-celebrate-the-equinox kind of way.

  Holy balls.

  Snow spitting sideways, slowed her progress. The roads had turned dangerously icy. It was a relief to finally park her car in front of her mother’s.

  Hell, she’d never had that thought before.

  Gemma let herself into the house, dusting snow off her hair and shoulders.

  “She’s been waiting and seems pretty lucid,” Rosie said, taking Gemma’s coat. “I was able to get her medication into her, but you know how it is. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I have to know.”

  Rosie nodded and stepped aside. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She kissed Gemma’s cheek. “Listen with an open heart.” Then she disappeared into the back of the house.

  Siri sat on the low cushion, in front of the carved table, shuffling the Tarot deck in front of her. Dressed in a caftan of silk saris, she was the bright spot in the candlelit room. Her breath caught when her eyes met Gemma’s. “No,” she gasped. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  “You can see?”

  “Oh, Gemma, my bright star, I did not want this for you.” A hitch in her mother’s voice tugged at Gemma’s heart. It wasn’t lost on her that she’d called her Gemma instead of Gemini either.

  “Mom, why didn’t you tell me?” Gemma knelt down at Siri’s feet and took her hands in hers.

  “How could I? You would have locked me up for sure.” A sad smile curled her lips. “Let me tell you a secret.” She leaned in and whispered, “I’m not all here.” She tapped her temple. “A big part of me exists somewhere else.”

  This wasn’t news to her. Except for the idea that Siri believed parts of herself existed somewhere else. “Tell me how, please.”

  “That’s it.” Siri shrugged. “I can’t remember it all anymore. There are vague images, feelings. I was so into experimentation when I was younger. Did things that one shouldn’t. Drugs, sex, astral projection when I didn’t understand the gravity of what I was dealing with. So many mistakes, thinking I knew it all. There are elements, spirits out there who are not to be trusted. They want to live again so badly that they will tempt and tease you into risking things that you would not otherwise do. Risking your very soul.”

  “Lucky isn’t like that.”

  Siri sadly shook her head. “They are all like that. Like vampires sucking out our life’s essence. Has he talked of how he was robbed, killed before his time? How you are fated?” Siri didn’t wait for Gemma’s answer, not that Gemma could answer with the lump lodged in her throat.

  “I tried to warn you, Gemma. I should have done more to steer you away. It’s apparent that you’ve slept with him. But how many times have you laid with him?”

  Heat rushed into her face. Never had they talked of sex. As open to experiences that Siri seemed, sex was a subject never to be discussed. She’d been a contradiction growing up, this free-spirit in every sense except one. Gemma was finally getting an idea of why.

  “Once,” Gemma admitted. “Last night.”

  “Where?”

  Gemma dropped her eyes to the Mosaic rug beneath her. The intricate design of purple, black and blue with shots of gold swirled into a mess of color. “He called it Limbo.”

  Siri sucked in her breath. “Oh, dear God.” Her hands clenched Gemma’s. “How did you get there?”

  Gemma swallowed. She couldn’t tell Siri the pills she’d given her had sent her on a round trip ticket to the one place her mother seemed to fear most. “I don’t know for sure.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Most of the night. Why?” It was her turn to ask some questions. A few answers would be a welcome change of pace.

  “The more you share, the longer you astral project, the harder it’s going to be to fully return. If at all.” Siri pondered for a few minutes, the pupils of her eyes almost total
ly black. “We can knit back together your aura, given enough time and no more exposure to your Dreamweaver.”

  What was she, a sweater? And if this could be done, how did they “knit” Siri back together?

  “I’m lost, Gemini.” Siri answered her unasked question. “There are no threads to lace me back together. I played too long in the astral plane, lost too much of myself to those worlds.”

  Worlds?

  “Your father tried, bless his heart, but the threads of my soul had already been stolen.” She hopped to her feet and went to the desk, sliding drawer after drawer open until she pulled out a long silver chain with a ruby crystal hanging from it.

  Gemma had a feeling she knew where this was going.

  “I should have given this to you before. Where is my mind?” Siri shook her head as though to clear it. “It will help ground you. Your first chakra is the root, here.” She motioned to her groin. “I want you to wear this and imagine that it’s a grounding cord running from your spine to the base of your tailbone deep into the earth. It will help you draw energy up through the earth and keep you from astral projecting.” She handed the crystal to Gemma. “Go ahead, put it on.”

  “I can’t take this. You should wear it.”

  Siri held up her hand where a ruby winked on her ring finger. “I’ve always worn this. Your father gave me this ring when we hand-fasted. It does the same and symbolizes who my anchor is. Or was.” She gave Gemma a bittersweet smile.

  Gemma took the necklace and slipped it over her neck, trying to keep the one Tern gave her hidden in the wool of her sweater. The stone lay heavy between her breasts, clinking with Tern’s. “Who was he?” She didn’t need to specify that she wasn’t asking about her father.

  “That’s it, I can no longer remember. You see, Gemini, they play on all your desires and leave you none of them by the time they are finished with you.”