Guardian (11 page)

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were taunting me.”

He turned to face her. “I thought I smelled you.”

“Ugh. How many times do I have to ask you to stop saying that? Besides, you’re lying.”

He caught the faith ball and held it still. “What?”

“You couldn’t have smelled me. I’m downwind, and with the breeze as strong as it is, there’s no way.”

“Sensed you, then.” In the star-brightened night, his eyes sparkled like they held their own universe inside.

“Or maybe you just heard the door shut.”

“Maybe.”

“I smelled you, though. As soon as I stepped outside, your scent came right to me.”

His eyes narrowed playfully, but not before they flashed a moment of concern. “Really? You smelled me?”

She rocked back on her heels, bare feet cool against the wooden deck. “Yep.”

Raven left the ball and moved toward her. Which always made her nervous, because she never quite knew what Raven would do.

He stopped inches from her. “What do I smell like?”

“What? You don’t believe me?” She took a tiny step back.

He took a step closer. “I just want to hear what you think I smell like.”

Nikki closed her eyes and pulled a deep breath in through her nose. And with it, it seemed Raven invaded every cell of her being; a beautiful scent, an inviting scent. One part snowcapped mountains and one part black pepper. “You smell like danger, Raven. Like trouble.”

Water hit the side of the boat in a gentle rocking motion. “What else?”

The movement of the boat on the water and the intensity of his question—not to mention being so filled with his fragrance—made her wish she’d stayed in the cabin. The wind was colder at night, and Nikki pulled her blanket tight around her shoulders. “That’s all,” she said, and it didn’t even remotely sound like the truth.

“What else?” Raven insisted.

Nikki started to turn and walk away, but once again her feet wouldn’t obey her mind. She wouldn’t tell him what else he smelled like. She wouldn’t even think it again. In fact, she’d forget the sensation that accosted her, forget the one word it brought to mind. Forget that it was exactly what he'd said to her.

“What else?” he said again.

Freedom. Like the first rev of her motorcycle, or the wind on a summer day, rich and alive and filled with possibilities. Like rain after a long drought. It took all her strength to step past him and go to the faith ball now hovering waist high. With all her concentration, she reached for it. Nothing.

She willed herself to concentrate yet harder. Still nothing. Her hand passed right through.

“Do you really think that’s going to work?”

She ignored him and went over the things Mace had taught her about faith. It’s real. It’s touchable. The ball has mass and weight. Reach out. Feel it.

“Stop, please. It’s embarrassing.”

Her eyes flew open in an attempt to scorch him. “Do you have a better way?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Fine. Teach me.”

He shook his head.

Her mouth dropped open. “You stuck-up—”

“Watch it,” he said, holding a finger in the air.

She swallowed her insult, and it scratched all the way down.

“Look, it’s not that I won’t teach you. It’s that I can’t teach you.”

Her anger searched for an outlet. “And that, Raven, is exactly why I’m wasting my time here with you.” She turned to go back to her room. At least it was quiet there.

“No one can teach you.”

His words stopped her mid-stride. She angled to look over her shoulder at him. “What?”

He jerked his head, motioning her back.

“I already regret this,” she mumbled.

Raven tossed the ball a couple of feet into the air and caught it. “No one can teach you because you can’t learn it. You have to feel it. From within. Faith has to become a part of who you are. It’s not a separate item. It’s woven into you.” As he spoke, he moved so her back was to him. With one quick motion he stripped the blanket from her, leaving her feeling bare in spite of the sweats and T-shirt. A heartbeat later, Raven reached around her, holding the faith ball in front of them. “You can see it, right?”

“Of course.” His arms were warm against her where they scraped her shoulders, creating a little harbor of safety against the night wind.

“If you can see it, you can feel it. But you can’t feel it because you see it, or you’ve missed the whole point.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Put your hands on mine.”

Nikki draped her arms over his and placed her hands on the outside of Raven’s. More warmth. More warning that this was a bad idea.

“Now, close your eyes and tune in to the faith at your fingertips.”

She did, and for the first time there was a fluttery sensation along her fingers. “Is that you moving?”

“No. You feel the vibration of faith. Can you hear it?”

The hum was louder and almost sounded in rhythm to her body, her heartbeat, her inhalations. “Yes.”

“It’s becoming part of you.” But as she thought back on Mace’s instructions, it all started fading.

“Don’t lose it,” Raven said, and slid his hands to the outside of hers.

“I’m trying to hold on.”

“You’re trying too hard. Forget what you’ve learned! It’s about the heart. You can’t learn it with head knowledge. It’s heart knowledge.”

The hum returned, the sensation quickened. “Okay, it’s back.”

“Now put your hands out and close your eyes.”

Reluctant to let go of the ball, she released it on one side and held out a flattened hand, then repeated with the other.

A slight movement, then Raven asked, “Which hand is it in?”

She could feel the vibration and weight in her left hand. Her eyes opened. “My left!”

“Close your eyes!” Raven demanded and placed the ball in her right. He repeated the action several more times, each correct answer building her faith a little more. “Now, toss it into the air.”

Eyes still closed, Nikki obeyed. She felt the weight of the ball leave her hand for a few seconds, then smack. It was right back in her palm again. “I did it!”

Raven’s smile was broad and genuine—her personal smile. “You did. Do it again.”

This time Nikki left her eyes open and watched as the silvery-blue globe sailed into the air and dropped into her hand. “So, none of that stuff Mace was teaching me mattered?”

Raven nodded toward the ball. “Did you learn it from him teaching you?”

“No.”

“Then it didn’t matter.”

She tossed the ball again. “Thanks, Raven.”

“Any time.”

