by Lia Davis
“We’ve made a spectacular forever for ourselves,” Grant said. “And now with Cassie the possibilities are endless.”
“Isn’t it my choice if I want to spend forever here?” she mumbled as she stretched. “Who says I even want you guys forever?”
“As feisty as ever.” Max kissed the top of her head. “Why are you awake?”
“Because you’re not doing the superpower thing.” She stretched again, turning to kiss Grant’s lips.
“Hello, sweetheart.” He returned her affection, running his fingers down her side.
“You don’t like when we talk so you can’t hear us,” Max reminded her. “Sorry we woke you.”
She rolled onto her side and kissed him. “It’s okay. I want to sleep when you sleep.”
“Why would you want to sleep the day away?” Max asked. “You’ll miss the sun.”
“I can’t be away from you all those hours. If I stay awake at night then I can sleep when you’re asleep and I won’t miss a moment with either of you.”
“If you’re in this room with us we’ll never sleep.” Grant laughed. “I remember what it was like when I was human and Max was asleep. The day was too long.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Max said. “Maybe a weekend arrangement. Asking you to give up your days is too much.”
“I was just kidding about the forever.” She sat up, taking both of their hands in hers. “I can’t imagine being anywhere without the two of you.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Grant said. “It’s physically impossible for us to leave you.”
“Will you make me like you?” she asked.
“It’s much too early to be thinking about that,” Max said and Grant couldn’t argue. “You may not even like us in a few weeks much less an eternity.”
“She’ll like me.” Grant smirked.
“How couldn’t she?” Max mused. “This is a conversation for another day.”
“Spoken like a true alpha.” Grant didn’t mind Max taking control. That was the way it had always been. “We have plenty of time to discuss your immortality.”
“It’s Halloween.” She slithered down to lay between them. “Do you know what that means?”
“You’re looking for a unique experience with a vampire?” Max crawled on top of her, lifting her arms over her head and pinning her to the bed.
“No.” She giggled. “I want a unique experience with two vampires.”
“We can accommodate that request.” Grant propped himself on his elbow, as she turned her head and smiled at him. If his heart could beat she’d have the power to stop it with that one all-consuming look. “All night long.”
“I’m never leaving the two of you,” she declared.
“We’re never letting you go.” Grant kissed her softly. “Forever.”
“Forever,” Max vowed as he stared into his eyes.
“Thank you for this life.” Grant kissed him. “All of it.”
* * *
The End
About the Author
Ella Jade has been writing for as long as she can remember. As a child, she often had a notebook and pen with her, and now as an adult, the laptop is never far. The plots and dialogue have always played out in her head, but she never knew what to do with them. That all changed when she discovered the eBook industry. She started penning novels at a rapid pace and now she can’t be stopped.
Ella resides in New Jersey with her husband, two teenage boys and a feisty Chihuahua named Roxie. When she’s not chasing after her kids, she’s busy creating sexy, domineering men and the strong women who know how to challenge them in and out of the bedroom. She hopes you’ll get lost in her words.
* * *
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The Ultimate Act of Love
Evelyn Lederman
Introduction
The last thing Kori Daniels expected to see on a ghost tour is an actual apparition. Although she can feel earth-bound spirits, she has never seen one. Already impacted by nightly amorous dreams since arriving in Savannah, her dream lover now has a face.
Jeb Crawford was trapped between life and death. He waits nightly for the arrival of a soul mate who could end the enchantment. Once he finds her, he is unsure of what is required to reclaim his body from stasis.
Will Jeb and Kori’s coming together end the spell he is under? What could be the ultimate act of love that will bring him back to life?
Chapter 1
He died for her. Although at the time, Jeb Crawford had a raging fever and didn’t comprehend the magnitude of what he agreed to. Had he known, he doubted he would have accepted the gift his sister, Jenny, offered.
Nightly, he stood looking out the front parlor’s window waiting to catch a glimpse of her. What little Jeb could remember of that fateful night over a hundred fifty years ago, Jenny said he would recognize her at first sight.
His soul mate. The one woman created specifically for him. Soul mates weren’t explicitly born on Earth within a range of years that would allow them to meet and fall in love in their human forms. They would eventually meet in the afterlife. Jenny had loved him enough to wish him such happiness during his lifetime, even if she had to use witchcraft to make such an occurrence possible.
The giant magnolia tree in the front yard sheltered a portion of the parlor’s window from prying eyes. How he missed the sweet aroma of its flowers in the spring. Now, its foliage provided the occupants of the house some privacy from the nightly tours.
“Here, we have Crawford House,” the first of several ghost tour guides said. Every night, people loitered outside his home listening to various tales about his life and ultimate death. “Captain Crawford was a known abolitionist, but fought for the Confederacy, as true southerners did.”
The guide was being generous. His one regret in life was not being more vocal and fighting the abhorrent institution. He merely didn’t own slaves and made casual conversation about how wrong it was to own another soul. In his professional life, he fought for what little rights slaves possessed.
