Whatever It Takes - A Standalone Second Chance Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boys After Dark Book 8)

by Gabi Moore

  A body now bounces along the wake of the serpent.

  There is no pain.

  A soft, warm glow radiates from the inside of the vessel.

  There is no fear.

  Time itself has ceased to hold any meaning.

  Attachment to the world of the living is absent.

  There is no realm of the dead. The vessel floats in an amniotic stasis in the Bardo between the realms.

  That last thought echoed around in my mind for a while, pushing me along toward whatever reflections may be forthcoming. From that point, I moved into nostalgia.

  I thought about all of the relationships I had been fortunate enough to have, and all of the pain that was associated with each of those relationships. Every single time I had grown close to somebody, there was this feeling of total and complete betrayal. The sadness was profound, and then I realized that there was no reason for the sadness, or the anger, or even the joy.

  Holding onto those concepts was about as realistic as holding onto those friends.

  If relationships and emotions are impermanent, and all of my states of mind are impermanent, then what is this thing that is holding onto me?

  I looked down at my body.

  That same body that I had reviled and despised throughout all of my experiences. That same body that had carried me when I had needed to achieve some pressing and ultimately futile goal. That body was outlined in light, a small, slow light that came out from the inside of my chest, and pushed me forward through the darkness between realms.

  Light, of that sort, can only be called hope, because it refuses to part, even when all sensibilities indicate that reality should be otherwise.

  Would I retain this light if I had been eaten by the Leviathan?

  The thought bounced outward, but no response came back. No verbal response anyways. The light, on the other hand, continued in spite of my question, and I felt both petty and childish at the same time.

  At that point, I realized that I was in a place that had been designated for myself, by myself. Or, at least, I realized that this might be a possibility.

  I started to unfold myself, pushing my shoulders around a bit, and turning my neck this way and that. I wanted to try and wake myself up. To see if I could push my existence toward something different. I wanted to know if it was possible to move myself through space with the same freedom as was available for my mind to reflect on whichever topic came to mind.

  My body unfurled, and I directed myself like an arrow toward somewhere, anywhere that the light would grow, and this awful, terrible, oppressive darkness would be forced to subside. The thought itself modified the world around me, and I saw in the distance a clear reflective shimmer, the faint bit of hope that there was more to be found.

  Traveling toward the light was easier than I thought. My body began moving upward of its own accord. There was nothing stopping me any longer. All I needed to do was push forward, and I was propelled by a force from within. The environment itself wanted me to move forward. I was being guided by the hand of fate.

  The water around me grew less dense, and then when I reached the surface, I found that beyond the surface, was a brilliantly colored sky, full of pastel pinks and oranges. The light around me faded in the face of the light from without, and the temperature of the water dropped to a point where it was barely comfortable. Something changed around me, and suddenly, I realized that I was no longer floating in-between realms. I had in fact surfaced in one of them.

  The air in my lungs came in gasping mouthfuls, and the water on my lips tasted like salt. I looked down at my body and saw that I was no longer a Demon. However, I was neither Fae nor Human at that point.

  There were strange anatomical differences that were incongruent. I tried to place myself, and soon became overwhelmed and anxious. I began to panic, and the full awareness that I was a vulnerable creature once more, and too far from the shore for personal comfort. Moving my body now, and finding coordination once more, I began to swim through the water toward the shore.

  Initially, I didn't make much progress, but I managed to figure out my coordination, and soon enough was making steady progress toward having land under my feet. The only time I got creeped out was when I remembered the sensation of the serpent that had passed by me when I was floating in the water below. The memory brought more than a bit of anxiety to my mind, though I didn't have the luxury of focusing on those fears at the moment. I had a solid trek to get through, and I was fast running out of stamina. My body felt like I had just woken up out of a dream, but the problem was that I did not feel nearly as refreshed as I would have felt after a solid night's sleep.

  Quieting down my mind, I limited my activity to a series of motions. First focusing on pairing up alternating movements of my hands and feet, and then working on allowing my body to move fluidly through the water in its expression. Once I started to utilize more finesse, and let the abrasive anxieties and lack of coordination wear off, I made fairly steady headway toward the shoreline.

  By the time I got closer, I was able to catch a few waves in, by surfing along the contour of the waves with my body. Feeling like I was propelled enough along the surface of the water by the currents themselves was a massive relief. The rush of the water in my ears, and the sound of the waves crashing around me was a beautiful sensation. The feelings that ran through me were more of a refreshing, and calm baptism, than the pain of uncertainty.

  Each wave that I rode passed through me, until one of them carried me along and deposited me ungracefully on the shore. My body slammed into the sand, and I rolled beneath the final expression of the wave. The sounds around me changed to a soft hiss, accented by the sound of birds overhead. As the water receded back into the ocean, I felt the wet sand lodge itself in my armpits and hair. My body sank into the sand of the beach, and I absorbed the rays of light overhead.

  Looking up overhead, I saw that there were not one, but two orbs of light in the sky. The second sun was a brilliant violet color. Colors changed all round it in gradients away from a pure bright center. The contrast between the two suns brought out strange burnt colors in the atmosphere like I had never seen before. Another wave rushed over me, and water poured into my nostrils. The feeling was abrupt, and unpleasant, so I stood up, and got my bearings.

