Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) (42 page)

Maurice rubbed his cheeks. “This is all a guess, but you saved Mamello. There must be something inside you that can help. Something inside your make-up allowed you to convert an evil soul and use it for good.” He took a deep breath before announcing his final theory. “I believe Mamello inherited the energy from a soul you murdered. That’s why you don’t have eighteen marks.” His face fell; uncertainty filled his eyes. “Of course, I could be completely wrong and be shooting at minnows.”

I couldn't stop the shakes. It rattled me, earthquaked me. If what Maurice said was true, there was hope. Delicious, exquisite, incredible
hope.

Callan. I wanted to tell Callan.

My chest fell. He betrayed me. I’d never be able to share my news. After everything, we may have had a future after all. I might not have had to push him away because I was tainted and wrong.

My thoughts turned on me.
You did worse. You left him in an apartment with a corpse
. That was ten times more terrible. If I couldn’t forgive him for keeping information from me, how could I ever expect him to forgive
me
?  

This was such a mess. I was bone tired.

Hope and every facet of emotion were sucked into the black-hole of my soul. I was left cold and empty once again. Possibly living inside me were the evil dregs of the monsters I murdered. I wanted to throw up. Adrian's soul. Bazeer's soul. I needed them out. It was confirmed that it
was
their voices I heard, their dark tendencies urging me to do horrendous things.

I panicked. My hands pooled with sweat; my breathing grew irregular.
Get them out. Get them out.
I didn’t want to be a monster.
Get them out!

Maurice grabbed my chin, eyes shooting into mine. “Ocean. Calm down. We'll get them out of you, child.” He kissed me on both cheeks. “You’re such a unique, special girl. Oh, Ocean. I think I can find a way to save you.”

I was faint again. I might have a future. I might not be damned.  

I wanted to celebrate at the thought—to twirl, and dance. But all I could do was sit and wallow in the black filth inside. When was the last time I properly smiled and giggled? I couldn't remember. It was so long ago.

I could go back to the old me. I could love. I could adore Callan.

Callan.

I was unable to escape the thought of him; my shoulders fell. Was there any hope for us? He deserved better than me, but I was selfish enough to admit, I didn’t want to give him up. No matter how crazy I might’ve seemed in Bali.  

Maurice saw my face. He collected the laptop and brought it over. “Here. While I research, go find Callan. Make sure he's safe.”

Safe? Was that the right word after I left him with a bashed-in corpse? I nodded.

Mamello stood, holding out his hand.

I placed my cold one in his, allowing him to pull me upright. I wanted to be alone to message Callan. There was so much I wanted to say, and I needed time to think if this was my final goodbye—to set him free from the crazy woman I was—or if I was selfish enough to make it work.

“Thank you, Mamello. You've saved my live. I'll be forever in your debt.”

He smiled. “Those are my words. You owe me nothing.” He leaned in, whispering, “I will forever think of you as a Soul Purger from this day forward. You did me a great honor saving my life.”

I had no response to that. Leaving Maurice speaking rapidly on the phone, and Mamello tidying the lounge, I headed to my room and cuddled up in bed.

Opening my email, I swallowed back tears when I saw nothing from Callan. The guilt pressed on my chest again, and no matter how hard I fought, tears fell anyway.

Why
did I think Callan would email? He was probably wandering around a strange city, trying to get home. His passport was still in Bali. If he was overseas, he was in huge trouble.

I killed right in front of him. I disgusted him. I was as bad as the criminals he locked away.

A new message from someone I didn't recognize blinked in my inbox.

I clicked on it.

From:
[email protected]

Date:
24 July 2012

Subject:
Gifts and introductions

Dear Anomaly,

I know you have a gift. . . or is it a curse? I've never decided if teleporting, and the pain associated with it, fits into either category. There isn't anyone to discuss it with. I've been alone for so long. As have you.

Your secret is safe with me. Why? I have one too.

I'm like you. I want to meet.

Do you want to meet me?

Tariq Hunter.

My world fell away, leaving me standing on the precipice of the unknown.

The End

Acknowledgments

Well, I must admit. This is the scariest part of writing for me, as I don’t want to forget anyone who was so fundamental to my writing journey. Ocean Breeze all began with a dream, and the story would never have been told without the constant support of my hubby who suffers me having my nose in my laptop nine hours a day, and the amazing network of writers and friends I have made online. Let’s see if I can list them all: Cassie Mae—who was the very first critique partner to help guide me. She’s a best friend and introduced me to some amazing women: Kelley Gerschke, Jenny Morris, Hope Roberson, and Theresa Marie, we share so many laughs together and your input is invaluable. I know I would never have achieved my dreams without your constant support and critique. You guys are what every writer should have in their corner—here’s to the HNSD Ninjas. Amber Harville, Devin Cushman, Heather Simone, Suzi Retzlaff, and Victoria Smith, you guys rock and helped shape Ocean from draft to book. I love chatting with you, forming my ideas, shooting concepts, and generally becoming awesome friends.  Thanks to Anita Exley for being the only other writer friend I know in Middle Earth, having a kiwi-sense of humor, and being a great cheerleader. Thanks to my Mum and Dad for letting me use my imagination as a child, and for not yelling at me too much when I couldn’t stop reading at the dinner table. Thank you to my editor, Leah Wohl-Pollack from
www.everything-indie.com
, and my three (yes, I know I went over board) wonderful cover artists: Ricky Gunawan from
www.ricky-gunawan.daportfolio.com
and Michelle Johnson from
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Alex-me-design/190567480986754
, and Megan Kennedy from
http://www.facebook.com/abuseofreason?fref=ts
, you guys have made this book shine and have become fast friends. And lastly, thank you, to you, the reader. Thanks for your feedback, your reviews, and for (hopefully) enjoying Ocean’s and Callan’s story.