“Jeb Crawford was wounded in battle and recovering here when yellow fever overran the city,” the guide continued. “The Yankees had burned Atlanta and were headed to his beloved Savannah. He orchestrated approaching General Sherman to beg him to spare his city, but was too ill to attend the meeting himself.”
There were partial truths in what the guide said. Rumors had spread prior to his illness that the Yankees planted yellow fever contaminated clothing near Confederate camps. Those stories were later deemed untrue. When he returned home, his younger sister, Abigail, was dying from some undiagnosed illness. Even though he was injured, he helped nurse her. In his weakened condition, it was not long before he, too, was stricken by the deadly virus.
Savannah had been spared, but he was losing his battle to breathe. It was then Jenny came to him offering the ability to prolong his life. In his delirium, he thought she was referring to the religious afterlife. He was too ill to understand what she was truly muttering about.
“Captain Crawford struggled to leave his sick bed to join the city leaders, but was unable to garner the strength to leave his room,” the tour guide continued. “He died as the Yankees agreed to spare Savannah. Unable to find peace in not being among those who saved his beloved city, Jeb’s spirit remains bound to the house. It is said, his older sister fearing the Yankees would desecrate his body, hid it. Within a year of his death, his sister passed away and Jeb’s body was never found. Jenny Crawford’s descendants still own and occupy the house.”
It was romantic rubbish. To compensate for the ridiculous stories, Jeb enjoyed playing visual tricks on the tours. Once a week, he chose to push a vision of his true self to those who stood outside his home.
He enjoyed catching the stunned faces of those who didn’t blink in that instant and then the subsequent confusion that followed.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” one of Jenny’s descendants, Constance, said. He affectionately referred to her as his niece. In many ways, she reminded him of his beloved sister. “You only encourage those damned tours to keep our home on their walks through Savannah.”
He was about to respond to his niece when his eyes fell on a woman’s face. Her light brown eyes were glued to where he stood, her facial expression reflected that she struggled with what she saw.
It was her. The mulatto beauty, the descendent of slaves, was his soul mate. Mulatto was an archaic term, but he was a product of the nineteenth century. Her long, curly black hair cascaded over her shoulders. She wore the uniform of the day, blue jeans. To protect herself from the night chill, she wore a lightweight blue denim jacket.
He longed to go to her, but he was bound to this house. That wouldn’t be the case tomorrow night. At sunset on All Hallow’s Eve, he became corporal and would be able to hold her in his arms. All he had to do was find her in a city inundated with tourists.
Kori Daniels’s knees were weak from the feelings of horror and sadness she felt walking through Calhoun Square. She could feel the pain of the thousand slaves buried beneath the grass. Although Kori was not a medium, she could feel earth-bound spirits. It had been a mistake going on the ghost tour with her friends. She hadn’t expected to be overwhelmed with the heartache she felt walking over the mass graveyard.
Her nostrils were still impacted with the smell of death. A scent an average human couldn’t detect. Kori rubbed her nose, hoping to free herself of the stink.
She had barely collected her frayed nerves when a man peered from one of Crawford House’s windows. His sun-kissed flesh was visible down to the top of his chest, accentuated by his pristine white unbuttoned shirt. Light, wavy brown hair barely touched his shoulders. It was unfashionably long.
Even from this distance, she could see his eyes were a blue-gray. There was a haunting loneliness in them. He seemed oddly familiar. Before she could place where she had seen him, he disappeared. Good God! She needed a vacation from her vacation. Now she was seeing things.
Once again, the tour guide pulled out his tablet to show the group a picture of a specter. Earlier, she had not bothered to huddle around to look at some fabricated photo. After what Kori just experienced, she planted herself front and center.
The woman next to her was doused with a pungent rose scented cologne. Kori withstood a second assault on her nose to see the photo the tour guide was flashing before her.
The face she had clearly seen was hidden in a ghostly haze, but it was him. A chill ran down her spine, knowing she had seen an apparition. Rather than feeling pain and terror as she did earlier, Kori was elated.
“Is that Captain Crawford?” she asked.
“Yes,” the tour guide responded, “Jeb Crawford was a lawyer before southern loyalty caused him to enlist.”
“But you said he was an abolitionist,” Kori said.
One of her mother’s ancestors had been a slave on a plantation outside Beaufort, South Carolina. When her ancestor was freed after the Civil War, she joined other former slaves who headed north to find work and a better life. She could still remember some of the stories her grandmother told her about the courageous woman.
“The Civil War was not just about freeing slaves, but state rights, particularly those in the south,” the tour guide pointed out. “Many felt the federal government had over extended its power.”
“Where can I find out more about Captain Crawford?” When her friends gave her a questioning look, she continued. “As a descendant of slaves, I want to understand why someone who didn’t believe in slavery would risk his life fighting for the side that wished to prolong the institution.”
Her friends were used to similar questions from her. The civil rights attorney within her wanted to understand the motives of hate behind her cases.
