Stunned (The Lucidites Book 2) (37 page)

And once again he’s done it. He’s dipped into the deepest reservoirs of my emotions and found the hollowed out part of me and filled it.

“You do too, George.”

“Then this kind of seems like a no-brainer to me,” he says, a smile in his voice.

A nervous laugh escapes my mouth.

“Before we left for the Grotte you said you’d tell me how you feel about me. I told you to wait. Will you tell me now?” He’s encased behind his normal hardened exterior. With all its intimidation it still begs to be broken.

“Well, you already know.”

“But I want to hear it from
you
.”

“Okay,” I say to the carpet. “I feel like you sincerely care about me. I feel like your loyalty is unconditional.”

“Never mind.” Anger flares in his words.

“George,” I say, astonished.

“Roya, I already know how I feel about you. That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a coward.”

“No you’re not.” He runs his thumb along my jawline. “You’re the most stunning person I’ve ever met.”

“I feel…” I stop, studying the pulsing in my heart. “I feel like I don’t deserve you.”

A question rises in his eyes, but he doesn’t speak.

“I keep trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter, but I fear one day you’ll wake up and see me for who I really am, and not the idolized version that I think you see right now. When that happens then I’m going to be destroyed inside because I’ll have convinced myself that my love for you was enough even with all its flaws.”

He shakes his head, a knowing look in his eyes. “What you don’t know is an ounce of your love is greater than most people feel in a lifetime. I felt that you could control the wind before you knew it, because you carry its power in your love.”

In that moment he must know he owns me. I could look away and break the spell, but I don’t. Rising to my tiptoes I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me. “George, I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. I’m so confused,” I say, my words brushing against his skin.

His hands grip my hips, drawing me into him. “Stop thinking so much and just do what feels right.”

I rub my nose against his and our lips graze. I take in the shape and firmness of his mouth. With each soft kiss I study him more, absorbing the way his hands clutch my hips, his thumbs caressing my hip bones. George’s kisses are hungry, and resonate in my lips even after he pulls away.

♦

“You did what?” Samara looks at me in disbelief.

I kick the sand a bit, feeling the weight of my bad decision in my heart. Even the brilliant blue-Gatorade-colored water on the beaches of Bora Bora aren’t making me feel better right now.

“I know, it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” I say, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I feel so guilty kissing both Aiden and then George. I feel dirty.”

Samara twists her long hair up on her head and pins it there with a few bobby pins. “Ummm…I disagree. It was the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

The gentle water splashes up on my feet and ankles before receding again. “I’m sure you have some incredibly flawed reasoning that’s supporting that opinion,” I say, staring off at Mount Otemanu.

“No offense, but you’re about as affectionate as a great white shark.”

“Ha,” I laugh. “None taken.”

“But George changes you,” Samara says. “When before George did you ever make the first move?”

“Never,” I say after a little deliberation.

“If you ask me, George is good for you.”

I hadn’t asked her, but I should have realized the moment I told her about last night that she was going to offer unsolicited advice.

“If I had the choice between Aiden and George I’d pick George for sure. Those shoulders and that chest,” she says, staring off like she’s imagining him right now in her head.

I slap her playfully across the arm. “Would you stop picturing George naked for a second so we can have a productive conversation?”

She smiles slyly.

“Honestly, I don’t have a choice between the two,” I say. “There’s only George. Aiden has made it pretty clear that whatever we had was a joke and I’m dead to him. More than anything I want to confront him, but I can’t muster the nerve.”

A sudden laugh rolls out of her. “You faced Zhuang and you can’t get up the courage to find out why some guy is giving you the cold shoulder? You’re ridiculous.”

“Samara, please don’t make me break your nose again.”

She gives me a mock look of horror and covers her nose like she’s trying to protect it.

“Anyway, I’m not sure if I should be with George. Being with him is complicated since he’s always invading my heart. I want to believe it could work, but... And I still have feelings for Aiden. I need to purge those from my system before I commit to anything. That’s what makes me feel so guilty. I wish I would have done that before kissing George. Now I feel shameful.”

