Soul Weaver

by Hailey Edwards

  The mass of get well paraphernalia took a few steps to the right, where a pair of club chairs marked off a small reading area. He set the armload down and straightened, staring at the jumble as if he had never seen anything quite like it.

  She couldn’t blame him. It was an overwhelming display for someone she hadn’t met. Blast it, she had wanted to impress him, but his confounded expression said she had tried too hard.

  Her eyes closed for a second to brace for his reaction. When they opened, Nathaniel’s face filled her vision. “How did you—”

  His mouth descended, crushing her words between their lips. His thumbs slipped into her belt loops and yanked her closer. Her body crashed into his and their kiss never paused, never ended.

  “You are a miracle to me.”

  Chills broke along her spine because she couldn’t breathe and wondered how he managed words when her brain barely registered thought. Breaking free of him, gasping, she placed her palms against his chest. She didn’t push him away, though she should have.

  “Didn’t we do this yesterday?” she asked, breathless, voice hitching.

  “Yes.” His warm lips traced the line of her jaw. He forced her back until her spine hit a bookcase and pinned her in place. Her skin rippled with awareness. Anyone could walk in and see how she’d fisted his shirt in her hands as she tore at the fabric with impatience.

  “Skin.” She craved it. “I need to feel skin. Just once, please, let me touch you.”

  Her fevered thoughts failed when he jerked his shirt free from his low-slung jeans and placed her palms against his hard stomach.

  Warm muscle tensed beneath her palms. Her nails scored the sleek contours of his abs, and his stomach quivered in response.

  This was insanity. Here in the front of the store, they could be seen by anyone who stepped through the door. She really should care if they got caught.

  If she had a customer, she could stop. Sure she could. No problem. If someone entered the store, she would make sure this didn’t go any further.

  Nathaniel’s teeth grazed the underside of her jaw.

  If someone walked through that door… she might have to kill them.

  “You said…” He nipped her collarbone and her vision faded. “Oh God.” Focus. She needed to focus. “This was a mistake yesterday, remember?”

  He hummed against her throat. It might have been an accusation since she had agreed with him, said she didn’t want him, or this, the day before. Shoving Nathaniel back, she earned a few inches of space between their heaving chests. Cupping his face in her hands, she forced him to look at her. “What’s going on here?”

  His dark lashes rested against his pale cheeks. “I can’t seem to help myself around you.” When his eyes met hers, amusement danced in their depths. “I wonder why that is?”

  “Don’t try to blame this on me. I gave you a present and you—”

  “You gave me a greater gift than you know,” he said simply.

  To keep sane, to keep from tearing at his clothes, she dropped her hands and braced them on the bookcase behind her. “I couldn’t even pick all that stuff out on my own.” She wished she would keep quiet and take the credit, but the words popped right out of her mouth. “Neve went to Donor’s and picked up the balloons and the bear.” She glanced away. “I did help with the card.”

  “Whose idea was this?”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Mine.”

  “Who knew Bran had been hurt and wanted to make him feel better?”

  “I did.”

  “So why shouldn’t you take the credit?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” She couldn’t move him. He was too big, too tall, and too much arrogant man to be brushed aside.

  “Is there a reason you couldn’t pick up the gifts yourself?” His curious expression asked her to confide in him.

  “I had my reasons.” Though she was tempted, she kept them to herself. When his mouth opened on his next question, Chloe cut him off. “I hope Bran likes his gifts.”

  “I’m sure he will.” Nathaniel’s brow wrinkled, giving her the impression he was trying to figure out something. She really hoped she wasn’t the puzzle he wanted solved. “What matters is that you thought of him.” The lingering sparks of sexual tension lightened as he pulled her into his arms for something she had gone years too long without—a hug. “Thank you.”

  The need to return the gesture made Chloe’s grip release. She held his hips, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like enough.

  His skin called to her fingertips. Toying with the hem of his shirt, her thumbs snuck beneath the fabric to stroke the hard muscle rippling in response to her touch.

