Beautiful Warrior (8 page)

While h
e undressed me, peeling away the simple layers of my clothes, I thought about the glittering white gown and how significant it had been. Maybe someday I would have the courage to tell him about my wedding fantasy. But for now, I was keeping it to myself.

Regardless of my secret, he was looking at me as if I was a butterfly
. His butterfly. His Painted Lady.

I arched and stretched
, fluttering my invisible wings for him. His mouth sought mine, our kisses spicy yet sweet, the dual sensations rolled into one.

He tasted wonderfully familiar, like everything that mattered
. I unbuttoned his shirt and tugged at his pants, anxious to feel his bared body next to mine.

Hot mercy.

He was already voraciously aroused, and when I stroked him, he went mad and kissed me all the more. He moved down my body and used his tongue on me, the way he’d done during the other wildly carnal times we’d been together.

What choice did I have but to enjoy it?

I thrashed beneath his wicked mouth, lifting my hips higher and pushing myself closer to the height of ecstasy.

Warmth
… 

Wetness
… 

A fever blasting through my bones
… 

He
made me come, and while I moaned and shuddered, he smiled.

He
used the condom, then slid between my thighs and thrust deep inside. I took him full-hilt, letting the wonder of him sweep me away.

He moved
at a dizzying pace, but I didn’t care. I wanted it fast and hot and beautiful.

Hungry for more, he
rolled over, getting into a position that put me on top. He clutched my waist and lifted me up and down. I leaned forward, my hair falling in disarray.

On
the edge of another orgasm, I clawed his chest, leaving marks on his skin. He tossed back his head and growled his release, triggering mine.

We floated down from
the feeling together, wrapped in the gentle aftermath of heart-pummeling sex.

He ran a lingering hand down my spine, and I closed my eyes, nestled in the salvation of his arms.

Chapter Eleven

The following afternoon
, I sat beside Duncan in his shiny black truck. He’d offered to drive me to The Manor so I could see Abby. He was going to wait in his vehicle while I hung out with her. I’d already thanked him a zillion times this morning for being so understanding.

We were listening to music, upbeat songs that should have eased my frame of mind
. But I couldn’t concentrate on anything except the fate of my nonexistent sister. Why couldn’t she be real? Why couldn’t she have been born into my family instead of me making her up?

“I wonder if you’re
an only child,” I said.

He stared out the windshield
. He was wearing sunglasses, his eyes hidden behind the lenses. “I hope so. I’d hate to think of another kid like me out there.”

“Once you uncover
your past, you’ll find out.”

“I never said I
was going to search. I just said that I would think about it.”

“I know, but I warned you that I would keep bugging you about it.”

“Let’s just concentrate on you for now.”

He
pulled into the parking lot at The Manor, and I gazed at the big stucco building, with its soft tan color, white trim, clay tile roof, and Spanish-style accents. I didn’t recall being a patient here, but I had selective memory when it came to my illness. Sometimes I remembered things and sometimes I didn’t. Mostly I’d been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, but I wasn’t a textbook case. My symptoms were complicated, especially since they’d first appeared when I was a child.

Duncan
parked in a spot that was nearest to the garden. That was where I typically met with Abby.

I gathered my purse
. “I’ll try not to be too long.” 

“I’ll be here, either way.”

I thanked him once again and exited the truck. The staff at The Manor always allowed me onto the grounds. Since I’d been a patient here, they knew my medical history and were used to me stopping by to visit Abby. Or pretend to see her, or whatever it was that I was actually doing.

I cut across
the lawn toward the garden, appreciating the prettiness it provided—the plants, the trees, the vine-covered arbors, and wrought iron benches.

I spotted Abby
, my sweet little sister with her choppy blonde hair, sitting cross-legged on the ground. I noticed that she was wearing a sleeveless dress, the fabric dotted with pink hearts. I didn’t know if the hearts were a positive sign or a testament to sadness.

Seven wasn’t with her and neither were the others
. I sucked in my breath, praying that they’d made it back. If they didn’t, how was I going to cope with the pain it would cause?

I hurried over to Abby, and she glanced up and smiled, putting my worries to rest.

I sat beside her, and she said, “My people returned yesterday. They’re taking Dingo for a walk. They’ll be back soon.”

What a moment, I thought
. What a rush. Abby looked like a little imp, grinning from ear to ear. But mostly I thought of her as a fairy. She had invisible wings, too, only hers were adorned with glitter.

“How’s it going with Seven?” I asked.

“He’s amazing.”  She leaned in close. “We haven’t been together all the way yet. But now that we know he’s safe from the monsters, we will.”

My
virgin sister was talking about sex. “I know how much he loves you, and how much you want to give yourself to him.” 

“Like you gave yourself to Duncan?”

“Yes.”  Except that Duncan and I were flesh and blood, and Seven and Abby weren’t. But it was useless to make that point. Abby wasn’t going to accept that she and Seven and the rest of her people weren’t real.

I glanced in the direction of where I assumed
they’d gone for a walk, and lo and behold, Dingo came bounding across the lawn, with Bud, Face, and Seven trailing behind him.

I hopped
up, anxious to see them. I didn’t care how nutty I looked, welcoming my hallucinations. I’d already been sitting there, chatting with a make-believe sibling.

