by Poppet
Right, so everything I thought I knew about Erik is bullshit. This is who he really is. I still can't find much to like.
The drive home is quick and painless. It's late, no one's about. I'm alone, in the dark, with madness.
Shutting the engine off directly in front of my door, he gets out, coming around, unbuckling me, and hoisting me into his arms. Holding too tight, cradled against his chest, he pauses at my front door, fishing my key out of his pocket. He's probably made himself a copy in the time I was 'under'.
I need to change the locks.
Taking me through to the bedroom, moonlight is our only witness. Apprehension starts sharpening claws into my insides.
Laying me down, he dips, kissing me full on the lips, “Goodnight princess.”
Flipping the comforter over me, he tucks me in.
“Why do you call me princess?”
It's a slur, but at least I got it out of my mouth, even if it makes me sound blind-drunk.
“Your name means princess. Sarah means princess.”
He sits down, bracing an arm next to my waist, staring down at me.
“It suits you. You are a princess. More than you know.”
“Did you steal anything when you were alone in here?”
He arcs his strong neck, chuckling a low rumble.
Finally looking back at me, his expression is affectionate, “No. I don't need to.”
He lifts my hand, pressing it against his chest, “You already live in here. In my veins. I gave half my soul to you. I know you better than you know yourself.”
Cue X-Files theme tune. Or Twilight Zone. Someone jump out and tell me this is all a joke.
“I know what you're thinking. You think I'm obsessed with you. To a degree, you would be correct. But it's only because you've been missing a long time. When Ruth found you, I could finally breathe again.”
“You are so delusional, you terrify me.”
“Be that as it may, you must rest. You have a date at nine, and it's been a long day for you.”
Leaning over me, tinkles and odd humming whispers around me, and he presses soft warm lips below my ear. “Sweet dreams, princess.”
He stands, looming like a Metallica song, “I won't hurt you again. You have my word.”
All he needs is a whip, leather pants, and glowing yellow eyes, and I'll know I've lost my mind, my head an asylum for all things dark and deranged.
His smile becomes sad; twisting on a heel, he strides out of my room, his wide shoulders literally filling the doorway.
And he's gone.
I just manage to roll onto my side, shoving my head between the pillows, inhaling Dustin's comforting smell when I push my head onto his shirt.
Exhausted, I let the numb take over.
There's something seriously annoying about bright light when you're trying to sleep. It invades, pushes in, not caring that we like it dark when we're sleeping.
Flexing my hand, I'm relieved it moves. Using it to shield my eyes, before squinting lids apart, I peek.
It's still dark. The light is coming from directly in front of me. Carefully lowering my hand, there's a 'being' lounging against the doorframe, watching me. Like a human-looking lightning bug. All glowing, like lava, the color of citrine candlelight, warm, honeyed.
He's tall and slender, without hair. His features are more an impression than actually 'there'.
Tilting his head, he smiles, and it slants a bright beam of brilliant light through the room.
I know in my head, I should be screaming, afraid, running. But he instills me with warmth and tranquility, I can feel it from here. He's completely benign.
Walking in sloppy plods to me; if he could make sound, he'd be flatfooted, slapping feet on the tiles. He's fluid.
Sitting next to my legs, he puts a hand on my arm, looking down at me with beams of happiness.
Oddly, I find myself smiling back. The hand on my arm is warm, instant safe, instant home.
Who are you?
Before I can verbalize it, he answers, inside my head.
Lucierne.
Lucern? Like the grass?
It's spelled differently. And the image pops into my head.
“Oh.”
He smiles again, watching me with loving vibes. This time he kept his mouth closed. The hand on me trickles a glowing vibration through me, warming me on the inside. It's immediately tranquilizing and meditative.
“Why are you here?”
He points into my chest with a long slender finger, it sinks into me, straight to my heart. For you.
For me? Why?
Come here.
The way he says it, it's the voice of a father wanting to comfort a child. It's fluffy and cozy, and huddle strength.