  “Aww. You guys are so sweet.”

  Chloe dropped her hands, then knocked Nathaniel aside and stepped in front of him. As if such a short woman had a hope of hiding such a tall man behind her.

  Neve glanced between the two of them. “I guess this means Nathaniel approves?”

  Chloe’s mouth wouldn’t work. Never in her life had something like this happened to her. Neve knew what she had interrupted, and amusement at that knowledge was written all over her face. Chloe couldn’t think up a single excuse for how they had been found. She was caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and they all knew she had crumbs left on her fingers.

  Nathaniel’s shirt was untucked. His full lips were roughed from her kisses. The flannel shirt he wore was shoved from his shoulders and he hadn’t tried to cover up his involvement.

  Neve tapped the base of her throat. Chloe patted her collar and found the buttons of her blouse opened clear to her navel. She spun on Nathaniel, whose unrepentant grin made a five-alarm fire race up her neck and flare across her face.

  “I have work to do. I should get to it.” Her fingers flew over the buttons as she refastened them. She couldn’t meet his eyes. “You have work you should be doing too.”

  “I’ll get right on it.” He spun her around and, before she thought to stop him, tilted up her chin and stole a kiss. “You have a decision to make.” His head lowered a second time. “About where this goes from here.” Then he strolled toward the door. “Until then, call if you need me.”

  Aware she still held Neve’s undivided attention, and how bad this must look, Chloe retreated behind an all-business façade and tried to save face. “What I need is the porch you promised me.” The words came out breathy and soft instead of as the order she’d meant. “Remember, it’s your money on the line if I don’t approve.”

  She ran a hand over her hair and loose strands met her palm. The diabolical man had undone her hair and her blouse, and she had been too busy counting the ridges of his abdomen to even notice.

  The smile he turned on her said he didn’t give a damn about the money, and that frightened her. A man like Nathaniel didn’t do things without a reason. Now she had to wonder what his was.

  A thick splinter bit through Nathaniel’s hand as he unloaded boards from the bed of his borrowed truck. He grimaced through the sting and glared at his work gloves where they sat on the tailgate, unused.

  All the while coming to accept the fact that he was doomed in all matters concerning Chloe. She bent the iron will honed during his existence, dulled the razor-sharp edges of his reality. His common sense checked itself at the door every time he walked into her store.

  The hardened Weaver of Souls, collector of the debts mortals owed to the divine, had shirked his duty, broken his oaths, failed in his loyalties, and lacked the sense to be terrified of the repercussions. Maybe after an eternity of service, he should have expected the breakdown.

  Centuries spent punishing the sickest members of the human race had left him exposed to infection from their corruption. Humanity’s ills afflicted him, and he feared Chloe was the only cure.

  His original plan no longer held any appeal. If he stood on the fringes of her last days, he would never sample more than the small dose of pleasure she had meted out to him. Her innocence melted his resolve. Sh
e was in life as he knew her while on the cusp of death—passionate, willful, and a vibrant reminder of the reason Delphi took harvesting so seriously. He believed Earth should mirror Aeristitia’s purpose, and harvesters should be the ones to shape those core beliefs until mortals embraced those same values. Honor, integrity, decency, she had all those virtues in spades. Was it any wonder he couldn’t resist her?

  He tossed a hunk of wood against the sidewalk. Without his interference, and the dark scrap of his soul meshed with hers, she would already be dead. His jaw shouldn’t pop or his teeth clench with anger at the thought of her life ending. She was mortal, and all mortals died. No love burned strong enough to tether a human soul in the sort of spiritual limbo where harvesters existed, and when an attempt to chain the fading spirit failed, loss of that magnitude shattered all those involved.

  He knew, because he’d once witnessed it firsthand.

  Although Chloe was unlike any woman he’d ever met, he couldn’t risk losing himself after her death. Bran still needed him to act as his tether, would continue needing him unless he and his father reconciled. Even then, there were no absolutes in a harvester’s life. The more protected he could make Bran, the better.

