Page 2 of Light As A Feather
Through his calloused hands, I felt the warmth of her seep into my fingertips for the first time in so long. All patience and self-control vacated me, hunger and lust for the woman I’ve always called mine taking over as I turned her against the door and caged her in my arms before ripping her dress in half at the neckline.
“What are you doing?” I’ll never forget the flash of fear in her eyes, reminding me that she wasn’t seeing me; she was looking into the eyes of a stranger. It took everything in me to rein in my need for her.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t wait another minute to see this beautiful body on display.” A moment’s hesitation, but she allowed me to continue my perusal of her body as we shoved our way clumsily through the door.
Her motives were clear as she grabbed the liquor and poured herself a shot, taking it back with a wince. “Want one?”
“No.” Hell no. There was no way I was going to dull what few senses I was in touch with like this. It had been so long since I’d touched her.
With her clothing removed, I’d dragged my lips across her skin, attempting to savor the salt and warmth of it on my tongue. She wouldn’t let me kiss her lips though, turning her head away and instead reaching for my dick.
Sinking inside her while being in the body of another was the most disorienting thing I’ve ever done—and that’s saying a lot as someone who’s straddled the line of the veil for nearly two decades. But our bodies meeting was a cruel torture. One I would crawl back to several more times before it became too much.
Sitting in this lot, back in our home state, so close to where this all started, I beg whatever powers that be that things will be different this time. That I can have her all to myself again. That she won’t disappear into the night. That she won’t slip between my fingers like candle smoke.
I can’t let that happen.I refuse.
If I have to damn my moral code in the process, then so be it. I’ve already made so many concessions, given so much ground to the darker tendencies that rise up inside me when it comes to keeping her safe. This isn’t just about me, it’s aboutus. And I’d do anything for us. That was true when we were teens, true a decade ago, and it stands true now. If I’ve accomplished nothing else, I’ve proven that my devotion to Solaneen Gomez stands the test of time.
At peace with my decision to bring her home at any cost, I pop the trunk and grab the bag of equipment that always stays ready.
Most people aren’t prepared for a kidnapping, but sometimes our jobs call for restraint, and occasionally—rarely—some violence. I have no intention of hurting her, but I’m adamant about bringing her back, and I’ll be damned if I let Ivan stand in my way again.
Assessing the row of rooms, I easily locate number eight as indicated in the brief Mendez sent over. Despite the situation, a laugh escapes me. A creature of habit through and through. “It’s the best number, obviously, look how even and infinite it is. The perfect balance.”She wasn’t wrong.
Room Eight beckons me as I cross the lot. My heart speeds up, nearly jumping out of my chest to close the distance between us, but my steps are measured and slow like those of someone who’s hunting for a meal they need to survive. I have one shot; I won’t miss it by getting overexcited.
Pressing my ear against the door—not even daring to exhale—I listen for the sound of movement, of a TV, but it’s silent.Odd.She never sleeps in silence. Can’t. Not with all the voices that call out to her.
Maybe it’s quieter here. Could she have found unexpected peace?
I’m her peace.I remind myself. And she’s mine.
Pulling out my phone, I open the email with the information Jayden sent me to hack into the locking mechanism. Every paranormal investigation company needs a tech genius, and he’s ours, but we only deploy him for ethical hacking—mostly.
The green light, followed by the shrill beep, confirms my success. Gripping the handle, I twist it gently. There’s a fifty-fifty chance she’s already awake. She’s always been a light sleeper, her body conditioned to be on alert from nights awoken by breaking glass and fists going through walls. I go slow so I don’t scare her more than I have to. I wince when the metal rim beneath my foot whines. But with a quick look around, it’s clear that the room is empty. She’s nowhere to be seen, and neither are any of her belongings. The bed is made, but the trash is still full. Wouldn’t it be my luck that I just missed her?
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump-thump.My heart races with my thoughts.
She can’t be gone. She’s not allowed to slip through my fingers again. Rushing to the small main office, I approach the counter, attempting to look cool and collected while a blaze of panic spreads through my insides.
Pulling up her picture on my phone, I turn it to the receptionist. “Have you seen this woman?”
Her brow raises as she assesses me. “Please, it’s my wife.” My stomach flips with the proclamation. Wife isn’t a strong enough word to embody what Sol is to me—what we have transcends such mainstream labels. And yet the joy I feel calling her that is undeniable. “I’m worried about her.”
“We don’t give out information about motel guests. Sorry.” Her attention returns to the screen in front of her. But that changes quickly when I slide cash onto the counter.
“Please. I promise you, I mean her no harm, but it’s imperative that I find her. As soon as possible.” Keeping my face neutral, I hope that she can see my intent clearly—or at the very least, she’s as underpaid as most people nowadays and lets her need for cash override her better judgment.
“She said something about catching the sunrise at McWay Falls.” She lets loose a long sigh. “There are complimentary pamphlets over there about it.”
“Thanks.” I speed right past the long row of brochures. I’ve been to McWay Falls countless times. It’s one of Sol’s favorite places, or it used to be. It’s not far from where we grew up after all.
Closer and closer, and still I chase her. Is it possible that she’s coming home to me? Is she finally tired of running?
But that hope is slippery because that would mean that she’s ready to come back to me. Ready to stop fighting the undeniable connection between us. The resounding truth that we were made for each other. It’s not that I don’t think she knows it. That’s not possible, our connection is as real as the breath that fills our lungs.
The reason I can’t let myself hope that she’s willingly coming back to me is that I know her better than that. I know that she’s stubborn enough that she won’t be eager to admit that she’swrong or that she’s changed her mind. She needs that external push—even one done for the sake of allowing her to save face. I’m happy to be that force for her. Hell, I’m willing to tie her up and bring her back myself. She can pretend to resist. It might even be fun to allow that conflict to play out between us. But deep down I know, and better yet, she does too, that our world will only be restored to balance when we’re in the same place, when we move in tandem.