“Yeah, apparently playing hearts runs in your blood,” Samara half jokes.

“That’s low,” I say, kicking up water on her.

She jumps back and laughs. Just then I notice a strange man leaning on the railing of his over-the-water hut. It’s odd because he’s staring straight at us, but I know he’s in the physical reality and can’t see us while we’re dream traveling. It must be a coincidence that his eyes follow us all the way down the beach.

When we tire of walking, which takes a long while, we peel down to our bathing suits and swim. The water is soothing as I slice through the waves.

“So, I’m going to go back to investigative reporting,” Samara says as she wades.

“Oh, that’s great!” I say, moving freely with the current.

“Yeah, I had to be cleared by my therapist. Apparently I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. After a week’s sabbatical in the psych ward I’ve been downgraded to therapy only twice a week,” she says, wiggling her nose.

“Or you told them what they wanted to hear so they’d release you.”

“Well, if I told them that I was still having nightmares of stabbing Pearl then I’m fairly certain they would have made me keep up the three-therapy-sessions-a-day routine. It’s impossible to get anything done with that kind of schedule.”

“How are you feeling now?” I look at her and add, “Honestly?”

“Good,” she chirps. “Mostly. I mean, I get it. I know I had to kill her. The logical part of my brain accepts this and has already moved on. However, there’s the emotional part of my brain that still can’t come to terms with the actions that made Pearl dead. I replay it in my head on a regular basis and it never computes. The good news is that with each passing day I replay it fewer times than the day before.” She looks at me hopefully. “I think that’s a good sign.”

I consent with a nod.

“You know who I spent my afternoons with?” Samara asks.

I shake my head.

“Misty. Can you believe it? She’s like a vegetable. She can still move and all, but she hardly ever does. Seriously, she’s like a stone statue. Nothing seems to be going on beneath the surface. She’s this shell of a person. It’s odd. Anyway, we played a lot of Chinese checkers and shockingly I won every single game.”

The idea of Misty imprisoned in a mind that hardly functions, all because Zhuang was using her to destroy me, makes my stomach churn. Yes, she got under my skin and I could hardly stand to be in the same room with her, but I didn’t want her to become some catatonic, permanent resident of the Institute’s psych ward. What I really wanted was for her to fight Zhuang, but now I know that was never meant to happen.

“So when do you start investigative reporting?” I ask, trying to shake off the remorse.

“Tomorrow. Shuman said I can move into the Institute permanently and do it full-time.”

“Wow! What about your other life?” I ask.

“Actually I emancipated myself from my mom right before coming to the Institute. I’d been living with friends on and off for a few months prior to that. My mom and I never really got along and my stepfather pretty much hates my guts. I always told my friends that when I’d saved up enough money I was going to New York to be a model. They probably all assume that’s what I’ve done,” she says, now lying on her back, staring off at the ultramarine blue sky.

I smile, rolling over to my back too. “Well, it sounds like you have a home now.”

“Yeah, it feels nice.”

♦

About Leaving the Institute

Bob and Steve

to Roya Stark

Dear Roya,

You didn’t tell us about Chase? Why? From how Trey described it, that was an important part of the events at the Grotte. He informed us that Chase has an unhealthy fascination with you. Furthermore, he thinks, and we both agree, that you would be safer if you remained at the Institute. This disappoints us greatly, but your safety comes first. Here, at our place, we can’t offer the same protection that the Institute provides. Chase is dangerous and it makes us nervous that he could want you for some reason.

We can already sense you rebelling against the message in this email, but also know that if Trey has a concern about Chase then we must take this extremely seriously. Trey is logical and his instincts on these things are never wrong. If he thinks there’s a danger then he’s probably right. Please stay vigilant and guard yourself. Also, write as often as you like. We want to know everything that’s going on with you.

