Kali Willows BUNDLE (Shadowed Desires Series) (16 page)

“Look at me, dammit. You owe me that much.” His voice broke on the command.

Confused, she contemplated a witty response, but failed to summon the courage. She didn’t want to see his face.

“Look at me.” He roared and grabbed her arms and shook her abruptly. “I said look at me, Tawny.”

Hesitant, she complied.

“Oh my God.” She wheezed and stumbled backward clumsily. “But you’re dead.” Her eyes widened with horror as she backed away, clutching her blanket to her chest. Tawny’s feet got caught up in the length of the satin material dragging on the floor behind her. She toppled over, striking her head. The sharp pain was overtaken with looming darkness.

***

Her head throbbed relentlessly. Unwilling to open her eyes, she lay still, gripping the down filled duvet, pulling it up to her aching chin. Focusing on her breathing, the muffled sound of voices in the distance alerted her. Laura, and—him. Arguing.

Not knowing what was happening; the sudden replay in her head of the events before this moment came flooding back. Waves of remorse and confusion rushed over her. “Why the hell would she do this?” His tone was loud enough to make her want to scream, the throbbing in her eyes increased in proportion to his volume.

“Wyatt, I’m telling you, she thought you died; she had no idea. She never left you.” Loyal Laura, defending her as usual.

“Oh no? Then what about the letter she left me?”

“What letter?”

“A typed letter, in an envelope with my name on it. That’s all that I found when I climbed up to her window that night.”

Letter?
Tawny searched her memory to no avail.

“I had my pickup truck packed and running. I did what we agreed on, I climbed the rose trellis. She broke my heart.”

“Wyatt, her parents told her you died in a car crash. It devastated her. They put her in a boarding school and left her there while they jetted around the world. Tawny has been mourning you ever since.”

“She really thought I died?” His tone softened with bewilderment.

“When she lost the love of her life, a part of her died that night.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

“Tawny and I went to boarding school together for four years. She is my best friend.”

“Boarding school? She always said she would never set foot in one. Her parents threatened to put her there; that’s why we decided to elope.”

“She never would have in a million years, but the moment she thought you were dead, she lost her will to live and had no fight left in her. She never recovered.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe all this time….”

“What?”

“I thought she—I—”

“She never said anything about a letter. What did it say?”

“When I climbed up to her window, I found that envelope taped right to the glass. I took it and put it in my pocket and tried to open the window. The house was dark. Her room was empty. I sat in my truck reading this cold, impersonal note from her, telling me I would never be the man she deserved. It said I would never amount to anything, never be able to take care of her, and could never love her enough.”

“Why would you think she wrote that letter? Did she sign it?”

“No, but it was typed on the old typewriter I got her at a swap meet. It had a missing
W.
”

“Oh Wyatt, they didn’t! I knew Bill and Deloris were cold, but I never imagined they would have done something like that.”

“The night we decided to get married she assured me money would never sway her feelings for me. She promised to always love me and that we would find our way in the world together. She knew I had no family, nothing, except for her. When she left, it crushed me.” His voice cracked.

Tawny stood in the doorway watching him as he fell into the chair, dropping his head into his hands. Laura patted his back trying to soothe him.

“Wyatt, I had no idea. I thought—” she choked, unable to say the words.

“I should have known. They said they would never let us be together. I should have doubted them. I should have—”

Tawny fell to her knees as she cried; her aching head pulsating from the pressure. The warmth of his hands on her arms brought some relief as he eased her to her feet. Wyatt took her into his embrace and held her tight while Tawny sobbed into his shoulder.

“Fifteen years, all this time, wasted.”

“So you really did love me, Tawny?” He held her at arm’s length, examining her eyes.

“Wyatt, I never stopped loving you.”

“Wow.”

“Starfish.” She half laughed as she sobbed.

“Starfish?”

“Yesterday, on the beach, remember?” Tawny cupped his wet cheek in the palm of her hand.

“Yes, our starfish; looks like it wasn’t the only one nature helped to find his way back to where it belonged.”

A soft sound of sniveling beside them distracted Tawny from her moment of bitter-sweet glee. “Laura?”