He lies down next to me, wrapping me in his arms.
It's unadulterated comfort. Balming aches, hurts, pain, fear, his touch melts them all away. I've never felt so safe and cosseted in my life.
His body isn't hampered by the bed; he manages to sink his arm under me, without me having to move.
It's a soul caress. He's a happiness hug. A body of love and serenity.
It feels like home. Here, it feels like nothing could ever hurt me again. It's such relief, my eyes sting with hot tears.
He pulls me closer, inside the light of his chest, kissing the top of my head, sending long tendrils of drowsy heat down my spine. It's like being inside a cocoon.
You're safe with me.
He shows me an image inside my head - he's smiling, fond affection glowing from his bright eyes, tenderly tracing his hand down my face.
No hurt. Never hurt. I'm safe.
I know, logically, I should be alarmed. It refuses to be summoned, reserved somewhere dormant, waiting to lash an attack the next time it sees Erra.
Don't think his name. Be still. Be safe.
Snuggling in, I let his womb-like heat soothe me back to slumberland, thinking my life is crazy. I've lost my mind.
Chapter 12
He's still with me when I open my eyes. My phone's ringing. He's dimmer with daylight backlighting my white curtains. Looking into his eyes, I watch him smile, get up off my bed, and walk out the bedroom, fading to nothing before he even makes the bathroom.
Sitting, I pick up my phone, sliding it to answer.
“Hello?”
“Ohpitsa, where've you been?”
“Ruth's funeral, and memorial.”
“You had me worried.”
“Sorry.” I wish you'd been with me, then yesterday wouldn't have happened.
“You ready for me to come over?”
“What time is it?”
“Eight.”
“Yeah, sure. Come on over. I'm just getting in the shower.”
“Don't move! I'll be there in five.”
The phone disconnects, and I'm left laughing and putting it back on the nightstand.
Pushing myself off the bed, I go to the full length mirror on the wall, expecting to see a face of bruises. Halting, dancing like I have a spider creeping down my back, I yank his shirt off me, balling it and launching it at the corner. Asshole!
In front of the mirror, I lean in, inspecting my nose, face, wrists, upper arms. Not a scratch.
In a way I wish I hadn't healed so well, then Dustin could go and rearrange his face.
Oh well, I'd better brush my teeth and put coffee on, before he gets here.
While I'm filling the coffee maker, a new roar announces him outside my window. Looking out, my skin prickles with a rush. 'Bikes and four wheels'. No kidding.
He appeals to my hidden adrenaline junkie like a donut to a dieter.
Irresistible.
He's getting off a pitch black Ninja ZZR1400, his wide shoulders in sensei black leather, black jeans hug his legs, looking long and lean in black boots.
Pulling the black helmet off his head, I notice another one linked on his arm.
Squeaaaaa!
Diving for the front door, I open it before he's got h
is gloves off to knock. Standing to the side, so the neighbors can't see me, his gaze skims over me just wearing lace shorts, his eyes darkening with lusty intensity.
“Where were you when I woke up?” he says sexily, stepping in and thumping the door closed. Dropping both helmets on the hall table, he scoops me up, wrapping my legs around him, squeezing me to him and sipping in a harsh kiss.
“Hmmmm,” he growls deep, striding, somehow missing doors and walls, directly to my bedroom, dropping with me onto the bed, heading straight to a nipple; sanding it with his teeth.
“I missed these long legs in my bed this mornin'.” He runs his hands up them, pulling my underwear away when they run back down. “Uhmm hmmm, that's a fine sight.”
Giggling, I'm so delighted he's here. So happy to have a whole day not worrying about Erik. Erra. Whatever.
“Hey, what's that look for?”
Standing, he unzips the jacket, dumping it on the floor, followed in two tugs with his shirt.
“Just happy to see ya, s'all.”
“I'm happy to see you too, sugar.” He's in a hurry, and his words are competing with zips, two boots, and a pair of jeans.