  My body retained elements from all of the different forms I had experienced thus far, though the overall combination was not terribly impressive.

  My skin was fleshy and pale. There were no protective scales, or luxurious natural tones. A quick look down at my hands and I realized that my claws had diminished from their weaponized, demonic state, but not quite as refined and gracious as they had been when I was a human. I might still be able to do some damage with them, but they were significantly less powerful than I remembered.

  I brought my hand to my mouth, and realized that my teeth were disappointingly sharp. I would still be able to eat well, and I could likely use them as a weapon as well, but the implications of tasting more blood in my mouth didn't quite sit with me.

  The water wasn't still enough to give me any sort of affirmative about my eyes, but I imagined that if the source of light was different in this world, my eyes wouldn't be the same either.

  Possibly the most disappointing aspect of my new form wasn't any of the physical characteristics just listed -- it was my wing.

  At least while I had been a demon, I had enjoyed the pleasure of flight once more. When I had been a human, the tattoos had at least been appealing in their own way. Whatever form I was in now, was just as disabled as my Fae body.

  I collapsed onto my ass and felt the first waves of loss pass through me. Each wave that followed made its own attempt at cheering me back up, and placing me back in that state of elation and purpose that had been so restorative. I looked around at the new world before my eyes and cried, alone on the shoreline.

  What have I done?

  Epilogue

  “Mom, mom! There’s a dead man on the sidewalk! Come quic
k!”

  The voices were faint, but they came through all right. The visions of afterlife still burned behind my eyelids. I had seen things that no man should ever be asked to see while continuing to be asked to live his life.

  “See! See! He’s not moving, and he’s just laying there!”

  “Oh my God. Somebody call an ambulance.”

  “No luck ma’am, you think he’s the only one, you’re delusional. Take a look around, this place is in awful shape. He’s probably another one of those freaks. Better to leave the dead where they are.”

  Freaks?

  I struggled to move, and with some effort, I was able to push myself upward.

  “Eeep!”

  “This one’s still got a pulse!”

  “Quick, roll him over.”

  “Oh my God, what happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe some kind of cult.”

  “Mom, why does he have markings all over his face?”

  “Hush…”

  “I don’t like this… I don’t think we should help him.”

  “Maeve said that she found a weird one the other day. Wings, and sharp teeth, like a demon. They tied it up and poured gasoline all over it. You know what happened next. They look human enough at first glance, but they’d just as soon eat your children as shake your hand.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “Sure I do. Maeve told me herself.”

  “What the hell does Maeve know? Besides, do you see wings on this one?”

  “You know, I’d do it just to be safe… back off. I’ll bet the wings are hidden underneath those robes of his.”

  A boot to the shoulder woke me out of my dream-state. The pain was so sudden and undeserved. A flare of anger grew inside of me. I tried to cut it out, but I couldn’t.

  Another sharp kick to the side, and my hand reached out of its own accord and grabbed the man by his leg. I was weak, but all I really needed was a point of contact. I reached into his body, and touched the only part of him that I could see clearly anymore. My fingers grasped something delicate, and separated it from his body.

  The man fell down to the floor, and his soul went free.

  Everyone screamed — and then, there was silence.

  - THE END -

  Part IV

  Star-Reach - A Paranormal Romance

  Chapter 1

  It wasn’t dark.

  Not yet.

  Snow flitted down between Laova’s squinting eyes and the brilliant farewell of the sun. Lumbering snow clouds of purple and gray slung low between the mountains, and had made the short day blank and without color.

  Laova was glad—so very glad—that they’d broken just for a moment to let the light through. There had been no such luck, yesterday, and all of her party had feared in silent communion that the long night had started early, that perhaps they’d each already seen their last glimmer of sunlight.

  Today was the Short Eve, the briefest day of the year. It was a day of common unease, with the taste of fearful anticipation on the air. No one spoke of it, but every task was made a distraction, every word a changing of subject, on this day. This sunset might be the last. The sun had always returned, every year in living memory, but perhaps it would not. Not this time.

  The warmth lay thick on her face for a moment, and Laova basked within it. She was a dark-child, born in the weeks of night when the moon ruled these mountains. Her birth had come early and easily, as if the All-Mother had always intended her to come into a world of night. Few dark-children survived. Laova had. Perhaps she should embrace the darkness, then—thank it for her life.

  Laova smiled as the wind lulled, just for a spell, and the full heat of the passing sun shone on her white face and neck. Not this time.

  It was still day, maybe for the last, but for at least a few more minutes.

  It wasn’t dark. Not yet.

  ***

  They had set camp together seven times before this night, as was custom. Seven nights, seven companions. Tonight, the short tents were constructed, the fire lit, and a small supper was ready to prepare. All of their party sat about the fire, but the attention was upon the Hunt-Leader and the Initiate, the adult-to-be.