But Kori knew she asked for a very different reason. The long dead Jeb Crawford ignited something within her. Erotic dreams had manifested themselves since her arrival in Savannah. Her faceless lover had caused her to retire early each evening, rather than heading out with her friends.
“Any of our libraries will have books and periodicals about local residents,” the guide answered.
Kori would have to find a reason to get out of the trip to Hilton Head tomorrow with her friends. She needed to learn more about Jeb Crawford. Her dream lover dominated her nights, now Jeb had taken over her waking thoughts. There had to be a reason why.
Chapter 2
Her lover’s head was between her legs. He breached her feminine folds and rubbed her sensitive nub. When his tongue licked her clit again, she nearly bucked him off.
Jeb Crawford’s face emerged from the spot he was pleasuring her, looking up with a satisfied masculine grin. Her dream lover was no longer faceless. Rather than having haunted eyes, they blazed with passion. She took in a breath, reacting to what she saw.
He slid along her sweat-clad body and took one of her hardened nipples into his mouth. As he sucked, Kori’s hands grabbed tuffs of his wavy, light brown hair. The more she pulled, the more pressure he applied ministering to her breast.
Sensations rocked her body as her inner core heated. Her passage was wet, preparing for what was to come. Kori could already feel his engorged member brush against her inner thigh. She wanted him inside her so badly, she let out a cry of frustration.
Seeking a different kind of kiss, his lips released her breast. When they rubbed against hers, Kori opened to him. Jeb’s taste was addictive. He tasted of the woods after a spring rain and something spicy. Their tongues danced as their kiss deepened.
Jeb slid his hand down her slick body, caressing her curves as he moved toward her sex. He entered her with two fingers, as anxious as she was to consummate tonight’s passion. His fingers swirled inside her, setting a frantic pace as he prepared her for his entry. Her body yearned for him like her lungs craved oxygen.
Her lover positioned himself over her and entered through her folds with a single powerful thrust.
Instantaneously, Kori’s eyes opened wide. Now awake, she growled in frustration, rather than purring with satisfaction. Why had she awakened? What a dream!
She traveled with four girlfriends. Since they were an odd number, Kori volunteered to room alone rather than sharing a bed and tripling up. Considering the erotic dreams she experienced since her arrival, it was well worth the additional cost not to have to explain any audible moans her dreams produced.
Kori turned and looked at the bedside alarm clock. It was four a.m. She groaned and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Her body still throbbed from the aftermath of her dream. She was soaking wet as if a fever had broken. The sensual dreams were causing night sweats.
Closing her eyes, she willed herself to sleep. Could she force the dream to return? It was too vivid for Kori to be satisfied with manufacturing their lovemaking in her mind.
Nothing! She rolled over and pounded the pillow to contour it to her head. Squeezing her eyes closed, Kori cleared her mind, hoping to fall asleep. The harder she tried, the more awake she became.
Frustrated, Kori turned on the nightstand’s light and grabbed the tablet sitting next to the clock. The hotel’s Internet immediately allowed her access to the website to research the local libraries. One was located ten blocks from the hotel.
Kori wrote down the address. For giggles, she typed in Jeb’s name into the search engine. Every instance she found was associated with various ghost tours. There were no pictures of the man who now plagued her waking and sleeping hours.
She entered various search criteria to research why someone like Jeb would fight for the Confederacy. Most southerners didn’t own slaves. In fact, only 1.6% of Americans owned slaves during the peak of slavery in 1860. Rich plantation owners managed to talk southerners to go to
war over an institution that only reduced their own wages. A curiosity she always had, now became an obsession to better understand a man who died more than a century and a half ago.
Time passed quickly as she continued her research. It surprised her as the rising sun peered in behind the blackout curtains. She needed to shower and dress before heading out for breakfast and the library.
She stopped for breakfast at a corner cafe three blocks from her hotel. Since she had been up since four a.m., she was starving. The cafe offered a variety of croissants, English muffins, biscuits, and bagel sandwiches. Kori settled for a goat cheese and spinach sandwich. It would be criminal not to have a homemade biscuit while she was in the south.
Kori literally inhaled the breakfast masterpiece and toyed with ordering a second. It had literally melted in her mouth. When she considered the calorie count of a single serving, another one didn’t seem as appealing.
Her weight had never been a problem. She was blessed with a great metabolism. But realizing it would slow with age, Kori shied away from indulging. Women in her family had fallen into that trap as they aged. Besides, nothing ever tasted better than the first bite. It was something she continually reminded herself of.
After finishing breakfast, Kori walked along the sidewalk lined with southern live oak trees. The majestic beauties provided ample shade from the rising sun. It was a cool, brisk morning, so she didn’t require any relief from the heat. Spanish moss hung from the branches and littered the walkways. It was a visual change from the maple, European buckthorns, and ash trees that dominated her neighborhood in Chicago.
She arrived at the library as it opened. There was no line to check out books or make inquiries. Kori had no competition for the librarian’s time.