  His nape stung with irritation. He wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced toward the bookstore’s windows, expecting Chloe or maybe Neve, but he saw neither. His guilty conscience must be kicking his imagination into overdrive.

  Turning his mind toward a lighter subject, Nathaniel imagined Bran’s face when he presented him with Chloe’s gifts. He chuckled at the thought of the centuries-old Nephilim holding the fluffy bear. His only presents came from Nathaniel, and nothing he’d given Bran had ever been soft or feminine.

  Chloe gave them each a gift without realizing how much her action meant. Her acceptance and concern for Bran translated to acceptance and concern for Nathaniel. If he could form cohesive thoughts where she was involved, it would terrify him. No mortal should have so much control over his happiness.

  Armed only with the knowledge a child had been hurt, she found Bran worth comforting. Not because she knew him, but because basic human decency thrived in her where it failed in others.

  She had no reason to care for Bran, yet she did. By reaching out, she assured him his health and happiness mattered to someone other than Nathaniel. It was a refreshing change for someone so used to safeguarding the fragile child Bran had been. Someone who struggled to see the hardened man he had become. One who witnessed the dark side of humanity too often.

  Neve also surprised him. She had gone out of her way to help Chloe make her grand gesture, showing deeper affection than he anticipated so early in their relationship. Relief at the unexpected realization should have loosened the tense knot in his chest.

  His plan was working. Due to the unforeseen twist of adding himself into her life, Chloe had reached out and Neve had stepped in. They were becoming fast friends, which was what he wanted. He crushed the tiny seed of jealousy that she hadn’t called on him instead. She needed Neve, not him, he reminded himself. Maybe if he reminded himself often enough, he might believe it in time.

  He would give them space, for now, and make the most of what moments he could steal with Chloe. In the meantime, he would gut the porch and show her some progress.

  A quick glance at the sun helped him gauge the hour and estimate how far his deconstruction would go before lunch. Then he threw himself into his task, stacking his supplies neatly to one side of the bookstore’s entrance, then hauling a set of temporary stairs to the other. Taping a sign on the door and a few to the brick façade, he directed patrons around to the side entrance used by delivery drivers.

  After he emptied his truck bed, he palmed a crowbar and set to work prying up rotted boards and tossing rusted nails into a widemouthed can.

  Hours passed with nothing but the sounds of light traffic and faint music. The jazzy notes floated down the street from where a local barbeque joint had thrown open its patio doors. The upbeat tempo lured sweltering patrons into its chilled interior. His stomach gave an appreciative growl as a scalding breeze carried the scent of mesquite.

  He wouldn’t budge until Chloe came for him, though, if for no other reason than to hear her call his name. His damp shirt stuck to his skin, plucked at his arm hairs where it dried in places. Frustrated, he grabbed the hem and tugged it over his head. Salt burned his eyes as he dried his face, then tossed the shirt to dry on a section of railing.

  The same spot between his shoulder blades itched. He scanned the streets for signs of life, but he stood alone at the curb. Unease settled around him. Someone had an eye on him, and whoever it was didn’t mind getting close enough for him to sense their presence.

  No one of power would be so careless. If they suspected him of wrongdoing, he would be a scorched patch blackening the sidewalk long before the first hair prickled on the nape of his neck. So his watcher wasn’t Delphi or another seraph. Another harvester would have approached him by now unless he had orders not to engage him, though that option seemed unlikely.

  Another possibility could be a younger Nephilim from the Order’s compound. Nathaniel’s visits with Bran sometimes resulted in a few of the more curious tailing after him. He allowed it because many of the first-generation Nephilim grew up fatherless. Their mothers were casualties of a handsome face and a lover who vanished when the sun rose. The women were left alone to birth extraordinary children they didn’t understand and couldn’t control.

  The later generations were especially curious about the part of their heritage they lacked. Some mistook Nathaniel for Bran’s father, a misconception Bran allowed to flourish. The result was a false sense of safety in approaching him. They assumed he wouldn’t mind their interest since he embraced his half-breed son instead of treating him with the same disdain so many harvesters doled out to their offspring.