  Laova loved to hunt, and had known without doubt what she wanted when the time came to choose her future life. On the twentieth dark moon of each life, a man or woman was born, and expected to make a decision. Laova chose to become a hunter; nothing else was possible. Her life would wither without the freedom of the woods and mountains, and the feel of her spear, of her bow, in hand. So she had told the clan Chief, who had bowed her head in approval.

  Excited, Laova sat opposite Rell and tried not to fidget.

  It was full dark, now, and snow still slanted and sifted down around the oasis of heat that was their little fire. The sky overhead swelled black with sloughing clouds, not a star to be seen, nor the silver-drop face of the moon. Rell cleared her throat and began the short ritual; the Hunt was beginning.

  “Laova,” she pronounced clearly. “Tonight begins the twentieth long night of your life, and a decision is before you. Make it now. Who will you be?”

  Of course, the decision had been made months ago. She kept eye contact with Rell, although she nearly let her betraying gaze slip away across the fire, to someone who had only watched her so intently in her fantasies. A flush of heat crept up her back beneath her wools and furs, but Laova replied resolutely.

  “Laova, of the Hunters.”

  Rell smiled; as always, Laova felt a pang of gentle envy as she did so. Rell the Hunt-Leader was an older woman, this being her thirtieth-something dark moon, but she was beautiful and fierce as a mountain cat. Her smile was not warm but precise, as if the gods had carefully crafted her face for only unexpected loveliness. But more, she was crowned with shining orange tresses that ripped a hole in the dark of the night as if with the coming of dawn. Laova’s own river-bed brown locks looked quite dull in comparison.

  But as they shared a smile, Laova’s admiration turned to camaraderie, and she smiled in return.

  “Then join us, Laova,” Rell replied; a coy tease between stoic ritual and the thrill of a beginning—something new and alive—thickened in the air. “Be a Hunter with us. Track with us. Fight with us. Live with us. Die with us.”

  “I will,” Laova promised.

  “As you are born tonight a Hunter, so you will live, and so you will die.”

  “I will,” Laova agreed.

  “The clan’s life, and our life. Our life, and your life. Your place is decided, and you must live by it.”

  “I will,” Laova breathed, grinning.

  A roaring cheer went up between them, a joyful howl like the song of wolves. It echoed briefly through the night, unafraid—just this once—of what might hear. It was a fearful life they lived, aware of the harsh world whose heart they rested within. The cold, bitter, endless winter. The ravaging of bear and wolf and mountain cat. The threat of other tribes, other clans that sometimes grew desperate, dangerous, in the mad grip of the long night…

  But here and now, Laova felt again the promise of the sun, and curiously felt in her soul that still, even now, it was not dark. Not yet.

  “Time for the story,” Ghal announced gleefully.

  All of them groaned. Even solemn Rell rolled her eyes.

  “Must we?” Khara teased. She gave Laova a wink across the flames.

  “Yes,” Ghal grouched. It was good-natured grouching, however, and good-natured teasing. They all knew the way of things. Each new adulthood must begin with remembering.

  Now that attention was off of her, Laova let her eyes wander, let them fall heavily where they’d longed to go.

  He was perfect. Nemlach.

  This was his twenty-seventh long night, so he was a little older than herself. He’d never married; by some immense luck, few girl-babes had been born in the years near him, so men of the clan had sometimes been left solitary. Some had chosen to leave and marry women of other tribes; Laova
was fervently relieved Nemlach had not been one of them.

  His hair was black, like the night sky over their campfire. Carved white stones woven into braids were picked out like stars, and Laova had always longed for the opportunity to examine them more closely. His hair was wild compared to his beard, which he kept short and neat. It cupped a long, dusky face, a quiet face, a face Laova had spent much time examining with both her eyes and heart.

  She knew she was young to be coveting such a fine man. He was a respected Hunter, and beloved of the Grandmother. It was said that Nemlach had been expected to submit himself to the ways of the spirits when his initiation came; instead, he’d chosen to hunt, and no one except the Grandmother could regret it. The Grandmother was their link with the gods, their shaman, and she accepted few into the House of Spirit.

  Laova was also relived at this; the Spirit-speakers could marry, but rarely did. It was unlucky.

  Some happenstance of fortune had brought him here, unattached, available, within her grasp tonight. Just the thought sent an excited shiver across her skin. And now that she was an adult, Laova was permitted to act on her feelings. If she dared.

  While she’d been gazing with embarrassing frankness at Nemlach, Ghal had situated himself and now cleared his throat.

  “We live in the shadow of greatness,” he began.

  Without warning, Nemlach’s blue eyes—clear and blue as ice—crossed the fire and met Laova’s. She was so shocked she froze, staring at him, motionless, like a deer locked eyes with a wolf. In her mind, Laova waited in agony for him to smirk or frown. He did neither; to her surprise a tiny, shy, welcome smile turned up one edge of beard, and he gave his attention back to Ghal and the Losing Story once more.

  Her heart punched at the inside of her ribcage as Laova did the same.

  “Before us, there were the Eldermen,” Ghal was continuing. This role was his because in their group, he was the oldest, at forty-two dark moons. Laova couldn’t imagine. Such years seemed so far away.