Her friend wiped her own tears away. A knock broke the tender moment. “I’ll get it.” Laura jumped up and opened the door. “Yes, Doctor, please come in, she’s awake.”

As the doctor examined her, Tawny sat up on the bed, still dumbfounded and shocked. Wyatt sat at her side, holding her hand.

“Yes Ms. Reeve, it seems you have a minor concussion, the cut on your scalp from the fall doesn’t need any stitches. You’re very fortunate.” He patted her arm, offering a professional, reassuring smile.

“I guess I am, now.” She grinned, squeezing Wyatt’s hand.

“I’ll see you out, Doctor.” Wyatt escorted the short, stout man to the door.

He opened it, and another man’s voice rang out, hearty and loud. “Well, Wyatt, a night of romance, only you would end up with someone getting knocked out.” He chortled.

“Funny Jackson.” He spoke with a low grumble.

“May we?”

“Of course.” Wyatt stepped aside welcoming a couple into the room.

“Jackson, Leah, I have someone I would like you to meet.” He walked into the room and the handsome couple followed. “Tawny, this is my—well-meaning friend Jackson, and his lovely wife Leah.” Wyatt’s charming voice now filled with pride. “You guys won’t believe this but Tawny—”

“Madame Evangeline has a remarkable gift, Wyatt, I trust you now agree?” Leah grinned with an impish light in her eyes.

“I suppose I do now.” He laughed.

Tawny sighed. All these people, when she really just wanted to be alone with Wyatt, after all these years….

“Well, it seems it’s getting crowded in here, perhaps you will all join us at our special table for brunch downstairs?” Jackson wrapped an arm around his wife and smiled.

“You guys go ahead.” Tawny blushed a little. “We’ll catch up with you.” Gazing at Wyatt, she communicated a different type of appetite. Catching onto her thinking, he opened the door, escorting the cheerful crowd out, and locked the door behind them.

Terminal Lust

Chapter One

Overwhelmed by excruciating panic, she worked to free her arms, legs, and heavy chest. Trying to force a scream out, nothing worked—her eyelids the only part of her paralyzed body that obeyed her.

Ambrosia squinted hard and forced herself to inhale a slow, deep breath, then tried to wiggle her fingers. The slight twitch empowered her. She moved her toes, and then her head a little, side to side, and finally she was gaining control. Drawing air in, the soothing whiff of amber and vanilla danced in her nose. The oil infuser at her bedside made waking up a little more enjoyable despite her discomfort.

Sighing with relief, she glanced over to the glaring red numbers on her nightstand. Three thirty-three. The same time every morning. This mundane existence was exhausting. Waking up with her heart pounding, perspiration streaming from every pore, despite the chill that overtook her body—was her illness taking its course? Restless now that her strength began to return, she flung the soaked covers off and eased her feet onto the cold floor, feeling around for her fuzzy slippers.

A cup of chamomile tea might help her get back to sleep and even warm up a little. Cloaking herself in her terrycloth housecoat, she wandered down to the kitchen, flicking lights on along her way. Ambrosia dragged the kettle to the tap and forced the faucet on with weak fingers. She curled up in her rocking chair by the window to read yesterday’s paper.

She read over the local news, wishing she had some interest in anything outside of her self-pity. A carnival was in town this weekend—rides, games, derby.
A gypsy fortuneteller
! Her doctors could provide no explanation for her morning fright. Maybe the psychic could give her some answers.
I’ll go tonight
.

The kettle clicked and Ambrosia hauled herself out of the chair. She gripped the handle with all her meager strength and poured the steaming water into her big cobalt mug. While the brew steeped, she wandered over to her desk and turned on her laptop. A number of emails downloaded, mostly spam, then she gasped—the reply she had been waiting for from Madame Evangeline. The date had been set.

***

Bright, twinkling carnival lights had offered a thrill in her youth. The loud chatter of passersby, the continuous bantering of the carnies who tried to hustle unsuspecting parents into blowing a bundle on a tiny, fifty-cent stuffed bear, the buttery smell of popcorn and the hot sugar aroma of cotton candy….