Love,

Bob and Steve

This is Trey’s doing. This is due to his influence. His interference. He does control me more than I thought or was willing to admit. Angry tears well up in my eyes. I push them back with everything I have.

Chapter Forty-Eight

U
nconcerned for the early hour I knock on his door. I assume he’s in his office. Sure enough a rustling greets my knock seconds later. Then the door slides back and Trey stands staring at me, bleary-eyed, tired.

“Hello, Roya.” He looks around behind me like he assumed I wasn’t alone. “Do you want to talk to me?”

“Briefly.”

“You can have as much of my time as you like.” He stands back and welcomes me into his office.

I must have been too panicked when last here. That time I didn’t notice his large wooden desk. I’m not sure how I missed it with its turrets on each side and all the exquisitely engraved details. For some reason it feels like the sturdiest piece of furniture I’ve ever seen. If there was an earthquake, I’d want to be under that thing. It looks indestructible, and also beautifully elegant.

“It was Flynn’s,” Trey says.

My head jerks up, wondering if he’s read my thoughts again. His eyes are resting on my hand, which I now realize is tracing along the intricate detail work on the front of the desk.

“It’s not my style. A bit too ornate, but I wanted to keep it.” A fond nostalgia wrinkles his eyes. He must have respected Flynn very much. Everyone seems to have.

Apparently I’ve been off in thought and have somehow ended up in the leather chair stationed in front of Trey’s desk. He’s scanning the contents of a shelf, moving objects around. “Here it is,” he says, plucking something from the back. “I’m glad you stopped by. I have something for you.” He places the object on the desk in front of me. It’s a copper and bronze statue of a Buddhist-type figure sitting on a horse. The features of the person and horse are painted in animated blues, reds, and golds.

Trey walks around his desk and sits. “I picked this up the other day because when I saw it I thought of you.”

I gauge him and then study the statue.

“The figure,” he says pointing at it, “is Achi Chokyi Drolma. A full history on her would take quite a while, but—”

“She’s the mother of the Buddhas,” I interrupt him.

He looks surprised. “Yes, that’s correct. She also protects an ancient lineage as well as Buddha’s teachings. She’s an extremely symbolic figure and is thought to offer protection from obstacles and difficulties.” I chew on my lip, staring at the statue. “Later, I can fill you in on more of the details surrounding her. They’re fascinating. I was actually raised by Tibetan Buddhist monks and although I don’t practice that religion anymore, it’s still close to my heart.”

Is Trey sharing with me? Why? That’s odd. It’s probably a trust-gathering technique so he can cover up more secrets and lies.

“Do you follow the Buddhist religion?” he asks, looking curious.

“No. Why?”

“Well, many people wouldn’t know who Achi Chokyi Drolma is.”

“I read,” I say. “Honestly, I don’t know what I believe in.”

He nods his head, a conspiratorial look. “I think because we’re Dream Travelers it’s difficult for us to choose merely one religion. We see so much more and with that comes an overwhelming burden. For me, one religion isn’t enough. I need all of them to make sense of my world. And even then, sometimes I still don’t feel like it’s enough.”

Disbelief clouds my head. Trey doesn’t even sound like himself right now. Or at least he doesn’t sound like the persona that he’s modeled since we’ve met. And even though anything he says I want to reject, what he’s shared is one hundred percent the way I’ve felt for too long. Undeniably I need to be connected to the spiritual realm, but some days it’s difficult to know what I should believe. Sometimes I fail to find a philosophy or religion or inspiration that helps me navigate my life. And that’s when I feel as alone as the coldness in Trey’s eyes right now.

“I hope it’s all right that I’ve given this to you,” Trey says, bringing me out of my reverie. “I thought you could use a good luck charm of sorts.”

“Why? Are you sending me on another deadly mission?”

Something passes in his eyes. Amusement maybe? “Not currently. I was referring to the protection I thought you could use against Chase and whatever he has planned for you.”

“Well, thanks.”