Presenting himself in bright daylight, he falls next to me, pulling me onto him, all in one swift movement.
With one hand winding my hair around his fist, he fishes my face closer, starting the duel of hormones, lips, and skin.
“C'mere, my body wants to tell yours a secret.”
Defiant, and daring, I unwind his hand and turn my back, going backwards cowgirl, just to change things up.
A low whistle through teeth compliments me.
Oh mama. This is hold onto your heart, fine. With my arms wrapped around him, the wind whizzing past us; I'm feeling it. That freedom he was talking about, this is it.
The sun is basking down, the view is gorgeous, and we have a full hour of road trip ahead of us. A man, a woman, leather, metal and two wheels; I was born for this. This is all you will ever need in this life, right here in this moment.
It's exhilarating, primal, and downright seductive.
Where the hell have I been all my life?
With the wild thrumming vibration of rubber on asphalt warming me, his strength beneath my hands and between my legs, my heart is pounding as if angels are touching it. I've never been this happy. I can't stop smiling.
We're heading all the way to Fredericksburg, to Enchanted Rock. I've never been.
Every day with him is new, an adventure, a thrill. And in a strange way, it's powerful. The bike is powerful, the man handling it like it's an extension of him, is powerful.
It makes me feel like I can do anything, anywhere, anytime; it's triumphant. Cars drop behind us as if they're standing still, people watch us buzz by, and the two wheeled hardcore steed feels like we're fleeing prison, and breaking the law.
Yes, he is going to break me out of my prison.
Hell yeah!
Resting my head on his broad back, his hand moves, covering mine and squeezing for a moment, somehow inflating his ribcage and pressing against me, loving me at 160mph.
It fills my lungs with leather, and his sunshine smell.
This is reckless freedom, and I'm done playing safe.
I'm not ready to stop when he slows us down as we approach the state park. I don't know what road we're on, and I don't care. The bike revs in aggressive bursts as he maneuvers it to the little house where you get drinks and pay.
Shutting the Ninja down in a parking bay, he pulls off his matt black doo; which reminds me of a Nighthawk stealth aircraft that goes undetected by radar. The imagery fits him.
He steadies me as I dismount, my legs surprisingly a little numb from the journey. Kicking the stand down, he's graceful when he gets off.
Handing me his skid lid, he puts those delicious fingers at the base of my back again, leaning down to speak in my ear, “I won't be long.”
I nod, looking at the doo in my hands. He called it that. Cos soldiers call their kevlar helmets, domes of obedience. d.o.o, for short. On the back is a marking, like a tattoo. It looks like a Celtic / Gothic spur. Three lines, slightly curved, joining at their thick bases, making a triangle.
He's being responsible, and I appreciate the effort; which is probably for my benefit.
Returning with long strides and intimidating sunglasses back on, he hands me a bag, and swings back onto the bike, looping the doo on the bars, he walks the bike out of the bay, and starts it up, waiting for me to join him.
Now I understand why he brought the bike. It'd be quite a hike from here if he didn't have the two wheels to navigate the dirt tracks and narrow paths.
When we reach our destination, he tugs his gloves off, taking my hand, and unzipping his jacket. His pecs are outlined by the tight black t-shirt he's wearing, and he gives me a strange look, looking down at me with my hiking boots on and the matching helmet to his in my hand.
“You sure you can handle a steep footpath to the top?”
“Yup,” I nod, putting my own shades on.
Leaning, stepping closer, he puts his nose in my neck, mouth below my ear, sucking it softly, then whispering, “You belong here.”
So far I've gleaned they have camping here too. And rock climbing. I can see him doing a Bear Grylls out here. I bet he comes here all the time.
Tucking my hand back in his, we start walking.
It's flat smooth rock. And to be honest, I don't know what all the fuss is about, aside from the view from the top, which is spectacular. Sitting together, he holds an arm lazily around my tented leg, slaking his thirst, looking at the panorama. I guess he likes rocks, and this is the biggest one I've ever seen.
