Mostly Dark by Miranda Kate (best ereader for pc TXT) 📕

in dialogue, tapping a previously untouched depth within her. She had finally arrived. She was among kindred souls.

Lucille looked round for him, he had to be here; he’d been the main player in the dream, going by the name of Rohan. And then, as if on cue, the people in front of her parted and there he was, on the other side of the dance-floor, standing with a group of people.

He looked round as though someone had called his name – and she realised she just had. The smile that spread across his face when he saw her, made her soul yearn. He wasted no time crossing the room to reach her and embraced her like a long lost lover.

When their lips touched her mind reeled in a white light that filled her entire being. When they broke apart she held his face, and looked deep into his eyes. Moments from their past lives flowed like an exchange of ideas as they caught up to the present. They had found each other again.

 

Zelus

 

Felicity sat bold upright, clutching her chest. Scott sat up with her.

“You all right, babe?”

“It was him again. He wants me to meet him.”

Scott rubbed her back. “Meet him? He doesn’t even exist!”

Felicity shot him an angry glance.

“Okay, he might exist in the ethereal sense, but he can’t manifest himself in the real world, can he?”

Felicity gave him a worried look. “I don’t know, but I have to go.”

“Go where?”

“The copse, midsummer’s eve, at midnight.”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“I know.” Felicity shuddered.

 

***

 

“What time is it?” Felicity whispered as they moved deeper into the woods.

Scott used the torch to look at his watch. “Two minutes to twelve. What’s that?”

They saw a strange light coming through the foliage and headed towards it.

When they arrived in the clearing the angel was there.

He was magnificent, just as Felicity had dreamed. His chest was bare, though the angelic wings wrapped round him made him appear draped in soft finery. He seemed tall, the light green glow surrounding him accentuating it. His bright eyes pierced hers.

“Hello Felicity.”

His voice rumbled deep within her, awakening feelings and desires she’d never experienced before. A longing to touch him overwhelmed her. She stepped closer.

“Hello Zelus.”

He eyed Scott.

“Who is your companion?”

“This is my husband, Scott.”

“Husband?” Zelus’ brow creased. “Are you tied to another?”

“Well I wouldn’t say tied …”

“We’ve been married for several years,” Scott interjected. Zelus ignored him.

“Felicity, I asked you to meet me, to join me. We are soulmates. We have been for centuries – it has taken me two of them to find you. You can not stay with this mate.”

“Hold on a minute—” Scott began.

“Felicity please, you know it to be true.” Zelus’ right wing opened and he proffered a hand.

Felicity felt a pull in her gut. She knew he spoke the truth. “But Zelus, I can’t. I’m not like you, I’m mortal, human.”

Zelus smiled and gave a small laugh that sounded like distant thunder. “Felicity, you are spirit, we all are. You simply need to take my hand. Come.”

Felicity hovered, her hand coming up.

“Felicity!” Scott shouted.

She glanced back at Scott.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry Scott, but I …” When Felicity’s hand met Zelus’ there was only bright white light and his face. She was home.

Surrender

 

Matt saw it in her face their first night: a look in her eyes. He didn’t let it distract him from what they were doing, and he still lost himself in the moment of sexual ecstasy – but he’d registered it.

After she left in the morning, showering his face in kisses and making him laugh, he sat and pondered what he’d seen. He didn’t want to do it again – break someone’s heart, it broke a part of him too. But this one? Could he love Jasmine?

He sighed. He wanted to; he wanted to give her all she deserved. But could he? Or would he let her down like he had all the others?

Later that day he had to smile at the text she sent. Jasmine wasn’t going to wait for him, she was going to run the show and he liked that. And when she turned up at his door again the next day, throwing herself into his arms, he was overjoyed to embrace her, although he kept her in check with silence.

Days grew into weeks, which gathered into months. Matt took out the shoebox he kept under his bed and sifted through all the cards and scribblings she’d given him. He’d tried to find the courage to return the emotion, but all he’d been able to give was his time; taking her out to dinner, shows, the cinema, pubs, bars, anywhere to keep her entertained and distracted, because he knew she wanted more. She would start to say something then stop, or tell him she wanted to know him better and then wait for him to speak. But he wasn’t good at speaking; he was only good at showing, so that’s what he did. He took her to bed and showed her time and again.

It didn’t stop her pouring herself into him by including him in everything she did. And he was happy to join her and get to know her friends and their boyfriends. He enjoyed the elaborate dinner parties she arranged and lost himself in the drunken conversation. But every morning when they woke up together it was still there; that look in her eyes.