Raven didn’t fight the grin that stayed plastered on his face as he watched her walk to the door that led back to her cabin. Turn around, he urged. She reached for the door handle. But before slipping inside, she cast a long look over her shoulder.

Oh yeah. His heart thumped.

Her long, dark hair flew in all directions compliments of the wind. Gone were those shadowy, hollow places under her eyes that had been there since she’d gotten the news about her mom and dad. And there was a lightness to her, because tonight he’d given her something no one else—including Mace—was able to give her.

“What are you doing?”

Rarely did anyone sneak up on Raven. But he’d been preoccupied with Nikki and let his defenses down. He turned toward the voice but said nothing.

Winter stepped out of the shadows to the right of the ship’s bow. Dressed in a long, flowing black garment, she resembled a gothic witch, especially with her dark, swirling hair and pale skin. “What are you doing, Raven?” She repeated the words softly, but there was a distinct bite to her tone.

One he didn’t appreciate. “Not much. You?”

She exhaled and looked back to the door Nikki’d disappeared behind. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

“What?” She was really starting to irritate him. “Nikki. You let her think her faith made the ball touchable.”

“But she was finally able to touch it, wasn’t she? So what does it matter?”

Winter tossed her head, sending hair over her shoulder. Trapped in the light of the moon and a billion stars, she looked … pretty. The breeze caused her long gown to cling to her legs. Red-polished toes peeked from the hem. His gaze returned to her face and found a frown.

“It matters because you can’t borrow faith. You have to find it in yourself.”

“Really? Thanks for the lesson.” He turned away from her and leaned against the railing. “Why are you even out here in the middle of the night?”

She moved beside him and leaned too, mimicking his posture. “I heard Nikki get up, and I’ve been worried about her. Plus, I’m a light sleeper.”

As she spoke, Raven couldn’t stop himself from looking at her. In the planes of her face, in the gentle edge of her eyes, pain long forgotten—or pushed away—lingered. He wondered how old Winter was, and why her skin felt like ice. She seemed older than the other females, but he knew next to nothing about her. What are you hiding? Most guys would coax her into a conversation slowly. Which might be a good idea, because suddenly he felt like he needed to know more about this girl. “So,” he began. Choose your words carefully. “What’s up with you? Are you, like, really old or something?”

Winter's eyes widened and angled to stare at him. Her mouth was open slightly, but no words came from it.

Way to go with the slow and subtle approach. He shrugged. “You don’t look old or anything, but you don’t carry yourself like a teenage girl.”

Her lips came together and she ever so slowly turned back toward the water.

Raven took a deep breath. “Sometimes, admissions are hidden in words. ‘I’m a light sleeper.’ That’s all you said, but your eyes told a different story. Maybe something happened that’s hurtful, but it happened so long ago you didn’t think you’d need to hide the pain anymore.”

Winter gazed out at the night, but her shoulders dropped marginally, telling him he’d struck a nerve.

He shrugged. “Maybe you didn’t even think it hurt anymore.”

Still silence.

Raven dropped into silence too.

“I was … captured once.” Her voice was steady but low. “Tortured. For days. Maybe weeks. It was a very long time ago. I’ve had a hard time getting used to sleeping belowdecks.”

“The small, confined space?”

“Yes. And the smell of wood. Or oil.” Winter shook her head, and her long hair fanned around her like darkened smoke. “I don’t know. It’s something in the room, I guess. I never sleep much, but it’s been worse on the boat.”

“Some wounds take a long time to heal.”

She looked over at him. “And some you just learn to live with.”

“That’s hard enough to do for a single lifespan. We have several to remember our mistakes, our regrets. Our pain.”

A faint smile touched Winter’s face. “But also to remember our victories. The people we saved, rescued.”

Raven tilted a little closer to her and tried to pierce her with his gaze. “Why don’t I see that reflected in your eyes?”

A sound that wasn’t quite a laugh escaped her lips. “Easier to remember the bad stuff, maybe? Hold on to the good in each journey you take, Raven.”

He turned and looked back at the door where Nikki had disappeared. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“But also remember, journeys end. And we have to walk away. Don’t do more damage than good.”

Anger shot through his chest. Just when I was starting to think I liked you. “I’ll try to remember that. Thanks, Mom.”

“Nikki is a human.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“One day …”

“I get it. One day she’ll return to a normal life.”

Winter shook her head. “No, she won’t.”

What did she mean? What did Winter know about Nikki’s future?

“Don’t look so worried, Raven. What I mean is, how would you ever expect Nikki to return to a normal world after being swept off her feet by an angel who’s determined to make every moment she spends with him a breathtaking adventure?”

He didn’t like the feeling that settled in his stomach, and he wanted out of this conversation. But he stayed.

Winter went on. “The dolphins, the faith ball. Every second she spends with you is one spectacular moment followed by another. You’ve made sure of that, but you can’t keep it up, not even for one lifetime. Sooner or later the shiny new penny looks just like all the others. And where does that leave you?”

He laughed without humor. “Suddenly, you’re worried about me?”

“I’ve been worried about you all along. Because one day Nikki will grow old and die. But you, Raven … Unless you’re murdered, you’ll have until the end of days to remember what it felt like to not be the new toy anymore.”

What did Winter know about who he was? Nothing. She barely knew him.

“I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just speaking from experience. I couldn’t live with myself if I wasn’t honest about it. Nikki’s a mistake, Raven. Don’t turn it into a tragedy.”

With that she walked away.

Raven pressed his lips together hard, trying to reject the words she’d said, but they refused to be silenced. They flew through his mind, bouncing off one another, each accusation growing as the collisions increased.

Nikki isn’t a mistake. Nikki is freedom, and possibly my only chance to be content.