About the Author

Jade Hart can either be found spaced out in her imagination typing away, or with her nose deep in a book. If she isn’t writing or reading, she’s travelling the world with her hubby. She currently lives in Middle Earth, but has lived in Hong Kong, England, and Australia, and uses her many travels as inspiration for locations.

If you have feedback on this book, or would like to review an eARC of upcoming Ocean Breeze books, please don’t hesitate to contact her.

Thanks for reading!

Blog
:
www.dreamwritepublish.blogspot.com

Joint Blog
:
www.falling4fiction.blogspot.com

Twitter
: @JadeHart8

Email:
[email protected]

Facebook:
JadeHartAuthorPage

Other books by Jade Hart

Samsara:
An Urban Fantasy New Adult book which twists 4,000 year-old Hindu fables into a story full of puzzles and a love that lasts forever.

Ocean Slays:
Book two of Ocean Breeze, coming early 2013

Ocean Hunts:
Book three of Ocean Breeze, coming late 2013

Coffee and Cockpits:
Coming early 2013: A New Adult Contemporary Romance, featuring Nina Poppins, a flight attendant, who can’t decide if she wants the sexy co-pilot or the yummy engineer… and ends up having both. 

Sneak peak into Samsara

Loka has died. Again.

For the seventeenth time.

Each reincarnation cloaks the previous, and Loka never remembers her past, who she truly is. Not that it would help. Loka believes she's human... she’s mistaken.

Hidden deep in her rolodex of memories lurks darkness and power.

She is Kali, Goddess of Death, who kills and maims, then drapes herself in the ears of her victims. She is Parvati, wife to the God of Destruction, Shiva, and the key to his heart. She is also the Reincarnate Redeemer, with power to Soul Jump into unsuspecting humans, and help them with karma.

She is all of those and more: a deity with more personalities than a schizophrenic, and has been forced on a path to unlock who she truly is. With strange power tingling in her limbs, and tattoos that burn with bloodfire, the only help Loka receives is from her douche-of-a-celestial-guide who speaks in cryptic circles, and the mysterious and frightful half-beast, half-man, Shankara. He is as terrifying and deadly as an assassin, but despite Shankara’s passion to kill, Loka falls in love. As their bond increases, he reveals a dark secret:

Loka’s power is so great it could kill her and every soul alive if it isn’t harnessed correctly... And once she figures out the truth, she has one raging battle to fight. Brahma, the God of Creation, wants what swims in her veins, and he’ll stop at nothing to get it.

Chapter One: Deadly Equipment

If I’d known I was about to die, I would have kept my Brazilian wax appointment.

My blood pumped with every snare of the drum and my eyes refused to move from the sexy tatted drummer. 
God, he's hot. Why did I turn him down again?

Recalling the awkwardness of shutting down Dean last month made me fidget. That was until he attacked the drum set as if it was covered in spiders and sweat droplets went flying. The heaviness of the beat sent excitement sparking through my veins. They were going to make a fortune, and me too. I was their newly appointed manager. Appointed by myself, I may add.

Yep, this was a good move; the first in a while. It was safe to say I was… happy. But the fleeting moment of joy was pulverized into mind shattering pain. One second I was enjoying the gig; the next - white, hot torture.

My legs buckled and agony blazed through my chest. Even as the dusty floor caught me and I saw the harpoon of metal. . . it didn't seem real. But the wildfire of pain overtook everything else, and I knew. This was real. Most 
definitely 
real.

I screamed. I had to scream, the pain needed releasing before it consumed me, but only a gurgle made it past my lips. God, my 
heart.

The thudding gave way to spasms, and I looked down at my impaled body. I immediately wished I hadn't. A rod that had held the strobe lighting was embedded in my ribcage.

In frantic sympathy with my torment, my heart galloped, stalled, then sprinted. Adrenaline kicked in, fighting the foreign obstacle now displacing my organs.

An eternity passed while the band practice continued, oblivious to my impending demise. Trust me to hang around with a group of drug-hazed band members.

A riff of strings and thrash of cymbals bounced off the derelict warehouse walls. Music obviously much more important than me. How ironic. Only months ago they were swarming over me, more focused on my tits than their instruments. It was me who pushed them to embrace their talent rather than bonk the groupies. Not that I was ever a groupie, of course.