Even the laughter of people at the games, and the screams of excitement on the clanking rollercoaster as it climbed to the terrifying top of the hill had no impact on her. She walked through the crowd on heavy legs, stepping over spilled pop containers, scattered midway tickets, and the rest of the trash that littered the asphalt. Connecting with nothing and no one, she was the equivalent of the walking dead.

Under the starlit sky, the primary colors of the striped tents loomed dark and dingy, perfect props for the eerie aura that encompassed the sultry summer evening. Ambrosia scanned the row of tents and then spotted the sign:
Madame Zovka’s Fortune Telling
. Grabbing a handkerchief from her back pocket, she dabbed beads of perspiration from her forehead and temples as she approached the open flap.

“Come in child, I’ve been waiting for you.”

An older gypsy woman with long, flowing silver hair sat behind a table in a black velvet and pink satin paisley shawl. Her gold-coined headscarf glittered in the flickering lights of the dozens of candles lit throughout the makeshift tent.

“Me?” Ambrosia eyed the woman patting the red tablecloth with her wrinkled hand.

“Yes, you dear, the one with questions about her sleep.” The bright pink lipstick creased in dark lines over her weathered lips and the thick dusting of rouge on her wrinkled cheeks seemed fitting with her attire. Chantilly perfume, with the heady scent of sandalwood and orange blossoms lingered about her. A quaint and eccentric lady with kind blue eyes, and a smile that could melt an iceberg.

“How did you…?” Ambrosia’s pulse began to race for the first time in weeks.

“Sit and have some tea, and we can have a nice chat, little one.” Ambrosia nodded, easing her way into the squeaky, wooden folding chair.

“My name is Madame Zovka.” She poured the tea from an old teapot.

“Hello, I’m Ambrosia.”

“Your parents were romantics, weren’t they dear, with a powerful draw to Greek and Roman times?”

“Yes.” The question evoked a flash of warm, childhood memories of her beloved parents, reading her fascinating stories of the Greek gods. “I suppose that explains my unusual name.”

“You still miss them so.” Madame Zovka put the teapot down and patted her hand. “You were twelve when they passed?”

Ambrosia’s stomach flipped. “Yes, in a car accident. Can you speak with them?” A tear started to form.

“My child,
you
speak to them all the time. They say you are such a sad person, but one of great strength and determination. Give me your hand, little one. Let me read your fortune.” She put the teacup beside Ambrosia’s left hand, collected her right one, and examined her palm.

“What do you see?” She was a little skeptical. Coming for a reading was probably pointless; she already knew her fate. It was undisputable.

“You have lost your faith; therefore you have lost your will, my dear.” Madame traced her finger along the telling lines.

“It would seem so.” The warmth of a tear spilled down her cheek. She didn’t have the strength to hold it back.

“You stopped taking your medicine?” Madame glanced up with alarm in her eyes.

“Yes.”

“They told you there is no hope. They gave you such a short time—six weeks?” She took in a sharp breath.

“Yes, I didn’t see a need for pills and needles if there is no hope. I don’t feel there’s any dignity or quality of life for me in that.”

“Your body has been through so much, it is understandable.” Her grip tightened and the compassion in her expression was compelling.

“Was I wrong to do so?” A hint of hope sparked for a brief moment.

Madame looked down again, analyzing the map of her life and shook her head with a furrowed brows and pressed lips.

“I am sorry, child. I do not see healing for your illness; at least, not in the conventional way.” She sat back, raised her teacup to her fuchsia stained lips, and sipped loudly.

Ambrosia’s heart sank with defeat as the words saturated her soul—then struck a chord. “Wait, what do you mean conventional?”

“Your body is fragile and getting weaker every day. Your blood, your immune system cannot fight off the cancer any longer.”

“That I knew.” The slight animation dissolved. Why did she put herself through it—another false hope?

“It involves the taste of copper.” The gypsy’s brows rose along with her voice.

“Copper? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t see clearly, but there is an insatiable thirst.”

“I don’t get it.” A sigh of frustration slipped out; her shoulders dropped.

“You have questions about awaking every morning at three thirty-three, and in such an uncomfortable way.”