Exaltation (Insight #11)(69)

It was dark with wooden walls. The furniture was as odd as the house. The couches had waves to them, low and high points.

By the blazing fireplace there were large regal leather chairs. But as soon as Raven’s eyes moved there she lost interest in the décor, big time.

Leaning against the mantel was a boy. At least she assumed he was, because his back was to her, and his head was hung low as if he were lost in a desperate thought. He was wearing no shirt and had dark jeans that hung just perfectly from his lean warrior build. The glow of the fire was clinging to his skin and in that glow she found every reason to allow her heart to thunder forward.

Son of a…

It was like his soul was branded; a mark was glowing through his skin. It was a mark Raven had seen just the night before in those books the twins had stolen. It looked like four rings and a mix of triangles and spheres, among other symbols she didn’t recognize.

As if she were under a spell she eased forward, staring at the mark on him.

Why do I know this symbol…

Though her heart was roaring she was calm. This was the musician she had heard before, the one who played the sound she could not get out of her head for days. It had to be him. A guitar was leaning next to the chair he was standing by, as if he’d just set it down before he found the despairing thought he was struggling with.

His hair was dark and had a wave to it, the curls were clinging to his neck.

Nervously, she swallowed as she committed every taut inch of his body to memory…as she felt a commanding grief fuse with absolute bliss.

How can you be…home?

She knew she should’ve said something, at least made a noise to let him know she was there. But before she could rationalize it, she was only a few inches from him, staring at the mark gleaming through his young, muscular skin.

Her hand trembled as she reached forward. Long before her touch reached him her vim expelled from her hand…it was a slow glide of enchanting white light. Before it found his flesh, exposed her presence, vim escaped him. Just as slowly, it danced toward hers. In mid-air, as it collided, mingled, absorbed and became one…Raven felt it.

At the crown of her head a warm sensation manifested. Then slowly, delectably, glided down her body…like a lover’s touch. Awakening her very soul—giving her more pause than any other moment in her life.

When the rush flowed past her lips, they parted slightly, passing her neck, her eyes flutter closed, her chest, she held her breath—could barely stop the quiet pants…moving down past her navel, encasing her waist…moving lower…and lower...the vim…he was in her veins, swimming in her soul and it was…delicious.

Raven was so absorbed within the sensation that at first she didn’t notice how tight he was gripping the mantle, how every muscle tensed or the rush of breath that burst from his lips.

All at once he began to speak in a slow, low tone.

“It was a bloody dream…I saw you…I felt you. My chest ripped open with pure joy. Want.” He hung his head lower, as if their little vim exchange did nothing but make him more miserable.

“My virtue is my patience, or it was…until the likes of you came to mind, until I realized this pulse in my soul was because of you. I lost all willpower then, love. Every ounce.”

His fist gripped the mantel to the point of splintering the wood. “I was a fool.”

His gaze drifted to the side.

“I landed in this hell, forevermore trapped. Our fate seized.” He swallowed stiffly.

“For all I know they have won, they’ve taken you…I can’t feel anything here. I can’t focus.”

He hung his head once more.

“I don’t know how to get out…how to find you, love…I need you to forgive me for that. I’m a selfish bastard I know…I don’t deserve your forgiveness...”

Within a beat of her heart he turned. His words silenced. She was lost in his image. He had to be the hottest ghost in existence. His eyes were blue in the centers, a wild blue that was deep. Around the edges they were dark as night. He had the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a boy. A firm jaw line, and perfectly shaped lips. He had to have been just older than Raven when he died but there was not a mark on his body, not one flaw she could see.

Can angels die?

He drew in a sharp breath and with a trembling hand reached to cradle her face. Raven should’ve moved. She knew that. But she didn’t. With his touch the sensation of vim within her amplified, swam through her, whispering a lover’s promise.

“Oh for Creator sake please tell me you are not another bloody illusion,” he whispered in a deep, velvet voice.

Raven didn’t dare say a word.

His eyes filled with pain as they raced across her face.

“I’m so sorry, love.”

Before Raven could ask why or tell him that he had no reason to be sorry his lips were on hers.

Raven was pretty sure he moved toward her with a charismatic grace, but she was under his spell. And if she had any hope of overcoming that it was lost when she felt the flesh of his lips move across hers.

His kiss was slow and measured, savoring. Raven felt a slow deep pulse under his flesh. When his tongue grazed hers a bolt of electricity shot through her. God your vim is going to be the death of me!

It was pulling her toward him.

They both sighed against each other just before his lips claimed her bottom lip once more, hungrily wanting more, needing more.