“I bet you're wonderin' why I brought you here?”
He shrugs out of his jacket, pushing his shades onto his hair, staring into my eyes.
“I am.”
“There's a lot of history here. The modern world is stupid for one reason only. They push history into myth and legend folders. But this rock,” he thumps it with the heel of his boot, “Is Spirit Rock.”
“Spirit rock?”
How can a rock be made of spirits?
“There's hundreds of tribal stories about this place.” He gazes back out into the netherworld, getting lost in a land I can't see, but he can feel.
“Some folks say the Comanche held sacrifices here. The people believed this rock was a holy portal to other worlds, and spending the night here would make you invisible.” His mouth twists into sharp corners with his smile, “And if you come here with an evil heart, the climb will kill you.”
“It's also called Spirit Rock, because many braves died here. The last stand of a tribe happened here. Their bloodline ended right here. But this is a great place for the Apache. God, who they call the Life Giver, sent Gan to teach the Apache skills. Hunting, leadership, and how to cure illness. Gan, is the name for mountain spirits. And it's because of this, more than any other reason, this rock is called Spirit Rock. This is where they come in, and leave. It's sacred ground.”
“Wow. That's beautiful.”
“The Comanche displaced the Apache. Their belief system was different. Not unlike the Olmec's, Comanche worshipped the sun as their Universal father. Leaving no room for the Gan in this place. But the Gan, they can't be captured or held. Like wind. They come and go as they please through the holy portal. You can see by the shape of this rock why the Comanche held their sacrifices here.”
The rock is a huge dome, half a sun.
It gives me a hard lump in my throat. “This is horrible.”
“But they weren't foolish. They would sleep here, to get divine inspiration. The Gan are spirits. And divine inspiration and guidance is their calling. So even the Comanche had spiritual insight here.”
Now I'm getting the big picture.
“That's why you brought me here.”
His serious expressions melts into affection, “Who's yer daddy?”
Laughing, I lean in against his shoulder, loving it when he m
oves his arm, tucking me tight to him and resting his head on my hair.
“This is you, ohpitsa. This is where you find your soul again. This is the spot for your vision quest, ask the Gan to find you and guide you home.”
“What's this rock made of?”
“Granite.”
Like him, solid hard granite. Like Erra's wings.
He continues, oblivious to my haunting thoughts. “Some people believed this rock was El Dorado. And gold was mined here, not far off.”
“I've lived in Austin my whole life, and I never knew any of this.”
Lifting his head, tilting my chin, he whispers into the wind, “This is the place of secrets. It keeps them safe, waiting for you to come back and claim them.”
It touches my heart. And I have tears prickling.
“What do you see that I just don't? Why do you think I need rescuing?”
“It's in your eyes. You are Gan. You're meant to be free.”
Pulling me between his legs, he makes me lean back against him.
“Close your eyes, just sit here and breathe, it will bring you back to life.”
Just breathe. Erra jumps in again, yelling breathe.
But I do, I close my eyes, surrounded by my boulder of a boyfriend, breathing in the wind, leather, dust.
It's so easy to fall in love. One more step and I'll be there.
After ages of silence, sharing heartbeats and serenity, he says, “They had a bogeyman. Big Owl, also known as Owl man. But I think, of all the stories, you will like the story of the little girl without parents.”
Stiffening, “Why?”
“It's touching. You have a deep spirit in you, eons old. You will like it.”
Smoothing my hair, sifting it through his fingers, his voice is intimate, speaking into my ear from behind me, like a guardian angel.
“In the beginning nothing existed, only darkness. From the darkness emerged a thin disc, suspended in midair. In it sat a small bearded man, Creator, the One Who Lives Above. Creator rubbed his hands together, thrusting them downward. A shining cloud appeared; sitting on it was a little girl.”
They believed god made woman first?