Dingo greeted me wit
h a chipper bark, Bud offered a charming hello, and Face rolled his eyes, as if I didn’t matter at all. And Seven…wild, messy-haired Seven…

He
strode forward and pulled me into a brotherly hug. I nearly wept from the affection.

“Dorothy
’s back,” he said.

I buried my smile against his shoulder
. “And so is Scarecrow.”

Abby
stood, and Seven went over to her. They clasped hands, and I marveled over how beautiful they looked together.

“Wow
,” I said. “What an amazing couple you are.”

“We think so
, too,” Seven replied. “But don’t get too comfortable with the situation and forget about us.”

“Why
would she do that?” Abby asked.

Instead of discussing the things that Abby refused to accept,
Seven said, “I just want to be sure Vanessa knows that we’ll always need her.”

“Because we’re family?” my sister inquired.

“Yes,” he told her. “And family sticks together.”

“Not Aunt Carol,” Abby said, going off on one
of her tangents. “She can’t be trusted.” 

My sister
was paranoid of our aunt. Sometimes I was, too, even though I tried not to be. Aunt Carol was a good woman, but she wanted me to separate myself from Abby, to erase her from my mind and never bring her back.

Seven
cocked his head, and I got the feeling that he’d just read my troubled mind. I wished that he wasn’t so well informed. It would be easier if he was scatterbrained like Abby. Then again, Abby had a gifted IQ. She wasn’t dumb. She was just sick.

“I should go,” I said
, reminding myself that I was the one who was ill. “Duncan is waiting for me in his truck.”

“How about if I walk
you out?” Seven suggested. “Just partway?”

He obviously wanted to have a private conversation with me
. It didn’t seem right to refuse him, so I agreed.

After we were ou
t of earshot, he said, “When you returned from 105, were you catatonic?”

“Yes
. Why?”

“Because those are the types of hallucinations you
’ve had about me and Abby, where it streams quickly through your mind like a movie.”

Duncan had likened it to a movie, too
. “So I’ve been catatonic before?” 

“
It happens sometimes when you’re alone in your room.”

“How often?”

“Often enough to give Abby and me private moments together.”

I already knew that I was responsible for their relationship and that I’d probably had hallucinations about them I couldn’t remember. But hearing it from Seven made a bigger impact. “Do you think it will keep happening? Or that I’ll remember it if it does?”

“I have no idea.” 
He dragged a hand through his rock ‘n’ roll hair. “I wish I could just run off to Vegas and marry your sister.” 

My heart went out to him
. Apparently I wasn’t the only one with a wedding fantasy. “I understand how you feel.”

“
I figured you would. But damn, it hurts, you know? I hate that Abby and I aren’t in charge of our destinies.”

“I’m not in charge of my mine, either
.”

“
Yes, you are. Or at least you can try to be.”

He wa
s right. My situation was much more hopeful than his. Guilty, I glanced away from him.

After a
beat of silence, he said, “You should get back to Duncan before he thinks we kidnapped you.”

I tried for a smile and failed
. “I think he knows better.”

“
Yeah, I suppose he does.”  His attempt to smile was just as weak. He wasn’t living up to his Smiling Seven name today.

“I’ll see you,
Vanessa.”

“
You, too,” I replied.

He turned in the direction of where my sister was waiting for him, and
I walked swiftly to Duncan’s truck, tears swimming in my eyes.

“W
hat happened?” he asked, as soon as I climbed into the cab.

“Nothing
. It went fine. Abby is with her people, and everyone is safe and sound.”

He removed his sunglasses to get a better look at me
. “Then why are you crying?”

“
It just makes me sad that none of them are real. That when I’m not hallucinating about them, they don’t exist.”

“I
’ll try to help you cope with it, okay? Somehow, some way, we’ll manage your feelings together.” 

The compassion in Duncan
’s voice intensified my ache. “Are we going to manage your feelings together, too? Are you going to let me help you search for your past?”

He frowned
. “I don’t know.” 

I
quit sniffling and pulled the seatbelt across my body. “So there’s a different set of rules for you than for me?”

“I don’t know,” he said again, and started the engine.

He drove me home, and we sat in the cab, mired in emotion.

I leaned closer, and he
toyed with my hair, letting it slide through his fingers. As our mouths came together in a heart-pangy kiss, my eyes drifted closed.

Eve
rything about Duncan took my breath away. The boy who’d lived on the streets. The graffiti artist. The man battling amnesia. I wanted to be there for him, just as he was here for me.

When we separated,
I opened my eyes and said, “We are going to manage everything together. You and me and the traumas we face.”

“Listen to you, little butterfly, telling me what we’re going to do.”
 

“I’m tougher than I look.”
Of course that wasn’t saying much, considering the fragile wings attached to my back.

He kissed me again,
one last sinfully sweet time, and I got out of the truck.

A
s I approached the front door, I turned to admire him, to let his beauty seep into my soul. He smiled, and I sent him a confident wave. Because there was one thing I knew for certain.

The
beautiful warrior I loved was real.

End of Book Two
 

(To learn more about the
true-life “warrior” who inspired this series,
please turn the page for a note from author Sheri Whitefeather.)