  The mental picture of Chloe curled up in a wingback chair reading to blue-eyed boys and brown-haired girls staggered him with its clarity. It was a dream she wouldn’t live to fulfill and it pained him. Such an odd thought for him. He wondered whether the flash came through their bond or if he’d dreamed the notion himself. He hoped for the sake of his sanity it was the former.

  Children weren’t an option for him and hadn’t been since he fell. His physiology had been altered to forge the bond with his shears.

  The best he could do was continue loving the child his brother had given him and safeguard the woman who was quickly becoming every bit as critical to his happiness as his nephew.

  A swarm of darting swallows drew his eye toward a neighboring church’s bell tower. They chirped their annoyance at an unseen disturbance, then descended on the nearby power lines. Seconds later, the snap of leather unfurling echoed from across the street and left him with little doubt as to what type of visitor he’d had. Another harvester had Nathaniel under surveillance. Now if he only knew what they wanted.

  Wiping his brow with the back of his wrist, he resolved to wait. He couldn’t risk pursuit until he knew who watched him and why he was of sudden interest to them.

  Chloe was safe. His brethren, even on Delphi’s orders, wouldn’t dare claim a mark from under his nose.

  His teeth bared in a feral smile. Let them dare to try.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chloe stood and stretched before leaving her office. Her stomach rumbled a lunchtime reminder even before she checked her watch. “Are you ready for a break?”

  Neve pushed aside her crossword puzzle. “Definitely. I thought lunch would never get here.” She covered a yawn. “I guess business will be slower than usual until Nathaniel finishes up out front.”

  “Probably.” She frowned. “At least until customers realize we’re still open.”

  Hesitant steps brought her to the door. When she looked through the glass panel, dirt and chunks of old concrete caught her eye. The skeleton of the old deck haunted the sidewalk, but the planks were pried off and buried under rubble in the bed of his truck.

&
nbsp; “Wow.” Neve bumped shoulders with her. “Someone’s vocation has been very kind to him.”

  “What do you… Oh my.” Nathaniel’s shirt hung limp from the handrail, a crumpled casualty of construction. “Why don’t you… um”—she forced her attention from the fluid curve of his bare spine—“take some money. From the register.” What was the mark on his shoulder? “And wait on food.”

  “Hon, you need to step away from the glass.” Neve grabbed her shoulders and twisted her around. “Can you try that again, in complete sentences this time?”

  “Sorry.” A step back did wonders for her concentration. “I think the glare distracted me.”

  Neve snorted. “Yeah, that glare is something else all right.” Even after she covered her mouth, her shoulders still shook. “Before the sun got in your eyes, what were you saying? About lunch?” She squeezed Chloe’s arm, encouraging her to share in the laugh.

  “Oh.” She had mentioned lunch. “I ordered takeout for three from China Doll. Mei’s Mongolian beef is fantastic. I was going to ask you to keep an eye out for the delivery while I made a quick phone call.” Neve opened her mouth, probably to protest the free meal, so Chloe spoke over her. “We can make it a working lunch. I have a couple of ideas for the store I’d like to bounce off someone, and while we’re at it, we can iron out the details for the literacy booth.”

  Neve gave her a look that said she didn’t buy Chloe’s excuse for a minute.

  “Knock, knock.” Chloe peeked around Neve and found a lanky teen standing on the side staircase while craning her neck to ogle Nathaniel. “Whoa, Ms. Chloe, the scenery has definitely improved around here. Piedmont should award you for hiring him and beautifying the city.”

  “Lin. He’ll hear you.” Chloe blamed the rush of heat in her cheeks on a gust of humid outside air. Swallowing her mortification, she asked, “How’s summer vacation treating you?”

  “My days are numbered.” Her lips thinned. “Mei is sending me to visit Nai Nai next week. Summers are supposed to be fun. Scrapbooking with Grandma? Not so much.”