Then the first year was over and they celebrated, and the whole evening she was watching him with expectation. He did all he could, spun her the best night they had had, and in the morning he thought he had pulled it off. But there she was looking at him, only this time with a little box in her hand. He was terrified.

Jasmine had always been forward, moving it all along and he wondered how far she was taking it as he turned the box over in his hand. It was a perfect tiny square with a raised top. Matt’s mind reeled at the idea that someone else might pop the question. He fiddled with it, delaying, but she pushed his fingers against it, showing him where he could start unwrapping.

He fumbled it open and tipped the lid a crack, trying to glimpse what was within, before revealing it. And what he saw made him frown. He paused, opening the lid wider and picking up its contents.

“A key?”

“Yes, a key.”

“To your heart?”

She laughed. “No, to my apartment. It’s time, don’t you think?”

“What, for us to live together?”

She frowned at him and laughed again. “No silly, for you to be able to come round whenever you want. Why, do you want to live together?”

“Well …” He flustered.

She laughed again. “That’s what I thought. One step at a time, eh?”

“But …” he stammered.

“What?”

“But, I thought, you know, that as we’re in love, you know, that was the next step? I mean, it’s been a year.”

Her jaw dropped as she looked at him, and he felt his cheeks flush. Then she threw herself on him, pushing her lips against his with such a fierceness he could only surrender – although surrender was all he wanted to do, so he returned the passion.

That night he packed a bag, and when they reached her apartment he picked her up and carried her over the threshold. There were no broken hearts here.

    Waning
The Voices

 

Paul smashed his head against the wall and screamed as hard as he could. He felt a dribble of blood run to the tip of his nose and wiped at it absently. It hadn’t helped.

He grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the apartment, shrugging it on as he fled down the steps to the street. He couldn’t have given a toss that it was two in the morning and the city was flooded with drunks exiting nightclubs. He didn’t see them.

He didn’t want this, not tonight, not tomorrow, not any day, but he didn’t have a choice; it was his birth right.

As the urge got larger he picked up the pace and started running. There was only one place for his kind to go and he needed to get there: a place of sanctuary, a place of understanding.

But even as the building came into sight he already knew it was too late. They were in the back of his mind already, pushing forward, consuming every thought, every impulse, every breath.

He stumbled, trying hard to focus on his intent, something they wanted to stop. He slowed, forcing each foot in front of the other, resisting what they wanted; he wasn’t going to turn round; he wasn’t going to the bridge; he WAS worth more than that.

The lights were on; the building was open twenty-four hours. There was a man on the door. Paul knew that – but that meant they did too. The whispering escalated to raised voices and he was reduced to his knees, crawling on all fours, each move a personal triumph over them.

A man bleeding from his head and crawling along a street in the early hours of the morning. Paul knew what the public saw, but it didn’t mean he should do what the voices wanted. It didn’t mean that he was worth nothing and he had no right to be here. It didn’t mean he was scum or worthless and didn’t deserve to live!

He shouted back, aware that it was out-loud rather than in his head, the humiliation bringing a wave of rage that pushed them out for a moment, allowing him to stand.

The white steps up to the facility were now in sight, as was the security guard’s window. Relief flooded through Paul as he made eye contact with the man. But it dulled the rage, bringing them back full force and he was unable to climb the steps unaided.

He heard a bell ringing and several people in white coats came out to help the security guard bring him inside, their questions barely audible over the noise in his head. Once in the entrance hall he could only drop to his knees and cover his ears.

Then a pair of warm hands rested on his, and a soft voice reached him as though across a great void.

“Paul? Paul? Can you hear me? It’s Audrey. Paul, look at me, lift your head.”

He brought his head up a fraction. A light flashed in his eyes. There was rustling around him and her voice came again.

“We’re just going to move you into the exam room, Paul. Relief is coming soon, I promise.”

He felt himself being lifted, and even though he thought it impossible, the noise inside reached a whole new level. He knew Audrey wasn’t going to torture him, or probe him, or experiment on him. He knew she wouldn’t harm him. He wasn’t going to try and hurt her and run from this place, this was where he needed to be and he repeated that over and over to try and placate them.

But they didn’t stop, not until the needle went into his arm and the drug flooded into his bloodstream, which fortunately only took a few seconds.

He slumped back, exhausted, knowing that he’d made it; the attack was over – he’d won.

But it was just a single battle in a war that was going to rage for the rest of his life, each